Chapter Three
Josie
The bell above the door hadn’t stopped ringing since ten o’clock.
At first, I’d jumped every time it chimed. By noon, it had blended into the noise of kids laughing, people talking, and the steady hum of the freezers behind me.
I couldn’t stop smiling.
Not because I wasn’t exhausted, I was. My feet hurt, my cheeks hurt, and there was chocolate syrup on the front of my mint-green apron that I was pretending not to notice.
But people had come.
They’d actually come.
The line had stretched to the door at one point. Mrs. Patterson from the bank ordered two scoops of strawberry cheesecake. The high school baseball team piled in after lunch and nearly cleaned me out of cookie dough.
I had spent six months worrying nobody would show up. Instead, I was worried I might run out of waffle cones. That seemed like a better problem to have.
I scooped mint chocolate chip into a cup and slid it across the counter to a little girl wearing pink overalls. “Extra sprinkles?” I asked.
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
I leaned in conspiratorially. “Don’t tell your mom.”
The girl grinned.
Her mom laughed. “I heard that.”
I shrugged. “No proof.”
A few minutes later, the shop finally cleared out.
I braced my hands on the counter and let out a breath. The silence felt strange after hours of nonstop noise. I glanced at the clock and saw it was three thirty.
I hadn’t eaten lunch. Or sat down or gone to the bathroom.
I snorted. Apparently, business ownership was glamorous.
The bell over the door rang and I looked up automatically. And froze.
The man from across the street walked in. The sunglasses he’d worn yesterday hung from the collar of his shirt, giving me my first unobstructed look at his face.
Dark eyes. Strong jaw. A short beard that looked intentionally scruffy. He was unfairly attractive.
I hated that I noticed that.
His gaze swept the shop before landing on me.
I straightened instinctively, which was ridiculous. I was thirty-six years old and divorced. I should not suddenly care what a younger-than-me tattooed stranger thought about me.
Yet here we were.
He walked up to the counter with an easy confidence that made me think he was comfortable anywhere he went. “Looks like opening day went okay,” he said. His voice was deep. Not growly. Not sexy in some over-the-top movie way. Just deep enough for me to notice it. Boy, did I notice.
I looked toward the empty tables. “Depends on your definition of okay.”
One corner of his mouth lifted.
I gestured to myself. “I’ve been here for five and a half hours. I’ve spilled caramel on myself twice, chocolate syrup once, and I still haven’t eaten lunch.”
His eyes flicked to the stain on my apron. “Looks like you’ve got some room for some strawberry sauce right there.”
I looked down. “Yeah, I’m sure I’ll make that happen by the time I close up for the night.”
“Always good to have goals,” he chuckled.
I was done making a fool of myself in front of this handsome man. I shook my head, smiling despite myself. “So, Mr. Motorcycle, what can I get you?”
He glanced up at the menu, then back at me. “What’s your favorite?”
I blinked. “You want me to decide?”
“You’re the expert.”
“That’s a lot of pressure.”
“I believe in you.”
I snorted.
The man was funny. That was unexpected.
I studied him for a moment. “You strike me as a chocolate guy.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
I shrugged. “Because you look like you listen to angry music and brood.”
His eyebrows shot up. “I don’t brood.”
“You absolutely brood.”
“You’ve known me for thirty seconds.”
“And I already know you brood.”
He chuckled.
I pointed at him. “Double chocolate fudge.”
“That sounds aggressive.”
“It is.”
“Perfect,” he smirked.
I scooped two generous portions into a waffle cone bowl. Extra fudge drizzle and a sprinkle of chocolate shavings. Then I slid it across the counter.
He looked down at it and then at me. “That looks good.”
“I take all ice cream seriously. I’m not going to serve you some geriatric looking chocolate ice cream and call is double chocolate fudge.”
“I can respect that.” He picked up the spoon and took a bite. His eyebrows lifted slightly and then he took another bite.
A smile tugged at my mouth. “You like it.”
“I’m deciding.”
“You do.”
“Maybe.”
“You just took a second bite.”
He paused and looked down at the bowl. Then immediately took a third bite.
I laughed.
His expression remained perfectly serious. “This proves nothing.”
“You’re on bite three.”
“I was hungry.” He took another bite.
“Bite four.”
He glared at me.
I grinned.
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward, which was weird. I didn’t do comfortable with strange men. Especially not men who looked like they belonged on magazine covers.
He glanced around the shop. “You did all this yourself?”
I nodded. “Mostly.”
His gaze moved over the mural. The lights. The tables. The display freezer. “It looks good.”
Simple words.
No fanfare.
No fake enthusiasm.
And somehow they meant more because of it.
“Thanks.” I glanced around. “I was terrified nobody would come.”
“They came.”
“They did.”
“Proud of yourself?”
The question caught me off guard.
I looked around Scoop & Swirl and a smile spread across my face. “Yeah,” I admitted. “I am.”
He nodded, and then he scraped up the last bite of ice cream. Apparently, I’d been talking long enough for him to finish the whole thing.
He set the spoon down. “I should get back.”
I blinked. Right. Of course.
He turned toward the door, then stopped. “I’m Rome. I own Bad Habit across the street.”
The name fit him. Of course it did.
“Josie.”
“I know.”
I frowned. “You do?”
He jerked his chin toward the giant banner hanging in the front window.
GRAND OPENING
SCOOP & SWIRL
OWNER: JOSIE JENSEN
Heat crept up my neck. “Oh.”
“I can read.”
I rolled my eyes. “Smartass.”
A grin tugged at his mouth. “I’ll see you around, Josie Jensen.” Then he pushed through the door and headed across the street.
I watched him disappear into Bad Habit, then I looked down at the empty bowl he’d left behind with a twenty-dollar bill under it.
And for some reason I couldn’t stop smiling, which was ridiculous.
Rome was attractive, and funny, and tattooed, and clearly not interested in anything beyond ice cream.
That was fine.
More than fine.
I wasn’t looking for anything. Not after Bruce and not after the divorce.
Not after finally building a life that belonged to me. As I grabbed the bowl and headed for the sink, I found myself glancing out the window toward Bad Habit.
That was a bad habit I was going to break.