Epilogue #3
The last customers waved through the glass while staff consolidated inventory and straightened chairs.
Ms. Greene had completed two story hours instead of one and left with a list of dates for future Saturdays.
Mama Brooks had taken home two pints of butter pecan.
Lennox had unsuccessfully attempted to negotiate family pricing.
Warren had quietly paid full price for everything Lennox tried to add to their bag.
Nyla locked the front door while Malcolm carried a box toward storage.
Still here.
Of course.
When he returned, he stopped in front of her.
“You ready?”
“For what?”
“To leave.”
“I have a car.”
“I know.”
“And functioning legs.”
“I noticed.”
“Then why are you asking like you responsible for transportation?”
“I ain’t. But I can carry that.”
His attention dropped toward the box beside her.
Nyla looked down.
Then at him.
“I can carry it.”
“I know.”
Malcolm waited.
No reaching for it before she answered.
Nyla finally nudged the box toward him with one foot.
“You can carry that.”
His grin appeared.
“That’s what I’m talking about.”
“Say one more thing, and you can put it back down.”
“My fault, Coco.”
She narrowed her eyes.
He picked up the box.
Nyla headed toward the door, then turned toward me.
“Alarm is already set for night mode. Jasmine has morning. And don’t come up here at six.”
“Nyla, go home.”
She smiled, then looked at Landon.
“Keep her out of here before nine.”
Landon lifted both hands. “That ain’t my assignment. I can influence conditions, though.”
“Good enough.”
Malcolm opened the door for Nyla.
She stopped.
“Don’t get used to that.”
“I open doors for everybody.”
“That wasn’t what I meant.”
“I know.”
She stared at him, then walked outside.
Malcolm looked toward me. “Good night, Hershey.”
“Good night, Malcolm.”
He nodded toward Landon. “Big Dawg.”
“Drive safe.”
Malcolm stepped outside.
Through the glass, Nyla immediately said something that made him laugh. He shifted the box beneath one arm while she used both hands to explain whatever complaint had already developed.
I watched them walk toward the parking lot.
Then turned away.
Their story could wait for them.
Mine was standing beside Scoops & Stories with my new book in his hand.
“You ready?” Landon asked.
“Not yet.” His brows lifted. I pointed toward the pair of wide, low reading chairs tucked beside the far window. “Sit.”
“Bossy.”
“Persistent.”
“That’s my girl.”
Landon settled into one chair while I disappeared into the back. When I returned with his private pint and two spoons, I lowered myself into the matching chair beside his, turned sideways, and stretched both legs across his thighs.
His hands settled automatically around my calves before his attention dropped to the second spoon.
“Hershey.”
“What?”
“That second spoon for you?”
“Yes.”
He looked at the label.
Then at me.
“This is my ice cream.”
“I’m aware.”
“You have an entire company full of flavors.”
“And tonight, I want yours.”
His face changed.
Just enough.
“Well, shit.”
I laughed. “What?”
Landon opened the pint but kept looking at me.
“You said that entirely too casually.”
“I said I want some ice cream.”
“Nah, love. You said you want mine. Language matters.”
“Of course you’d find a dissertation in dessert.”
“I’m not writing a dissertation. I’m appreciating favorable wording.”
I took one of the spoons from his hand and dipped it into the pint.
His eyes followed the entire theft.
“Bold.”
“Management privilege.”
“That sounds corrupt.”
“It probably is.”
I ate the bite anyway.
Landon shook his head, but one hand remained curled loosely around my calf while the other held the pint.
“Good?”
“Very.”
He stared.
I smiled.
“Oh, you hate when I steal that answer too.”
“Baby, at this point, you stealing my vocabulary, my shirts, my fries, my side of the bed, and now my ice cream.”
“You have survived every incident.”
“Barely.”
I dipped my spoon toward the pint again.
This time, Landon caught my wrist before I reached it.
I looked at his hand.
Then at him.
“You planning to defend frozen dairy with force?”
“Nah.” He released me immediately, scooped a bite himself, and brought it toward my mouth. “Open.”
I did.
His eyes stayed on mine while I ate.
When the spoon lowered, I smiled.
“So now I’m allowed?”
Landon rested the pint between us.
“Hershey, you can have whatever’s mine.”
My smile faded.
The sentence had not sounded rehearsed.
That made it reach further.
“That sounds broader than ice cream.”
“It was.”
I looked at him.
He held my eyes without softening the meaning or covering it with another joke.
Months earlier, I might have inspected the words until I found something to fear.
Tonight, I leaned closer across the narrow space between our chairs.
“I like being yours.”
Something moved across his face.
“And I like being yours too, baby.”
I kissed him softly.
When I pulled away, our foreheads rested together for a moment before I settled back into my chair, my legs still draped across his lap.
“You’ve gotten slicker.”
“Nah. Just more comfortable being yours.”
There went my heart again.
I took another bite of his ice cream because my mouth needed an assignment.
Landon laughed.
“See? Emotional avoidance through dairy.”
“Keep talking, and I’ll eat the whole pint.”
“You wouldn’t.”
I took an aggressively large spoonful.
His eyes widened.
“Hershey.”
I laughed so hard I nearly lost the bite.
He shook his head and shifted my legs more comfortably across his thighs, one hand settling over my shin.
“Terrible woman.”
“Your woman.”