Sugar & Ink

Chapter One

Josie

I stood behind the counter and looked around Scoop & Swirl, hardly believing it was real.

Six months ago, this place had been an empty shell with faded walls, stained floors, and enough dust to choke a person. Now it looked exactly the way I’d imagined it during all those nights when I’d lain awake staring at the ceiling and wondering if I’d completely lost my mind.

The walls were painted a soft mint green that somehow managed to feel cheerful without being obnoxious.

White tables sat in front of the large windows facing Main Street.

The display freezer gleamed beneath the lights.

String lights framed the windows, and the giant mural of dancing ice cream cones I’d spent three days painting stretched across the back wall.

Every inch of the place felt bright and welcoming.

It felt like mine.

I wrapped my fingers around the edge of the counter and slowly turned my head, taking everything in for what had to be the hundredth time.

Tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, I’d unlock the front door and officially open for business.

People would walk through those doors expecting ice cream, and somehow it would be my job to provide it.

Eight months ago, I would’ve laughed if someone had told me I’d be standing here.

Actually, no.

Eight months ago, I probably would’ve cried.

The divorce had been finalized eight months ago, but it had taken me another two months before I’d been capable of doing much of anything except feeling sorry for myself.

Looking back, I probably deserved those two months.

Finding out your husband had been cheating on you with at least six different women tended to put a damper on a person’s motivation.

At least six.

The number still made me want to roll my eyes.

Every few weeks somebody seemed to uncover another one. At this point I wasn’t sure if the number was six, seven, ten, or twenty.

Not that it mattered.

One would’ve been enough. Bruce hadn’t just cheated. He’d made a damn hobby out of it.

The worst part wasn’t even the cheating itself. It was realizing how much of my life I’d spent making myself smaller for someone who’d never appreciated it in the first place.

Bruce always had plans.

Bruce always had dreams.

Bruce always had hobbies.

If he wanted something, we found a way to make it happen. When I wanted something, suddenly there wasn’t enough money or it wasn’t realistic.

Opening an ice cream shop had always fallen into the unrealistic category.

Every time I brought it up, he’d smile that patronizing smile of his and tell me it was a cute idea.

Cute.

I hated that word.

Cute was what people called ideas they didn’t take seriously. Cute was what people called dreams they expected you to outgrow.

Turns out there was nothing cute about spending six months renovating a building mostly by yourself.

My shoulders still hurt from moving freezers. My knees still hurt from laying tile. And there was definitely nothing cute about balancing budgets and wondering if you were about to spend every penny you’d saved on a dream that might fail.

I looked around the shop again and smiled.

Maybe it would fail. Maybe it wouldn’t.

The shop wasn’t perfect. There were still little things I’d probably change over time.

The menu board would eventually need updating.

I’d probably rearrange the toppings station at least fifty times before I was happy with it.

Right now, there was only me running the place, which meant I would be scooping ice cream, cleaning tables, washing dishes, handling inventory, balancing books, and doing about seventeen other jobs at the same time.

The sudden roar of a motorcycle pulled me from my thoughts.

I glanced toward the front windows just as a black motorcycle rolled down Main Street. The sound echoed off the buildings lining the street before the rider slowed and turned into the parking lot across from Scoop & Swirl.

My gaze followed automatically to the tattoo shop. Bad Habit.

I’d seen the place plenty of times over the last six months, but I’d been so focused on getting my own business ready that I hadn’t paid much attention to who came and went.

The motorcycle came to a stop, and the rider swung off.

And holy hell. I blinked, and then blinked again.

The man was tall. Really tall.

My second was that the man looked like he belonged on the cover of one of those romance novels I saw in the grocery store.

Black boots. Black jeans. Black T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders. He had dark hair, a dark short beard, and dark sunglasses covered his eyes.

The man looked like he owned stock in the color black.

Tattooed arms disappeared beneath his sleeves, and even from across the street I could tell there was a lot more ink hidden beneath his clothes.

He hooked his helmet onto the handlebars and headed toward the tattoo shop without a second glance at the world around him.

Confident.

Comfortable.

Like he knew exactly who he was.

I watched him unlock the door and disappear inside.

A second later I realized I was still staring. “Well, that’s embarrassing,” I muttered.

I immediately looked away even though there wasn’t anybody around to catch me.

Not that it mattered. A guy like that wasn’t looking twice at a woman like me.

I was thirty-six, divorced, and carrying more curves than society generally approved of. And currently wearing paint-splattered leggings I’d owned since before the divorce.

Meanwhile, Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Tattooed looked like he probably had women throwing themselves at him on a regular basis.

The thought should’ve bothered me.

Instead, I found myself smiling. The hot, sexy biker across the street had nothing to do with me. For the first time in a very long time, I wasn’t standing here wondering whether I was enough for somebody else.

I was standing inside a business I owned.

Tomorrow morning, Scoop & Swirl would officially open, and tomorrow was the beginning of the rest of my life.