How did people not get this flavor?
Aunt Mellie walked in from the kitchen just as she was adding the final scoop and pointedly looked around the empty shop.
“Funny, I don’t see any customers here,” she teased.
Genevieve nodded soberly. “Unfortunately, someone has to test all of these flavors and I’m afraid that duty falls to me.” They laughed together and Genevieve joined Mellie in the back, eating her ice cream while her aunt buttoned up her coat and wrapped a scarf around her neck. They chatted briefly about the cake orders Mellie had lined up for the week, including a mermaid princess cake for one of Charlotte’s best friend’s birthdays.
Mellie hugged her before leaving. “It’s good to see you smile again, honey.”
“It feels good to smile again,” Genevieve said. She twisted her long hair into a ponytail and threaded it through her cap, then tied her apron on.
It was the final week of September and the weather was unseasonably cold—the usual clear, sunny skies of Pinewood had darkened to gray, and wispy storm clouds swelled with rain by late afternoon. Genevieve disliked the rain—she thrived on sunshine—but it was Brandon’s favorite kind of weather. She pictured him in Hidden Treasures—knowing he was propped up at his desk, with a book, occasionally pushing his glasses up on his nose and peering out the window, waiting for the storm.
She grabbed her bottle of window cleaner, strode to the glass door of her deserted shop, and stared across the street. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, and then she laughed out loud. Great minds, she thought. Brandon had emerged from the bookshop, a beanie on his head and two steaming mugs in his hands. He paused as a car drove down 5th Street, then looked up and saw her watching him. He grinned and crossed the street just as an enormous crack of thunder split the sky and the first raindrops began to patter down.
“Is it dead over there, too?” Genevieve asked once she’d opened the door for him. He brought with him the rich smell of hot chocolate and the earthy scent of rain.
Brandon handed her one of the steaming mugs and shrugged. “It’s been a bit steady with the Monday afternoon book clubs, but Dad can handle it. I thought I’d come hang out with my best friend; I know how much you hate the rain.”
They sat at one of the booths by the front door. Brandon yanked his beanie off and his hair crackled and frizzed. Genevieve snickered. She grabbed a notebook and, while the rain poured down in sheets, they tossed around ideas for the fall flavors that would start next week.
“What was that one you guys did last year?” Brandon sipped his hot chocolate and frowned in thought. “The one with the edible googly eyes and gummy worms for guts?”
Genevieve flipped open her notebook. “That was the Monster Mash.”
“It was honestly kind of gross.”
She gaped at him. “The kids loved it! That was our most popular flavor!”
“Kids are kind of gross.”
“What?! Kids are awesome! You have a kid sister!”
“Exactly. How do you think I got talked into trying that abomination?”
Genevieve waved her hand at him dismissively and turned back to her notebook. “Charlotte has far better taste than you, that’s all.”
“Fine. Do the Monster Mash.” He paused and then snickered at his words. “What else?”
“Something pumpkin flavored—”
Brandon groaned. “Not pumpkin spice,” he said irritably. “I get so sick of making pumpkin spice lattes.”
Genevieve looked up, offended. “Don’t insult me. I wouldn’t think of being so cliche.” She thought for a moment. “I was actually thinking—”
“How about something gingerbread flavored?”
“That’s Christmas, loser.”
“It can be a fall flavor, too!” He reached determinedly for the notebook but she snatched it away.
“You’re hopeless,” she said, shaking her head. “I always do Gingerbread House for December, remember? Soft chunks of gingerbread cookie with crunchy bits of peppermint candy cane—ooh, that sounds good right now. Anyway, for October it has to be pumpkin, but not pumpkin spice. How about...” she tapped her pencil on the pad of paper. “Aha! I know. How about Pumpkin Pecan Pie?”
Brandon considered. “Will there be a nut-free option for those of us who don’t believe in ruining our desserts with dried-up fruit?”
She rolled her eyes. “Fine.”
The door chimed and they both looked up. “Hey, man,” Brandon said, getting to his feet and shaking the newcomer’s hand. He looked vaguely familiar but Genevieve couldn’t quite place him. She rose and smiled quizzically.
“Genevieve, long time, no see.” The boy grinned, flipping back the hood on his jacket. He had dirty blonde hair, about a billion freckles on his face, and a very familiar voice.
“Genevieve, you remember Dillon?” Brandon said, rescuing her. “Hacker extraordinaire?”
“Oh!” She did a double take. The last time she’d seen Dillon, he’d been a full foot shorter, and... “You’re wearing pants!” she exclaimed.
Dillon raised an eyebrow and looked down at his jeans. “Huh. You’re right, I remembered to put them on today. Usually I skip the whole getting dressed thing, but on the rare occasion I leave the house—”
Brandon was howling. “Nah, man, she’s talking about middle school, remember? When you refused to wear anything but shorts, even when it was the middle of winter?”
“Oh, right,” Dillon said, chuckling. “Boy, I was weird.”
“Was,” Brandon said to Genevieve, using air quotes. She smiled.
“Anyway, it’s nice to see you, Dillon,” she said. “Thanks again for your help with—”
“No problem, no problem,” he cut her off pointedly.
“I take it you came in for your payment?” she said, waving him toward the counter. Dillon pulled off his gloves and blew into his hands, then rubbed them vigorously together.
