Page 34 of Spellbound & Speechless
“I’m a fashion designer.”
“Really?”
“Mhm.”
I step in the long line for ice cream. The shop will close for the cold season soon, and everyone is here to take advantage of the remaining days—except me. I’m here on business.
“I guess you look kinda?—”
“Think before you speak,” I say. “You’re about to hurt my feelings, I just know it.”
The lastthing I want is to look like someone in the fashion industry, especially after how they treated me. He likely thinks I’m shallow, that I only care about appearances, but that isn’t true. Is it?
“—Fashionable.” He shrugs. “You look fashionable.”
That’snotwhat I’m expecting him to say. I lift a brow. “Is that a compliment? From Mac…?”
I don’t even know his last name.
He blinks for several moments before he seems to realize what I’m waiting for. “Roth?”
“Mac Roth?” I tilt my head to the side and consider the name. It suits him, but it feels incomplete. “Is Mac short for something?”
“Mackenzie.”
I lift my brows. “Oh.”
“Anyway”—he once again moves on from speaking about himself”—thatwasa compliment. Don’t let it get to your head.”
I grin. “Too late.”
We finally reach the front of the line. I lean across the ice cream counter and fix Mr. Sprinkles with a warm smile. That’s not his real name, of course, but it’s what we’ve called him since we were children. He’s an older Black man with curly white hair and a kind smile that’s lit up many of my days. His homemade ice cream tends to do the trick, too.
Times are different now. He’s still working at the shop, but he’s no longer alone. His son, Dave, stands a few feet behind him, swirling soft serve onto a cone. He looks a lot like his father, but his complexion is darker and his locs are tied back at the nape of his neck.
“Well, if it isn’t Aspen Hawthorne!” Mr. Sprinkles smiles warmly. “I thought I would never see you again.”
“I see you’re as dramatic as ever.” I giggle.
“What are you here for? Vanilla soft serve with rainbow sprinkles?”
My old usual order. Nostalgia pricks at my heart.
I frown. “Sadly, I’m not here for a cone. Not today.”
Mac takes a step closer. “Actually, we’ll take two of those.”
I shoot him an annoyed look. “We’re working.”
“So what?” He shrugs. “C’mon. It’s my treat.”
Mac’s sudden generosity ruffles my feathers. I lift my shoulders and turn back to the shop owner, trying to collect myself. He waits for further instructions.
“Fine.” My smile tightens. “We’ll take the cones. This is my Mac, my friend. As you can see, he’s easily distracted.”
The older man laughs. “It’s nice to meet you, Mac! Welcome to Starbrook.”
“Nice to meet you, too.” Mac sounds friendlier than he ever has with me.
