9. Nolani
My phone lit beside the coffee machine.
Big Lando:
Morning, Hershey. Woke up reaching for you and found a pillow with no brown skin, no smart mouth, and no thigh across mine. Current accommodations are unacceptable.
Laughter escaped before my first sip.
Me:
The pillow probably appreciated the peace.
His response appeared almost immediately.
Big Lando:
Peace wasn’t the objective. I wanted you.
I stared at the message long enough for my coffee to lose priority.
Me:
You still got breakfast.
Big Lando:
Eggs were a consolation prize.
I looked toward the shirt.
Absolutely not.
Big Lando:
Say good morning to your man properly.
Me:
Good morning, Landon.
Three dots appeared.
Big Lando:
That sounded like you confirming a dental appointment. Try again.
I pressed my lips together.
Me:
Good morning, baby.
This time, his response took longer.
I pictured him somewhere in Self Springs staring at that one word with the same shameless pleasure he’d worn every time I gave it to him the day before.
Big Lando:
Yeah. That’s better.
Me:
Go to work, Big Lando.
Big Lando:
Already here, love. Go handle Monday. Eat something before coffee starts lying to you about being breakfast.
I locked my phone before he could become more correct.
The shirt stayed on the chair.
So did my smile.
By the time I reached Crème & Chill, Monday had settled into its familiar rhythm.
Landon had already made me laugh twice, miss him once, and reconsider whether the road between Self Ridge and Self Springs had any business being as long as it was.
Freezers hummed beneath the opening playlist, metal scoops rested in warm rinse water, and the first batch of brown sugar praline churned behind the prep counter.
Nyla carried two boxes of waffle cones toward storage while humming along with the music, because my twin had never met an ordinary moment she couldn’t improve with background vocals.
I tied my apron over my blouse and reviewed the production list. Three flavors needed restocking before lunch.
Two wholesale orders were scheduled for pickup.
Our delivery vendor had substituted the wrong chocolate wafers, and somebody had placed the Scoops & Stories reading logs beneath a stack of invoices.
Nothing was on fire.
Monday was already performing above expectations.
Nyla placed her boxes down and studied me. “Why are you smiling at inventory?”
“I’m reviewing inventory.”
“Inventory got locs now?”
I kept my attention on the tablet. “Your observational skills would be better applied to our vanilla bean shortage.”
“My observational skills also noticed you saved the name I gave him.”
That stopped me.
I turned slowly. “You were in my phone?”
“You left it face up. Big Lando lit the whole screen, talking about a pillow.”
“He has concerns.”
Nyla folded her arms. “Don’t act unfamiliar. I named that man before you admitted you liked him.”
“You named him Big Lando because aggravation is your spiritual gift.”
“And you saved it because accuracy matters.”
I started toward the prep station.
She followed.
Of course she did.
“Noli.”
“Whatever you’re about to say, reduce the volume.”
“Absolutely not.” She stepped into my path and looked me over with the shameless concentration only a twin could get away with.
“You ignored half my calls Sunday, spent the night in Self Springs, came home with that man’s shirt, saved my nickname in your phone, and walked in here looking like Monday sent you a written apology. ”
“My phone was practicing healthy boundaries.”
“Your phone was under Big Lando.” I looked at her. Nyla grinned. “So are we gon’ acknowledge that man made it official, or are you planning to pretend I can’t recognize a freshly claimed woman?”
Heat found my face despite my best efforts.
“He asked me to be his woman.”
Nyla slapped the counter. “I knew it!”
“The customers outside did not.”
“They know now.”
I laughed as she caught both my hands. Her excitement was immediate and completely sincere, brightening every feature we shared.
“And you said yes?”
“I said yes.”
“Because you possess common sense?”
“Because I wanted to.”
That changed something in her expression.
“Even better.”
Her thumbs moved over my hands once before she pulled me into a hug. “I’m happy for you, Noli. For real.”
“I know.”
“And I’m proud of you.”
I leaned back enough to look at her. “For getting a boyfriend?”
“For choosing something because you wanted it before you could analyze the life out of it.”
I gave her a look.
“What?” she asked. “That’s progress.”
“Don’t make my relationship sound like an intervention outcome.”
“It was a group effort.”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t.” Mischief returned to her face. “And when that man called you Hershey the first time? Baby, I melted for you.”
My eyes narrowed. “Why were you melting?”
“Because I heard him.” Nyla pressed one hand against her chest. “He didn’t say Hershey like some random nickname because you’re brown and fine. He said it like he’d noticed your sweetness and wasn’t stupid enough to confuse it with weakness.”
That stole my comeback.
Nyla knew it.
Her voice gentled. “I’ve watched men admire you. I’ve watched them want access to you. Big Lando looks at you like knowing you is the privilege.”
My eyes dropped toward our hands.
“I melted too,” I admitted.
Nyla became still.
“The first time he said it, I thought it was ridiculous.” I laughed softly at the memory. “Then he kept saying it, and something about the way he looked at me made it feel like he’d seen the softest part of me and decided to name it.”
“My sister is in love.”
“I did not say that.”
“You ain’t have to.”
“Nyla.”
She hugged me again before I could argue. “You deserve to be loved by somebody who sees how sweet you are without mistaking sweetness for weakness.”
I held her a little tighter.
“Thank you.”
She drew back and immediately ruined the moment.
“So at the wedding, are we singing our duet or hiring somebody?”
“We have been together less than twenty-four hours.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“There is no wedding.”
“Yet.”
“Nyla.”
“I need rehearsal time.”
“Go count spoons.”
“I’m a co-owner.”
“And yet the spoons remain vulnerable.”
She walked away laughing, while I returned to the production list, but the warmth she’d left behind stayed with me. Landon hadn’t transformed my life over one weekend. Crème & Chill still needed inventory. The chocolate wafers were still wrong. Payroll would still exist by afternoon.
I was simply happy.
Apparently, that changed the lighting.
The morning rush arrived before nine and refused to respect Monday’s reputation for restraint.
A day care group showed up early. Two nurses coming off an overnight shift ordered enough coffee-flavored ice cream to suggest caffeine had personally betrayed them, and one father promised his children one topping each before learning that three small people had interpreted the number as a loose theological guideline.
I moved between the counter and prep room, taking orders, replacing pans, answering questions, and stealing occasional glances at the phone tucked inside my apron. I didn’t check Landon’s message until the line thinned near eleven.
Big Lando:
You eat yet, Hershey?
I glanced toward the wrapped breakfast sandwich beside the register.
Me:
I have food.
Big Lando:
That wasn’t my question.
Me:
You’re bossy from another city.
Big Lando:
Nah. Eat, love. Then go back to running your empire.
I stared at the screen.
That was it.
No explanation of why he cared. No paragraph about me deserving nourishment. Just a man who knew me well enough to ask the right question and trusted me to answer it.
I unwrapped the sandwich.
Nyla appeared almost immediately.
“Big Lando made you eat?”
“I made me eat.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Go away.”
“Gladly. Love has already improved workplace compliance.”
I pointed the sandwich toward the front. “Move.”
She left, laughing.
Around noon, one of our wholesale customers arrived early. Jasmine had the order stacked and ready, but instinct still sent me toward the handcart when the left wheel caught near the side entrance.
“I’ve got it, Ms. Nolani.”
“I can help.”
Jasmine looked down at the boxes, then back at me. “You hired me because I can move ice cream without causing structural damage.”
“I hired you because you lied convincingly during the interview.”
“Then let me protect the integrity of the lie.”
I laughed and stepped aside.
“Watch the left wheel.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She maneuvered the cart through the doorway without incident.
I did not follow her.
Across the room, Nyla noticed.
I refused to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.
The lunch crowd brought a family from Self Springs. The parents ordered butter pecan and vanilla bean while their teenage son asked whether we carried anything chocolate enough to repair betrayal.
“Relationship trouble?” I asked.
He looked toward his parents. “They told me we were getting lunch and brought me to a doctor’s appointment.”
His father nodded solemnly. “He was deceived.”
I offered him a sample of midnight chocolate truffle. “This won’t restore trust, but it may support negotiations.”
The boy tasted it and pointed toward the pan. “That one.”
His mother laughed while I prepared the cup. “We’ve been hearing about this place forever. I wish y’all had one closer to us.”
“Where in Self Springs?” Nyla asked.
“Near the west side. Have y’all ever done the Black Excellence Community Festival? It’s Saturday after next. They bring in Black-owned businesses from all over the county.”
I looked toward Nyla.
She looked toward me.
The woman continued, unaware she’d just introduced a new problem into my Monday. “You should apply. Y’all would do well out there, especially with the books.”
Her husband handed Nyla a business card with the festival name printed across the back. “You’d sell out before sunset.”
They carried their cups toward Scoops & Stories.
Nyla closed the register drawer.
“You heard that.”
“I have functioning ears.”
“The festival.”
“Nyla.”
“What?”
“We have customers.”