Page 2 of The Deal Maker

"We'll be fine. Besides, if we need help, I'm sure your boyfriend would be happy to pitch in." I give Hope a knowing look.

It's a running joke between me and Hope that her boyfriend, Jason, will do anything for her. They met on a blind date a year ago. To be honest, I'm surprised they haven't moved onto the next step of life yet, you know, the move in together or get married.

I hope she’s not sticking around for my sake. Hope deserves to be happy.

Lately I can feel myself changing. I’m not so closed off to the idea of dating or relationships and my oath to be single for the rest of my days doesn’t have the same punch to it that it once did. Maybe it’s having to see the PDA from Hope and Jason that makes me wish I had that again. But will I be able to tell if he’s a total scumbag when I start to like a guy?

My track record at finding someone who’s halfway decent and won’t cheat on me with the nearest available gal kind of sinks that whole feeling. Is there somewhere I need to go to get my man radar fixed?

I unlock the front door and wave to two small children waiting there with a woman who’s on her phone. She lets them loose and they just start opening bins and taking out pieces of candy, stuffing them into their mouths like this is the first meal they’ve had in days. Hope is busy getting things ready by the ice cream station, so it looks like it's up to me to intervene.

I grab two bags and walk over, smiling widely. "Hey guys, what are your favorite types of candy?”

The little girl smiles at me with a mouthful of gummy something.

“Bears,” she says, opening her hand to reveal a few pieces of candy. Some of the colors have rubbed off onto her skin.

"Let me help you," I say, handing each of them a bag. If their hands are full, they shouldn't be able to grab at the candy. The woman is tapping furiously on her phone, and while I want to call her out for not helping the kids, I'm also trying to think of the reputation of our business. We don’t want one-star reviews posted everywhere.

But is she playing a game? I see the screen as I walk by and am surprised by the colored candies on the screen. Candy Crush? I can understand getting a little attached to the game, since I was once upon a time. But rein it in while in public.

Play the real life game while in our store. Maybe we should’ve called the store Candy Crush. I didn’t want to deal with the legal part of it though.

I follow the kids around, asking what they want in the bags. I show them how to use the scooper or the tongs to put a bit in at a time. By the time they’re done, the bags are bulging, probably close to the two-pounder mark. Each. It's going to cost a pretty penny for them.

Okay, we’re not that expensive. Candy was a luxury growing up and my six-year-old self would’ve loved to pick out this much at one time.

"If you'll just follow me, we'll ring you up for the candy," I say loud enough that I hope the woman will hear. She doesn't budge.

I look down at the children and say, "Will you let your mom know we can check out now?"

The little boy shakes his head. "That's not our mom. It's our aunt."

"Aunt Lina," the girl says, "We need to pay."

The woman finally glances up from her phone and stares at us, like she was in a trance and has to remember why she’s here.

Holding up the bags, I say, “The kids are ready to pay.”

She nods and says, “Oh, wow. Your mom is going to kill me for letting you get that much sugar.”

“But that’s why you’re the best aunt ever. You spoil us with all the good things.” The boy grins, showing off a sizable gap where his front tooth should’ve been.

I walk over and put the bags on the scale, ringing up the total. Lina pulls out a credit card, handing it over even before I've totaled the purchase.

It's weird that my gut reaction is to worry about people paying, but I forget there are people in the world who don't teach a lesson with each interaction. My parents are the king and queen of life teaching, and this much candy would never happenat my house growing up. Or houses. The disadvantage of being a child of divorce.

While I love them, I think selling candy is a mild rebellion of what they wanted for me. Okay, more like the spicy on the hot sauce scale. As women, we had to “keep the waistline slim” was what my mother always said. She lived along the lines of being an almond mom, where just a small handful of something would satisfy her hunger.

Maturing is realizing that life can be enjoyed through balance and not having to deprive myself of things. I should get a certificate for learning that one. Maybe an adult badge? That would be something to sell in the store. Stickers would work too.

Lina and the two children leave and I watch them go, surprised to see a group of people right outside our store.

"What's going on?" Taking a few steps around the counter, I try to figure out why there are so many people staring at the shop.

"What do you mean?" Hope asks, turning to look out the window. "Wow, that's a lot of people."

I don't recognize anyone, but I'm not even sure they'll be coming into the store. That would be amazing if they did. If everyone ordered a single scoop of ice cream on this humid summer morning, we'd hit our sales goal super early.

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