Page 100 of Revelry
I’d only ever made my ice cream for friends and family, never strangers and while people’s opinions usually didn’t bother me, I was panicking big time.
Ice cream was a passion of mine, it was part of me and personal. Letting strangers try it was like letting them critique me personally. Every time I thought about it, I got stupid Gary’s stupid face in my mind, laughing at me and my silly ambitions.
This was silly, why was I even doing this? Other than to help out Kat and the ranch, that is. Who did I think I was? Some ice cream connoisseur? No, I was just little old Gertie who liked to play around with it. I had no formal training, no fancy equipment, I didn’t even have enough freezer space, for crying out loud. Not to mention I now had a lot less as the batchesI made with the ambition to take to the ranch to freeze, didn’t set properly. Because they weren’t in the freezer long enough. Because Tate made me come three times and that takes time and dedication. I shivered thinking about it and squeezed my thighs together, trying to alleviate the ache that was somehow still there despite three orgasms less than twelve hours ago.
Tate’s gaze strayed from the road and roved over me.
“Stop it, unless you want to pull the truck over,” I groaned.
“Don’t tempt me,” he rumbled.
He’d also been strangely quiet today. His expression drawn in like he had something on his mind. I thought it was to do with me but every time I spoke to him, he was fine.
“Will you save me some?” He interrupted my thoughts.
“Sorry?”
“Ice cream? Will you save me some? I know it’ll sell out quick and I don’t want to miss out.”
I snorted. “I like your faith in my abilities.”
He took his gaze from the road for a moment to frown at me. “Of course I have faith in your abilities. More importantly, why don’t you?”
I shifted uncomfortably.
He pushed. “Why, Gertrude?”
“Why what?”
“Why don’t you believe in yourself?”
I pursed my lips, not wanting to have this discussion when I was already stressed. It would just make me feel worse. “Let’s not talk about this now.”
He shook his head. “Oh no. You’re about to go out there and sell your amazing ice cream and people are going to want to know how they can get more, so what are you going to tell them?”
I glanced at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
“When are you going to start your ice cream business?”
I scoffed. “I’m not. I don’t have that kind of money and I don’t—”
“You can get a loan from the bank for a start-up,” he interrupted. “What’s your next reason?”
“I don’t appreciate this,” I spluttered.
“Well, that’s just too damn bad. Now you know how I felt when you started forcing your way into my life, trying to give me a stickectomy.”
I laughed. “But look how well that turned out!”
He turned his hot stare on me. “Exactly.”
My mouth dried at the heat in his eyes, the sincerity and depth to that one word.
“It’s about time someone started backing you, sugar, and I’m sorry to tell you that that someone is going to be me. Don’t you want to be living your dream?” I think this was the most passionate I’d seen him outside of the bedroom and it sparked a tiny flame of hope.
“Living my dream?”
“Yes. You’re so passionate about it. When I watched you yesterday, I was so blown away by you. The enthusiasm and the surety with which you created the flavors. That you weren’t afraid to get something wrong and you kept going until you achieved perfection. It was very inspiring.” His thumb stroked over my knee the entire time, like he was soothing me.
