Best Served Cold

by Emma Hart

  “It’s in the kitchen. Won’t your sister freak at her face being on the internet?”

  Sophie came back out with my phone in her hand. She typed in my passcode and answered with a shake of her head. “It’s all about the angle. See?”

  I leaned in behind her as she took the photo. Jessie’s face was completely obstructed by her hair, but you could see the sundae perfect.

  “Now, we edit…” She edited it so it had a blur around it, concealing Jess even more, but putting full focus on the ice cream. “The lighting isn’t great, but we can explain that.”

  She was talking a foreign language. I was going to hire a translator.

  “Here.” She shoved the phone back at me. “Read that caption. Seem okay?”

  I took the phone and looked down at what she’d written.

  The first TOP SECRET taste test for our new menu is happening today at BEST SERVED COLD mid-renovation! Who doesn’t have a four-year-old as their test audience?

  She added a few hashtags that she’d obviously researched because when I posted it at her push, the account already had over one hundred followers.

  “How the hell did that happen?” I asked, looking up at her.

  She shrugged. “Social media. You need to post a few times a day. I saved the hashtags into your Notes. Copy and paste them on every new post, okay?”

  “Finished!” Jess spun and grinned as she slid off the stool with a thud to the floor. The area around her mouth was a mess of purple and pink, and the dish was completely empty.

  “Oh, Jesus,” Sophie said. “Rae, you’ve gotta learn how to promote this place. Do it for me, because I’m about to get my ass kicked.”

  I tossed her a cloth from the sink and walked over to the empty dish. “Should I take a photo of this? To say the test went well or something?”

  Sophie winked as she wiped Jessie’s face. “Now you’re getting it. I’ll make a marketer out of you yet.”

  I rolled my eyes and angled my phone to take the photo from above. The remnants of the ice cream was melted and mixed with the chocolate. A few stars were left floating, and there was a tiny piece of the end of the waffle cone sitting there, too.

  It was a melted unicorn.

  I giggled, then stopped.

  Holy crap. I had its name.

  “The Melted Unicorn!” I shouted, spinning and pointing my phone at Sophie. “The Melted Unicorn! Look!”

  She peered into the glass and burst into laughter. “Perfect. Now you can announce the name publicly!”

  I took the photo, finally, and edited the lighting. I added the caption of, “The first taste test went well! The Melted Unicorn, coming soon to BEST SERVED COLD!” then added the hashtags and posted it.

  “There ya go. You’re getting it.” Sophie took Jessie’s hand. “We have to go and work off some of that sugar, but keep going. You got this, Rae. Broken toe and all.”

  I waved them goodbye. The second the door clicked shut, I took a deep breath. Today had been a roller coaster ride, but it was amazing how something could click into place so easily in just a second of inspiration.

  And inspiration was now something I was full of.

  I headed to the back to do some more research without a single thought of Chase and the almost-kiss crossing my mind.

  ***

  CHASE: You have an Instagram for the store?

  The text popped up as I was halfway through trawling the internet for mermaid tail molds. It was that, or I’d have to up my game and make waffle bras for the sundaes, and that seemed like a lot of screwing around.

  Or I could make them tails in banana split dishes. Hmm…

  I grabbed my phone to text him back.

  ME: Me and my coffee machine.

  CHASE: Ha. You’re so funny. You should have been a comedian.

  I agreed.

  ME: You don’t have an Instagram?

  CHASE: This isn’t like your coffee machine. You only got one this week. You can’t pull that card on me.

  ME: That’s a no.

  CHASE: I don’t want an Instagram. I have enough on my plate.

  ME: Like buying a coffee machine?

  CHASE: Yes. That’s my priority. Buy a coffee machine.

  ME: And learn how to make milkshakes before my new store puts your ass out of business.

  He didn’t reply right away, and I wondered if I’d gone one text too far. I was ready to go back to my browsing when my phone lit up with his next message.

  CHASE: I have lots of skills. I’m sure I’d survive.

  I frowned at the screen. What the hell did he mean by that?

  ME: What does that mean?

  CHASE: It means that if your milkshake brings all the boys to your yard, then I’m okay with that.

  ME: I don’t have a yard.

  CHASE: You don’t have to be so literal.

  ME: You have to be marginally accurate if you’re telling me you won’t be my competition anymore.

  CHASE: I’m only your competition because I stole your ideas.

  Holy shit.

  He admitted it.

  I never, ever thought I would hear him say those words. I never thought I’d ever hear him say that he’d stolen my ideas. I knew he had, but that didn’t mean it was true. I mean, I’d never technically looked at his menu. All I knew was what Sophie told me.

  My heart pounded against my chest. This was the admission I didn’t actually think I wanted.

  It hurt more than I thought it would.

  To know, for sure, one hundred percent, that he’d taken all my plans without a shadow of a doubt really fucking hurt.

  I might have broken his heart, but his betrayal had gone deeper than that.

  ME: I don’t think I can talk to you right now.

  And it was the damn truth. Just when I thought we might find a civil middle ground, the universe proved me wrong. Just like it had when I thought I’d found someone who I could trust with my dreams.

  CHASE: I didn’t—shit.

  CHASE: Rae, I’m sorry.

  I closed my laptop and tossed my phone. It slid off the bed onto today’s dirty clothes, but I didn’t care. It could stay there. I didn’t care if he had more to say. I didn’t want to hear it right now. Not another damn word.

  Instead, I rolled onto my side and stared at my closed curtains.

  What the hell did I do with this information?

  CHAPTER TWELVE – CHASE

  I replaced the empty tub of peach ice cream in the front display counter and pulled off the lid, throwing it in the trash.

  Twenty-four hours.

  It’d been just over a day since I’d told Rae that I’d stolen her ideas. When she didn’t reply to my apology, I decided to leave it. She wasn’t going to accept it. She was stubborn, and after the moment in her store, I knew I was done for.

  Now, there was no way she’d ever forgive me.

  I moved my way along the counter, refreshing the strawberry tub before moving to the decorations and sauces. I went through the motions on autopilot until everything was full and fresh and perfect ready for opening.

  Which was still an hour away.

  I sighed and slumped against the counter. Marnie was back cleaning the storeroom and kitchen, and she’d yell if I went back there to try to help.

  I didn’t know what the fuck I was supposed to do now. I thought Rae would accept the admission and move on. I was so fucking stupid where she was concerned.

  She could hold a grudge better than anyone I knew.

  Which was why I didn’t trust the fact she was standing in front of my glass door, knocking on it.

  Slowly, I got up and walked over to it. The key clicked in the lock as I twisted it, and I pulled it open, looking at a very fresh-faced Raelynn Fortune with a high ponytail that swung when she looked up at me and smiled. “Can I come in?”

  “You can,” I replied slowly, stepping aside. I shut the door and locked it again. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  Sweet as pie with a sm
ile that could rot teeth, she said, “I came to see just how much you stole from me.”

  Ouch.

  “I deserved that.” I put my hands in my pockets.

  “You did.” Her tone was short, sharp, and clipped, all pretense of niceties gone. She was over that already, and I should have known the ice queen would have rebuilt her fucking castle.

  She walked around the store without limping, apparently now able to put some weight on her toe. I noticed that she chose to rest on her heel whenever she stopped, and she was still in flip-flops with those toes strapped.

  Knowing her, she was putting herself through pain for the sake of pride.

  “Color scheme. Menu. Decorations.” She turned, pain flashing in her brown eyes. “Sophie told me, but I didn’t want to believe it, you know? I didn’t actually want to think you’d do this to me, but you did.”

  What the fuck did I say to that? Sorry wasn’t going to cut it.

  “Every last thing, Chase. You knew I had the loan sitting in my bank. You knew what I was buying. I guess the only thing you didn’t copy was the furniture.” She took a deep breath and looked away for a second. “Why? How? How the hell could you do that to me?”

  I shifted, but she spoke again before I could.

  “Actually, you know what? Fuck that. There isn’t a single reason you can give me to justify what you did.” Her ponytail swung when she shook her head. “And you can’t even give me one, can you? You don’t have a reason. Did you really want to hurt me that bad?”

  “I never wanted to hurt you,” I said softly.

  Honestly.

  “Then why?” Her voice was getting louder, and it shook now. “Why did you take everything I’d planned for Cold and use it yourself? Did it make you feel better that I’d broken up with you? Did you feel good about kicking me when I was down? I always knew you had, but for you to admit it to me? No. Screw this. Fuck you, Chase.”

  She stalked toward the door and pulled it, keeping her head down. It rattled but didn’t open since I’d locked it, and it took her two more harsh tugs to realize that and turn the key.

  She yanked the door open then stopped, one foot on the sidewalk. “I hope the next time I see your face is when you’re closing this place down.”

  She didn’t even look at me as she said it.

  The door slammed with a finality that echoed off the cold, tiled floor.

  My heart sank to my stomach, and I wanted to throw up. I felt physically fucking sick at the pain I’d seen in her eyes. I hated myself for how her voice had cracked on the final words she’d said.

  I slumped forward on the counter and ran my fingers through my hair, my forehead resting on the cold marble.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  “Well,” Marnie said. “I can’t say you didn’t deserve that.”

  I jerked up and pushed off the counter. “Don’t, all right? You think I don’t know that, Marn? Of course, I deserved that. I deserved more than that, but I don’t need you to fucking tell me that.”

  All trace of teen attitude disappeared, and she walked up to me and hugged me tightly. I took a deep breath and hugged her back, fighting to keep all the emotion bottled up inside me.

  Marnie let me go. “You may as well tell her why you really opened the store now.”

  “What good could that possibly do me right now?”

  “Absolutely none,” she admitted. “But think of it like this: It can’t get much worse now, can it?” She smiled wryly and headed back out to the kitchen, leaving me standing in the middle of the store.

  She was right.

  And Mom had been, too.

  There really was a fine line between love and hate, and the line Rae was walking on was most definitely hurt.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN – RAELYNN

  I slammed the door behind me a lot more gently than I had Chase’s.

  I didn’t know what had come over me. I couldn’t actually explain why I’d gone into his store except for this: I had to.

  I had to know what it looked like. I had to know how closely he’d followed my ideas. I wanted to know if they’d been an inspiration or if it was a carbon copy.

  It was a mixture of both, but close enough that it hurt.

  It really, really fucking hurt.

  Hot tears burned the back of my eyes, and it took everything I had to keep them inside. I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of making me cry, whether he’d know it or not.

  I’d know. I’d know that he made me cry, and that would be enough.

  I locked the door to the store and pulled the blind over the window that covered the top half of it. Leaning back, my butt almost hit the handle as I covered my mouth and nose with my hands.

  I shut my eyes to stop any tears.

  Why the hell did it hurt so much? I didn’t even care about that design anymore. It had never truly been me. It had been something I thought people wanted, and as right as I’d obviously been, I’d never really loved it.

  Not how I loved my new ideas.

  Why did the tears still sting my eyes? I was over him. I wasn’t over this, but I was over him. I didn’t care if my body reacted to him. I didn’t. I didn’t want it to. I didn’t like him. I hated him.

  Did I?

  Yes.

  I did. That’s why I was crying. I was angry. They were angry tears. Big, fat, hot angry tears that dripped right off my chin and onto the floor.

  Shit. When did that happen?

  I swiped over my cheeks and walked into the restroom for customers. The tissue dispenser was still stocked in the ladies’ room, so I pulled out as much tissue as I could and went to the mirror.

  Yep. I was looking like a raccoon.

  I cleaned up my makeup as well as I could, then blew my nose and threw the tissues in the trash. I could sit here and cry on the floor all day long, or I could wipe my tears and get the hell on with it.

  My foot was sore, sure, and there were a million things I needed to do, but right now, I just wanted to see if my idea for a mermaid banana split would work. I needed to focus creatively.

  Mostly, because if it worked, it would be a big fuck you to the idiot next door.

  Maybe that wasn’t the best reason to be creative, but personally, I didn’t see a little revenge being served up creatively as a bad thing.

  I got revenge and an emotional outlet. Win-freaking-win.

  I flicked my ponytail over my shoulder and gathered the ingredients. The mermaid ice cream had turned out amazingly, with different greens blending together with thin streaks of purple and yellow. I’d never been so proud of anything.

  I didn’t allow my mind to wander as I fixed the mermaid banana split. One banana, three scoops, whipped cream. Sprinkles. Edible glitter. White cotton candy and a glazed cherry finished it, but the wafers were the real finishing piece. I’d dipped them in chocolate and then covered them with a magical mix of green and purple glitter.

  I positioned them at one end of the dish, creating the illusion of a mermaid’s tail. A sprinkling of the glitter over the entire thing, and hey—it looked pretty damn good.

  I took five seconds to take a picture of a portion of the split, making sure to include a hint of the tail for Instagram before Sophie killed me.

  Then, I grabbed a spoon.

  And I ate the whole fucking thing.

  I didn’t regret it one bit. It tasted good. The ice cream was vanilla, which seemed so plain for such a beautiful scoop, but it worked.

  See, if I’d been really smart, I’d have opened up a boozy ice cream store. Maybe I could do a Starbucks and put a secret one on the menu.

  Rose-fairy ice cream.

  Did rose wine freeze? Why didn’t I know that? I felt like I was missing a trick there. Parents everywhere would thank me.

  I knew I was already thanking myself for considering the idea and I didn’t even have tiny dictators running around my ankles every day.

  I grabbed my phone for a quick Google search. Can you freeze ros
e wine for ice cream?

  The search popped up a dozen results on the first page alone, and you know what? I fist-pumped. I needed a little freaking good in my day.

  Grandma had said to give people a reason to come here.

  I had one—but now I had an even better one.

  I’d have to look into licenses and other stuff, so maybe it wouldn’t be a reopening idea, but something to introduce down the line.

  Jesus, three weeks ago I’d been thinking about selling, and now I was considering the possibility of getting myself a liquor license to sell boozy ice cream.

  I don’t know about anyone else, but I counted that as winning at life. And until such time I got a license—if I needed one, and I was sure I probably did—I’d make it and eat it all myself.

  Holy crap. I was going to get tired of all these good ideas if I didn’t slow down soon.

  With a snort-giggle at myself, I accepted I was currently the victim of a sugar high and wrote the idea down before I forgot it. My days were nothing short of roller coasters lately, between ex-boyfriends and admissions and broken toes and new ideas.

  Yet, in the weirdest freaking way, I had the feeling this was exactly how it was supposed to happen.

  Sometimes you needed just a little bit of hurt to put a whole lot of things in perspective.

  And, as I looked at my half-painted store, perspective was something I most definitely had.

  ***

  “What’s that?” I said as soon as Sophie walked through the door the next day with a small envelope in her hand. It was no bigger than a birthday card.

  She handed it to me without a word. The scrawling writing on the front was instantly recognizable to me as Chase’s, and I threw it in her direction without a word and went back to painting.

  “I saw him in the café, and he asked me to give it to you. I’m not conspiring with the enemy or anything.”

  I sniffed and rolled the white paint onto the walls. “You should have told him to shove it up his ass.”