Page 170 of Dove
“Why the hell not? We’re adults.”
I smiled, laughing. “Hell yeah, we are. Ice cream for dinner it is.”
"Want to go grab it while I clean up?” she suggested. “I should be done by the time you get back.”
I agreed easily, the bell chiming overhead as I made my way outside.
Betty’s salon was just a block or two off Main Street, where most of the shops in Haven were clustered. It was the busiest part of town, more densely packed with businesses and homes. The farther you ventured out, the farther apart the houses became, farmland sprawling for miles until you eventually reached the city.
The walk down to The Local Scoop, a small ice cream parlor that boasted handmade ice cream, was barely a five-minute walk. I enjoyed the fresh air, the breeze picking up enough to run its invisible fingers through my hair, shifting it around my shoulders as I walked down the sidewalk. After a few minutes I turned a corner and saw the wooden hanging sign that was shaped like an ice cream scooper.
It was a cute little shop with a covered porch sporting iron bistro-style tables and chairs to sit and enjoy your dessert. As I rounded the porch, making my way to the steps that led up towards the entrance, my good mood soured. Huddled in the far corner with dishes of kiddie sized scoops of ice cream in front of them was Stella and her best friend from high school, Darla.
Our eyes locked briefly as I climbed the steps. Their voices grew hushed the closer I got, making me believe, however farfetched, that they’d been discussing me. Ignoring them, I crossed the porch until the cool metal of the door handle hit my palm and I was entering the store. The chill of the parlor was sweet relief on my heated skin.
There was a short line consisting of a few kids with their parents, and as the younger ones took their time picking out flavors, I inhaled the sweet, sugary air, willing myself to relax. They hadn’t been talking about me, there was no reason they would be.
I repeated that until it was my turn to order.
Reverie hadn’t asked for anything in particular, so I went with her tried and true.
“Can I get two scoops of mint chocolate chip,” I politely asked the teen behind the counter who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else than here, scooping ice cream while wearing an outfit that made him look like an extra fromStranger Things.“And two scoops of cookie dough.”
“Dish or cone?” he asked on autopilot, his voice a monotonous drone.
“Both in dishes, please.”
He nodded, making the paper sailor hat on his head wobble precariously and I pursed my lips to hold in a chuckle.
When he slid the full dishes across the counter, I paid, telling him to keep the change.
He brightened. “Thanks.”
I smiled, grabbing our ice cream. “Have a good day.”
“You, too. Next!”
Another wave of people had come in, making me dodge the kids bouncing around excitedly, chattering about all the flavors they wanted to try. I thanked the gentleman that held the door open for me and walked across the porch. But as my foot hit the top step, I froze.
“Have you heard? It’s awful,” came her artificially sweet voice, pitched louder in a clear effort to make sure I heard her. And I did, heart leaping in my throat and palms instantly growing sweaty in anticipation of what she was going to say next.
Did she know?
“That farm has been in his family for generations. It’s such a shame.”
I willed myself not to turn around, but I couldn’t leave, either. Rooted in place, it was as if my feet were encased in cement, unable to move, even though Iknewthis was what she wanted.
Just like I knew they’d been talking about me.
“He won’t really do it, will he?” Darla replied, sounding genuinely concerned, making my confusion grow.
What the hell were they talking about?
“Sell the farm?” Stella clarified, as if to make sure they were both talking about the same thing. My body went cold, colder than the dishes of melting ice cream in my hands. “It seems like he won’t have a choice, sadly.” She released a heavy sigh. “It’s not like he has any good help, and the farm hasn’t been doing well forages, or so he told me. He doesn’t really have any other optionbutto sell. That’s why he came to me. He knows I’m the best realtor in the area; I’ll make sure to get him a good price.”
I almost snorted, despite my heart crumbling to dust in my chest. She wasn’t the bestanything, but whatever helped her sleep at night.
Her lowered voice purred suggestively, “He knows I’m the best at a lot of things.”
