Page 70 of Scoop Me Up
“That part was definitely an oversight. Usually any delay triggers a call from our sales team, but the rep you purchased from is on vacation this week. I’m so sorry about that.”
I sighed, breath shaky, mind racing. “Okay, thanks,” I said before hanging up the phone. It felt like the walls were closing in on me, the office shrinking. In a panic, I stood and went into the main space, where the dining area was supposed to be. The walls were painted with beautiful bright colors, there was a mural of an octopus with an ice cream cone in each arm, and the tile floor was clean and bright.
And there were zero chairs or tables. Just a vast, empty space waiting on furniture. The coolers were set up and ready, the cash register had been installed, even the ice cream cases were prepped, just waiting on ice cream and customers.
All I needed was the furniture. What the hell was I going to do? I ran my hands through my hair, frustrated, on the verge of tears or a panic attack or both. I needed to get the hell out of the shop before overwhelm took me over for real.
As I walked home, my mind raced. I was a teacher. I was normally cool under pressure, great in an emergency. Why did this one feel so hard to overcome? It felt like it was entirely out of my hands and there was nothing I could do. I dutifully said hello to people I passed on the sidewalk, managing to avoid any extra conversation, and by the time I reached home, I’d worn myself out. I collapsed on the couch, kicking my shoes off, and closed my eyes, hoping a nap would help me wake up feeling a little more clear-headed and with a solution to the situation.
I woke up an hour later to the sound of Gabe’s voice.
“Sam?”
“In here,” I called, my throat dry.
Gabe came around the corner and frowned. “You feeling okay?”
“The furniture for the shop is delayed. It won’t be here until at least next week, but maybe not even until the week after.”
“Oh, shit.”
I pushed myself up into sitting. “That’s pretty much what I said.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
Gabe sat on the couch next to me. “Hey,” he murmured, reaching out to touch my knee. “It’s okay. You’ll figure it out.”
“It’s not okay. WhatamI going to do? Do I have to delay the opening until the furniture arrives? I’ve already advertised it everywhere. Do I tell people it’s standing room only?”
“It’s okay,” he repeated. “We’llfigure this out.”
“How?”
His smile was soft and genuine, and I ached to trust that we’d figure something out together. “Leave it to me,” he said, tapping my nose gently with his index finger. “I think I have a solution.”
I frowned. “What are you going to do?”
Gabe grinned and raised his eyebrows quickly. “It’s a secret. Don’t worry too much about it. I want you to relax for the rest of the day. I’m going to go run some errands and see what I can figure out about the furniture. Get ready for pizza night and pick us out a good movie, okay?”
I swallowed hard, a lump in my throat, and nodded. “Okay.” I could hear the skepticism in my own tone.
“Trust me.”
“I’ll try.”
A few minutes later, Gabe had left again and it was just me. I lay on the couch, uninterested in getting up and not sure I had anything I could actually do to be productive anyway. After a while, I texted Cooper an update.
Sam: Get this—my chairs and tables are delayed for the ice cream shop. I think I might have to postpone the grand opening.
Cooper: What? How did that happen?
Sam: Manufacturing delay.
Cooper: What’s your backup plan?
Sam: I don’t have one.
