Epilogue
Months later
By ten minutes after opening, Crème & Chill Self Springs had a line wrapped past the front windows.
A little boy abandoned his mother the second he spotted Scoops & Stories along the far wall.
His sneakers squeaked across the new tile as he ran toward a book with a brown-skinned astronaut on the cover, bypassing the ice cream display entirely.
His mother called after him, received no acknowledgment whatsoever, then looked at me and laughed.
“Well, I guess I know what he came for.”
“Give him five minutes. The smell of waffle cones usually wins eventually.”
It took four.
He returned carrying the book beneath one arm and requesting strawberry shortcake with enough authority to suggest he had personally reviewed our menu before arrival.
His mother ordered butter pecan, and they disappeared toward one of the reading nooks with two cups, one book, and a promise that he could choose another title before they left.
Around them, the shop moved with the confidence of something that already knew it belonged here.
Customers filled walnut tables beneath broad front windows, laughter traveled between the bakery case and dipping cabinet, and sunlight stretched across cream tile before reaching the deep brown shelving that framed Scoops & Stories.
We had carried pieces of Self Ridge into the second location without trying to duplicate it.
The warmth remained, but Self Springs had developed its own rhythm during construction.
More reading nooks. A larger children’s section.
Community tables along the back wall. Space for local schools to post literacy events, tutoring programs, book drives, and student artwork.
One entire shelf belonged to Self Springs authors, and another displayed staff recommendations beneath handwritten cards from children who had already decided adults required help choosing good books.
Above the shelves, raised lettering carried the words Nyla and I had chosen after rejecting twelve other options and nearly falling out over font size.
SCOOPS & STORIES
Something sweet. Something worth remembering.
People had warned me that opening a second location would feel different from the first.
They were right.
What nobody told me was that different didn’t have to mean less mine.
Jasmine moved beside me, filling an order, while Tasha handled the register. When Jasmine reached toward the next stack of cups, my hand started in the same direction before I caught myself and reached for my coffee instead.
Jasmine glanced over.
I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t.”
Her smile widened. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I learned from Ms. Nyla.”
“That is an unsafe educational environment.”
She laughed and returned to the order while I stepped from behind the counter with my coffee.
Nothing collapsed.
Apparently, the competent people we had hired remained competent, even when I gave them enough room to prove it.
Who knew?
“Noli.”
I turned.
Nyla stood near the end of the counter, wearing dark jeans and a Crème & Chill shirt, one hand planted against her hip while the other pointed toward the front entrance.
“What?”
“Look.”
I followed her finger.
The pale-blue housedress caught my attention first, then the woman wearing it.
“Nana?”
She stood just inside the doorway with one hand curled around the strap of her purse, taking in the crowded shop as though she needed a moment to reconcile the place in front of her with the thing I had been talking about for months.
Then her eyes found me.
“There go my baby.”
Everything in me softened.
I crossed the floor fast enough for Nyla to laugh behind me. Nana barely had time to open her arms before I folded into them, inhaling the familiar mixture of powder, perfume, and whatever lotion she had been loyal to longer than I had been alive.
“You came.”
“Course I came. You thought you was gon’ open a whole other business and I’d sit home waiting on somebody to put pictures on that little Facebook?”
I laughed and leaned back. “You could’ve told me.”
“And miss this face doing exactly what it’s doing now? Absolutely not.”
Nyla joined us and kissed Nana’s cheek.
“There my other baby,” Nana said.
Nyla pressed one hand to her chest. “See how she said other? Four minutes of favoritism documented in real time.”
I stared at her. “You have been alive almost forty years and are still litigating four minutes.”
“You started it.”
“I was born first. I had no control over the proceedings.”
“You’ve been acting like you chaired the meeting ever since.”
Nana waved one hand between us. “Both of y’all hush before I remember why I used to separate you.”
I laughed and slipped my arm through hers. “Come see everything.”
She let me guide her through the shop, stopping twice because people recognized enough resemblance between the three of us to decide conversation was required.
Nana handled both encounters like she had personally financed the building.
By the time we reached Scoops & Stories, she had accepted congratulations from strangers, told one woman where I got my eyes, and informed another that Nyla had always been the loud one.
Nyla disputed none of it.
Nana’s steps slowed as we entered the reading section.
Children sat beneath the windows with books open across their laps. A mother read aloud to two little girls in matching braids. One boy lay on his stomach with his shoes swinging behind him while he studied a graphic novel, his cup of chocolate ice cream forgotten on the table beside him.
Nana became still.
“You brought the books too.”
“Of course.”
“I know. Wanted to hear you say it.”
Something tightened pleasantly behind my ribs. “This part was never optional.”
“I know that too.”
Her attention traveled over the shelves before returning to me. Moisture gathered beneath her eyes.
“Nana.”
“I got allergies.”
“You do not.”
“This city got different pollen.” I smiled and leaned my head against hers. She touched my cheek. “You took that trip and came back with more than you left with.”
The sentence settled somewhere deeper than business.
Months earlier, Self Springs had existed mostly as mileage in my mind.
A place on the other side of a drive I had not expected to make repeatedly.
Then it became Landon’s city. His family.
His work. A bookstore. A cabin. A festival.
A place where people had tasted what Nyla and I built and asked when we were coming back.
Now I was standing inside the answer.
“Yeah.”
Nana squeezed my hand. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you.”
“And before you start turning my compliment into some lesson about this building, I ain’t talking about the store.”
My throat tightened.
Of course she wasn’t.
“I know.”
“Good. Now where the butter pecan? I rode all this way. I’m not about to stand around hungry while you get sentimental.”
I laughed and led her toward the counter. “That sounds more like you.”
“I been me the whole time. You the one been traveling.”
We had barely reached the dipping cabinet when another familiar voice entered behind us.
“Damn, Coco. I drove all this way and I’m already getting ignored?”
Nyla closed her eyes.
I turned.
Malcolm walked through the front door wearing jeans, sneakers, and a black T-shirt that fit his shoulders with entirely too much confidence. He looked around the shop once, spotted Nyla, and headed directly toward her without bothering to pretend the ice cream had anything to do with his arrival.
Nana followed my attention. “Who that?”
“Trouble.”
Nyla pointed at me. “Don’t.”
“I was answering Nana.”
Malcolm reached the counter.
Nyla folded her arms. “You live in Self Springs.”
“Still drove.”
“Seven minutes.”
“Traffic was emotionally difficult.”
Nana laughed before I did.
Malcolm looked toward her. “See? Somebody appreciates sacrifice.”
Nana gave him a slow once-over. “You Malcolm?”
His brows lifted. “My reputation preceded me?”
“Nyla mentioned you.”
Nyla’s head snapped around. “Nana!”
“Oh, hush. You said some man from the festival kept bothering you.”
Malcolm pressed one hand against his chest. “Bothering sounds hostile.”
“You call her Coco?”
“I do.”
“Why?”
Malcolm glanced at Nyla, and some of his grin softened. “Still figuring that out.”
Nana nodded as though the answer satisfied her more than it should have. “I like him.”
“Nana.”
“What?”
“You’ve known him twenty seconds.”
“And?”
Malcolm grinned. “Thank you.”
“Don’t encourage him,” Nyla warned.
He looked at her. “You look good today.”
She stared.
“You lasted almost thirty seconds.”
“I’m improving.”
“Did it hurt?”
“Bad.”
Nana laughed again.
I leaned toward her. “You see why I said trouble?”
“I see why your sister keep answering him.”
“Nana!”
I nearly choked.
Malcolm looked far too pleased with himself.
Nyla pointed toward the menu. “Buy something or move.”
“Brown sugar praline.”
“You already know you like that.”
“Exactly. I’m loyal.”
“That sounds convenient.”
“I can be loyal and convenient.”
“You can also pay.”
He tapped his phone against the reader without losing eye contact.
I stepped away.
Malcolm and Nyla had enough chemistry to power the refrigeration system.
Their problems could wait for their own story.
By noon, Nana had somehow acquired three children at one of the community tables and was listening to a seven-year-old explain why mermaids would obviously choose strawberry ice cream over vanilla because the ocean already had enough plain things in it.
Nana nodded solemnly. “That makes sense.”
It did not.
Nobody told him.
The front door opened again.
This time, Mama Brooks walked through first.
I smiled immediately.
Warren Brooks followed with a bakery box tucked beneath one arm while Lennox came in behind them looking around as though somebody had invited him to conduct an inspection.
“Mama Brooks.”
Her entire face brightened. “There she go.”
I crossed toward them and accepted her hug.
“You made it.”
“Wouldn’t miss this, baby.”
Warren kissed my cheek. “Congratulations, Nolani.”
“Thank you, Mr. Brooks.”