9. Nolani #4
Crème & Chill had been selected as a featured dessert vendor. The committee had granted us a larger booth than we’d requested after reviewing Scoops & Stories and invited us to include a literacy component.
I looked toward the screen.
“We got in!” Landon’s celebration arrived immediately. “Aye!”
He clapped once and leaned toward the camera, looking absurdly proud for somebody who had contributed absolutely nothing to the application.
I laughed. “We got in?”
He stopped himself. “You got in. I’m emotionally affiliated.”
“Corporate boundaries?”
“Respecting them beautifully.”
“Good.”
“Congratulations, love.”
The laughter faded enough for the moment to reach me.
“They saw Scoops & Stories.”
“What they say?”
“They want us to include it if we’re interested.”
“That sounds like they understood what y’all built.”
My eyes moved back to the email.
That was exactly what mattered.
They hadn’t reduced Crème & Chill to ice cream. They had noticed the books. The children. The part of our vision that believed sweetness and story could belong beneath the same roof.
“I think they did.”
Landon picked up another piece of sushi. “So what you want?”
I looked at him. “What?”
“You heard me.”
I looked down at the email again. Staffing, transportation, equipment, inventory, weather, and every other practical concern waited exactly where they belonged.
But they weren’t first.
Excitement was.
“I want to go.” Landon smiled. “I want the reduced menu. I want Scoops & Stories there. I want to see how Self Springs responds to us when we bring what we built into their community.”
“Aight.”
I blinked. “That’s all?”
“What you want, fireworks?”
“A little enthusiasm would be appropriate.”
He put his chopsticks down. “Baby, I’m trying not to celebrate harder than you. This your moment.” That shut me up. “You want the pop-up?”
“Yes.”
“Then hell yeah, Hershey. Bring Crème & Chill to Self Springs.”
I laughed.
My hand moved toward the trackpad.
Then stopped.
Landon noticed.
“What happened?”
“Logistics became real.”
“Yep.”
“Inventory. Equipment. Staffing.”
“Also yep.”
“Potential disaster.”
“Potential sellout.”
I gave him a look.
“What?” he asked. “Both available.” I exhaled. “You want me to talk you into it?”
“No.”
“Talk you out of it?”
“No.”
“Sit here while you decide?”
That answer came easily.
“Yes.”
“Aight, love.”
He picked up his sushi.
That was all.
I reread the email while Landon ate dinner on my screen. No persuasive speech. No reminder that the event happened in his city. No explanation of what accepting could mean for our relationship.
He simply stayed.
My fingers returned to the keyboard.
I typed.
Crème & Chill would be honored to participate. Please consider this our official confirmation. We’d also love to incorporate Scoops & Stories into our booth and provide a children’s literacy giveaway.
I read it twice, then hit send.
My stomach fluttered.
“You good?” Landon asked.
I checked.
“Yes.”
“Regret it?”
“No.”
His expression softened with satisfaction. “Then congratulations.”
I closed the laptop.
“We’re doing a pop-up in Self Springs.”
“You are.”
“You’ll come see me?”
Landon stared at me as though I’d asked whether he planned to continue breathing.
“Hershey.”
“What?”
“I’m gon’ have to actively remind myself other people exist.”
Heat found my face.
“That sounds inconvenient for the youth clinic.”
“I said remind myself. I ain’t abandoning children.”
“Good.”
“But once I handle what I’m responsible for, I’m finding you.”
“You make that sound ominous.”
“It’s romantic.”
“Debatable.”
He leaned closer to the camera.
“Nah, love. You’ll feel me looking at you before you find me.”
A shiver moved over my skin.
“That sounds arrogant.”
“That sounds like your man knowing exactly where his attention belongs.”
I lowered my eyes toward dinner because looking at him had become unnecessarily difficult.
He laughed softly.
“You pleased with yourself?”
“Extremely.”
“Of course.”
“And Hershey?”
I looked back. “Yeah?”
“I’m proud of you.”
That one reached differently.
Not because he’d helped me choose.
Because he hadn’t.
“Thank you, baby.”
His eyes changed at the name.
Still.
After all these days.
I smiled. “You still reacting to that?”
“Plan to forever.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“That’s commitment.”
“We have been together four days.”
“And performance remains excellent.”
I laughed and lifted my chopsticks.
“Eat your sushi, Big Lando.”
“As you wish, love.”
We returned to dinner while the acceptance email sat open beside me.
Saturday no longer belonged to an abstract possibility.
It had a booth assignment, a menu to build, books to pack, a twin who would undoubtedly overprepare, and a man somewhere in Self Springs already promising I’d feel his attention before I found him.
I still didn’t know whether Crème & Chill would ever belong permanently in his city.
I didn’t need to.
For now, I wanted one Saturday.
One pop-up.
One chance to bring something I loved into the place that held somebody I was beginning to love just as deeply.
And for once, the possibility of what came next didn’t need an answer before I could enjoy what was already on its way.