“Just... can’t... so afraid…”
Genevieve leaned in closer, straining to hear, but the words were muffled and interspersed with watery bouts of crying.
“Hurts... me? Okay, p-promise?”
It hurt Genevieve’s heart to hear Miss Love sounding so vulnerable, but obviously whoever she was talking with on the phone made her feel safer. She seemed to be calming down and anyway, Genevieve had already taken too long; Brandon was waiting, and she needed to get to Sweet Dreams and start her shift.
Feeling thoroughly disconcerted, she lowered her hand and walked away.
CHAPTER THREE
THE NEW KID IN TOWN
Genevieve pulled into the parking spot in front of Sweet Dreams Ice Cream Parlour and spent a few moments just staring at the storefront—its striped pink-and-white awning, the pair of round white tables she remembered painting with her father many years ago bookending the front door, the pink OPEN sign burning a neon welcome in the large picture window. She could see a young mother and a red-headed toddler seated at one of the booths inside, twin smiles of pure childlike pleasure on their faces as they spooned up ice cream from a glass dish.
That was what Sweet Dreams offered, Genevieve thought—a sweet escape from the outside world. It was a place for joy, indulgence, and gratification, a place where you could fold up your worries and tuck them away for a while. Stepping through the doors of Sweet Dreams was like stepping into a little pocket of magic—she’d seen that magic at work on countless customers, visibly brightening their faces and lifting a weight off their shoulders. It worked on her too, and Genevieve knew that once she was inside her shop, she would feel more carefree, light hearted, and ready to give the new guy a chance.
Checking her reflection one last time in the rearview mirror, she applied a fresh layer of Cherry on Top lipstick, brushed mascara over her lashes, and piled her long dark hair on top of her head, securing it under her pink uniform hat. Then she stepped out into the cold afternoon sunshine, smiling brightly at an elderly couple passing by, and tipped a wave toward Hidden Treasures in case Brandon was watching beyond the glare of sun. Finally Genevieve entered her ice cream parlour.
“Hey, pretty!” called Aunt Mellie, appearing around the corner to give her niece a squeeze. She smelled like waffle cones. Genevieve hugged her back.
“Where’s the new guy?” Genevieve asked, looping her mint-green apron over her head and tying it around her waist as she glanced around. Besides the mother and toddler, there were only two other customers in the shop, quietly sharing a banana split in a corner booth. Post-lunch afternoon was their slowest time.
“Oh, he called and said he was running late,” Mellie said, tucking a loose salt-and-pepper curl beneath her hairnet. “He’ll be here by noon.”
Genevieve frowned. “Late on his first day?”
“Now, Genevieve,” Aunt Mellie said lightly, “you go easy on him. We never know what people are dealing with on the inside. It’s best to be charitable and always give them the benefit of the doubt.” She peered at Genevieve in that sharp but friendly way she had. “But you know this, honey. You have a good nature.”
Genevieve smiled. “I suppose so.”
Aunt Mellie had retired from the county after working thirty years as a superior court clerk in Mountain Ridge. She’d relocated to her hometown to be closer to her niece and began helping her brother in his business venture by taking care of cake orders in the mornings and opening the store on weekdays. Her creative confections were famous throughout Pinewood and the surrounding areas; she was particularly known for her extravagant ice cream wedding cakes.
Aunt Mellie waved her to the back of the store. “Come and see what I’ve been working on all morning.”
Genevieve stopped at the time clock to punch in, and then followed Mellie to the kitchen area where her aunt’s latest work of art stood on the stainless-steel worktable. She gasped. “It’s gorgeous!”
Mellie had constructed a beautiful yet simple three-tiered wedding cake with pale blue ribbons, classic white frosting, and a showering of blue roses.
“It turned out quite nice, didn’t it?” Mellie said proudly.
“It’s perfect.” Genevieve glanced at her aunt in admiration. “I think you missed your calling all those years ago.”
“Better that I did. Now I get to discover my true calling while collecting a retirement check. Here, help me with this, honey.”
They carefully boxed up the cake and stored it in the walk-in freezer. Genevieve then helped Mellie clean up the work station until the front door chimed, signaling either a customer or one tardy new employee. It was the former, and Genevieve jumped behind the counter and got to work on her first order of the day—a Buttercream Dream layered sundae, one of her first original recipes and a personal favorite.
She pressed a scoop of yellow cake batter ice cream into a glass dish, plopped a layer of buttercream frosting on top, added a second scoop of ice cream, and completed the decadent confection with a generous helping of hot fudge, a swirl of whipped cream sprinkled with chocolate shavings, and an edible candle topped with a cherry.
“That looks so good I don’t know if I can eat it,” declared the customer, a fortyish-looking woman in yoga pants and a gray sports hoodie.
Genevieve grinned. “We have an Insta-worthy wall right over there,” she said, gesturing to the decorative corner she’d created for social media shares. “And if you tag us @dreamysweets in your post you get ten percent off your next order.”
“Ooh, I like that idea,” the woman exclaimed, pulling out her cell phone. “And I only have to run five more miles to earn the next one.”
Settling into her routine, Genevieve waited on two more customers and had practically forgotten about the new guy until suddenly he was standing before her, looking very out of place in her bright, cheery shop.
Tyler Caivano was a tall, imposing figure, dressed in black jeans, a plain black T-shirt, and clutching his new bubblegum-pink work cap with a white-knuckled fist. Even before taking in his flinty stare and unnerving scowl, it was obvious to Genevieve that he was not looking forward to his first day of work.
Although startled by his appearance, Genevieve quickly recovered and forced a smile she hoped was welcoming.
“You must be Tyler!” she said pertly. “Welcome to Sweet Dreams. I’m Genevieve; my father owns the store.” She extended her hand across the counter and, after a brief hesitation, Tyler released his death grip on the crushed cap and shook her hand firmly.
Following this introduction was a long, awkward moment when Genevieve waited for him to respond, but he remained silent and she again felt a flash of dismay, thinking of how his gloomy presence already seemed to be darkening her ice cream parlour. Then she heard Aunt Mellie’s voice in her mind, lightly chastising her for being so ungenerous. You never know what people are dealing with on the inside.
Maybe he’s just nervous, Genevieve thought charitably. Starting a new job, after all, was never easy. She turned the wattage up on her smile, positively beaming up at him. “Let’s get you acquainted with the shop! First, I’ll show you where you clock in…”
Leading Tyler to the back of the store, she began a breathless summation of the shop’s history as a scrappy start-up to a fixture in downtown Pinewood. “No one served real ice cream in town until we came along,” she declared. “The only kind you could get in Pinewood was soft serve.” She showed him the industrial mixer, the waffle cone maker, and the walk-in freezer. “Usually I’m here by myself until around three,” she explained, “and then Chase comes in for the evening shift and leaves by seven-thirty. If it’s slow, I’ll sometimes go hang out at Hidden Treasures across the street. That’s where my best friend, Brandon, works. His family owns the bookstore. And then I’m back here to close.”
Genevieve knew she was rambling, but Tyler’s silence made her restless. “So I’m used to being by myself for close. But it’s great to have a second person!” she lied, sweeping across the kitchen to see if she’d missed anything and secretly wishing the chimes would ring so they could go out front. Genevieve wasn’t easily intimidated, but nothing unnerved her like quiet people—Brandon being the one exception. If she started babbling around him, he’d just throw something at her and tell her to shut up.
“Anyway,” Genevieve said as she wrapped up the tour, “here’s a menu to take home with you so you can get familiar with the names and recipes.” She handed him a laminated sheet. “Do you have any questions?”
Tyler leaned against the stainless-steel table and fixed her with his dark, penetrating gaze. “Not really,” he said. “Since your dad already gave me this tour once, I think I’m good now.”
Genevieve blushed. “Oh! Why didn’t you say something?”
He raised an eyebrow. “This was my first chance to speak?”
