[Barley Cross 01.0] Being Brooke

by Emma Hart

  “I know that, Rae. But it’s been two years. You haven’t spoken to him, and the only ice-cream you serve is to the old people who haven’t tried a new flavor in twenty years.”

  I hated that she was right.

  “We live in Key West. If you can’t make an ice-cream store work here, you’re a special kind of stupid.”

  “If Chase hadn’t—”

  “Stop blaming him for all your problems. You know as well as I do that you haven’t done as much as you should.” She folded her arms across her chest and pinned me with her dark blue eyes. “Raelynn Fortune, you don’t need to be better than Chase. You just need to be competition. You’re better than him anyway, but your store and marketing freaking sucks.”

  “Wow. Hit me where it hurts.”

  “It only hurts if you’re in denial.”

  I sighed and leaned back over the counter. “I’m not in denial. I know what I need to do, but he took my perfect shop from me, Soph. My dream store is right next door.”

  “I’m trying to be sympathetic here—”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “But it’s really hard when the answer is right in front of you, but you’re too busy feeling sorry for yourself to see it.”

  I scowled. “Why are we still friends?”

  She shrugged. “Every brunette needs a blonde, so you got stuck with me.”

  “I want a refund,” I muttered. “What do I need to do, then, oh great one?”

  “Get a new dream store.”

  “Am I supposed to conjure that out of nowhere?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Have you heard of this thing called the Internet? It’s really great. There are even places you can see other stores to get inspiration from!”

  I was going to kill her snarky ass one day.

  “Funny,” I drawled. “So you recommend I drag my butt to Pinterest and come up with a new store.”

  She nodded. “You have the loan from the bank you paid off. It’s been sitting there for two years. Use it.”

  “Auntie Sophie? I’m done,” Jessica said, licking her fingers.

  “Okay, Jessie. I’m coming.” Soph looked back at me and rapped her knuckles against the counter. “Think about it, Rae. You have nothing to lose.”

  I said goodbye to Jessie and waved my best friend out. The chime above the door dinged, but as soon as the door shut, the echo of it made the store seem emptier than ever.

  Sophie was right. Two years ago, before I’d broken up with Chase because of my own reluctance to settle down, I’d gotten a loan from the bank to redo the store. Then we broke up, and he took those ideas for his own.

  Ten thousand dollars had been sitting in my bank account since, all fully mine, since I’d long paid off the loan and the interest.

  I’d spent so long being bitter over what Chase had done to me that I’d lost sight of my business. Best Served Cold desperately needed a revamp, and like Soph had said, I had nothing to lose.

  If I didn’t change it, I’d have to sell the store anyway.

  I grabbed my keys and my purse and headed for the door. As soon as I stepped outside, the noise from The Frozen Spoon grated on me. I flicked the sign on my door to “Back in ten minutes” and shot the store next door a dirty look, imagining it going all the way back to my ex-boyfriend.

  He’d had his revenge—and now I’d get mine.

  But first, coffee.

  ***

  Grandma leaned against the kitchen counter and tapped one blood-red nail against her lips. “What are you going to do?”

  I shrugged, typing the address for Pinterest into the web bar on my laptop. “I don’t know. I still want to do what I originally did, but I can’t be even close to similar to The Frozen Spoon.”

  “That’s not a bad thing,” she said. “I never thought those plans were very you anyway.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “No, sugar. Too bright and garish. They fit Chase perfectly because he’s an extrovert. You’re not. Not really.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She pulled out a chair and sat next to me. “Think of it like this. Red is my color, yes?”

  I nodded. Red nails, red lips, red shoes—red was Grandma.

  “When I think of your grandfather, I think of yellow and beige because he’s always covered in sawdust.”

  That was true. And let me tell you—sawdust got everywhere.

  “When I think of you, I think of pastel colors. Soft pinks and purples and greens.”

  I frowned. “You do?”

  “Don’t ask me why. Baby blues, peaches, lemon yellows.” She reached out and tucked some of my hair behind my ear. “When we took over Best Served Cold, we made it our own. Something that reflected who we were as people. I think you need to do the same.”

  “That’s different,” I said quietly. “You didn’t have anyone to compete with back then. Now, I do, and he’s right next door.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t mean you can’t make the store fit you, sugar. If you’re worried about him, you need to come up with something that makes you unique.” She smiled. “Something that sends you viral on that latergram or whatever it’s called.”

  I choked back a laugh. “Instagram.”

  “That one.” She patted my shoulder and stood up to check dinner. “Marketing one-oh-one, sugar. Give them a reason to want to come to your store. Not just because they want ice-cream, but because they want something specific.”

  I rested my elbow on the table and my chin in my hand. “You mean how like Dad used to do those epic chocolate sundaes? The really huge ones he did for the eating competitions?”

  “Exactly like that. People went to the store just to try to conquer that sundae. Few ever did.”

  “That’s because it weighed like one hundred pounds and was so sickly you wanted to vomit halfway through.”

  “Slightly an exaggeration.” Grandma tossed a smile over her should as she opened the oven door to check the lasagna. “But that’s what you need. A hook to pull them in.”

  That made sense. But in theory, it’d be a lot harder to pull off. I could resurrect the eating challenge my dad had started, but I wanted it to be unique. It had to fit me and what I was trying to do.

  Owning a business was hard.

  Nobody ever taught you that in school.

  I began my search through Pinterest. The more I looked, the more inspired I became. I created a new board and saved all my favorite ideas to it, but it wasn’t until I came across ice-cream lights that attached to the wall that my stomach fluttered with excitement.

  I clicked the accompanying link. They were adorable—in shades of peach and light green and cream, colors Grandma said made her think of me. They were a little pricy, but it wasn’t like I needed to rip out the floor or buy new appliances.

  “I like those,” Grandpa said from behind me. “Are you finally renovating the store to make it more Raelynn?”

  “I think so. I’m looking for ideas. They’re quite expensive, but I think they’re cute.” I tilted my head to the side.

  “Buy ‘em,” he grunted. “You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

  My finger hovered over the trackpad for a second before I hit “Add to basket.”

  Grandma peered over. “Cute.” Then she looked at Grandpa. “Samuel, you need to clean up before dinner.”

  He was covered head to toe in sawdust. “I’m not done yet.”

  “But your dinner almost is,” she said. “And how can you not be done with that table? It’s been weeks.”

  “I finished that two weeks ago,” he answered. “Get off my back, woman.”

  Grandma swatted at him with her towel and smiled affectionately. “Get out of here.”

  Grandpa winked at me.

  “Hey, Grandpa? Before you go?”

  “What’s up, buttercup?”

  I clicked back onto Pinterest and brought up tables that looked like ice-cream cones. “How hard would these be to make?”

  Squintin
g, he leaned down and pursed his lips. “I don’t see ‘em being that hard or taking that long to make. Why? Do you want ‘em?”

  “I think so,” I said slowly. “I’d pay you. And I can paint them!”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort.” He snorted. “Pay me my ass, girl. Buy the supplies and I’ll make the tables for you. How many d’ya want?”

  “Six?” I winced.

  He nodded. “I’ll find the materials. You buy ‘em. I’ll make ‘em. Done.”

  “Wonderful,” Grandma said, interrupting us. “Samuel, clean yourself up before I send you to eat in the garage.”

  “Better eatin’ in there than being moaned at out here.” He shot me another wink then trundled off to the stairs.

  I had no idea how those two hadn’t ever killed each other.

  Even if it was kind of adorable.

  CHAPTER TWO – RAELYNN

  I laid the piece of paper out on the floor of Best Served Cold and uncapped the thick marker I’d swiped from Grandpa’s desk.

  CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS.

  Big, bold and black, it would explain why I’d be shut for the next two weeks. I didn’t need all the tables, just a couple. The little ones I had know would be perfect with a lick of paint. In fact, the mix would probably be nice.

  After dinner last night, I’d spent the evening rinsing my bank account purchasing all manner of things. I’d never spent three thousand dollars so quickly in my life. New chairs, new lights, new fixtures, new storage jars and display boards. I’d even ordered a huge new display board for behind the counter for the menu. I planned to send it to the sign shop in town for them to finish up.

  I held the sign against the window with my elbow while I fumbled with the roll of tape. Of course I couldn’t find the end—that was how it always worked, wasn’t it? Damn tape. I hated tape. Couldn’t I just find something to tack it there with?

  Ugh.

  I leaned my ass against the sign so I had both hands completely free to wrangle the tape.

  The door to the store opened, the damn chime clanging.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, we’re—” My words died on my tongue when I looked at the man standing there.

  Chase Aarons, with his stupidly thick dark brown hair and deep brown eyes. With his stupid stubble over his chiseled jaw and his stupid white t-shirt that showed off his tanned muscles.

  “Need a hand?” he asked, nodding toward the poster with a twinkle in his eye.

  Not from you, I wanted to say.

  I said nothing. Just stared at him.

  “What? You can’t even accept my help for the five seconds it would take to tape that sign on the window?”

  No.

  No, I couldn’t.

  I went back to finding the edge of the tape. After a few seconds, I found it. The cracking of the tape as I peeled it back filled the horrible, tense silence. I turned to hold the poster in place, but as I did, it slipped out in a second and landed just in front of Chase.

  He picked it up, then came over and held it against the window for me. The scent of his cologne was deep and earthy, and my stomach panged at the familiar scent.

  “You can tape it. I’m not going to drop it just to piss you off.” Laughter tinged his tone, and I pursed my lips.

  I ripped the tape off with my teeth and stuck the poster against the window as quickly as I could. This time, I folded the edge of the tape so it wouldn’t take me half an hour to find the end the next freaking time.

  “Renovations, huh? Are you finally bringing this place into the twenty-first century?”

  I wasn’t going to bite. I hadn’t intentionally said a word to the man for six months, and except for the “thank you” I knew I had to offer up on his way out, I wasn’t going to start today.

  Chase twisted his lips to the side. “Still giving me the silent treatment, huh?”

  I assumed that was obvious, but he had always liked to state it.

  I folded my arms and stared at him.

  He was done.

  He could go now.

  He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “One day, you’ll talk to me again.”

  That wasn’t likely. Not that I told him that.

  A piece of his hair stuck up where he’d messed it up, and I almost reached out to smooth it back down. I knew that piece of hair well—it’d stuck up every time I’d ran my fingers through his hair when we’d been together.

  Apparently, old habits really did die hard, even when you hated the person they were associated with.

  Ugh.

  “All right. I know a lost cause when I see one.” He shrugged one of his wide shoulders and made for the door.

  “Thank you,” I said, trying not to sound like it was forced. “For the help.”

  He turned back to me and reached out, chucking me under the chin. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it, Rae?”

  I glared at him.

  Laughing, he winked and pulled the door open. “I’ll see you.”

  Not if I could help it.

  He pulled the door shut with a click after him, and I rushed over to turn the key in the lock. I wasn’t going to have anymore unexpected visitors stop by, thank you very much.

  Door locked, I tugged on the blinds and pulled them all down so nobody could see in. The beige blinds showed their age, and I grabbed the notepad I had on the counter and scribbled new blind down on my list of things to buy.

  Unfortunately, for me, gussying up the store was only one half of the battle. I now had some kind of a plan for that—new paint on the walls, the ice-cream lights, the cone tables, stools made out of macaroons stacked on one another—but I had nothing for the point Grandma had made.

  Make them want to come.

  Customers needed a reason to come to me and not The Frozen Spoon. Sure, when word got out about the renovation, nosy regulars and interested tourists would keep me in business for a couple of weeks, but when the shiny new toy got a little older, I’d be struggling again.

  I sunk onto the nearest stool and looked out at the store. I could almost visualize how it’d look in two weeks. Multi-color pastel stripes on the wall behind the counter. Ice-cream cone lights on the walls. New tables, fresh paint, new storage—but I couldn’t see the It-Factor.

  There wasn’t one.

  I sank my fingers into my loosely curled hair and slumped forward. I needed to get the It-Factor. I needed to find my uniqueness that would turn this store around. I had to believe it existed and that there was something I could do to change it.

  Ice-cream had been my whole life. My earliest memories were of helping my grandparents and my parents in this building. I could make ice-cream before I could tie my shoelaces on my own. It was all second nature to me.

  I didn’t know how to do anything else.

  I blew out a long breath and sat up straight. Sitting here moping wasn’t going to get me anywhere. I had a to-do list as long as my arm, and I needed to make a start on it before time caught up with me.

  I couldn’t afford to shut the store longer than two weeks. It really wasn’t that long in terms of time, but financially, it was almost too long. I only justified it by knowing the loan was there for me to dip into if I needed it.

  And, let’s face it. I wasn’t exactly breaking any records with my profit margin now, was I? Assuming I even had one, and I expected my accountant to call me any day informing me I didn’t.

  I jumped off the stool and walked through to the back. The kitchen that had once been my solace was now a place of fond memories and sadness. I couldn’t remember the last time I actually enjoyed pulling ingredients together to make ice-cream. It’d been so long, and I’d almost reached the point of buying it in just so I didn’t have to wake up early to slave back here for no reason.

  I threw out more than I sold. All my friends were very well kept in ice-cream, as were my grandparents.

  And me.

  Hips don’t lie.

  At least mine didn’t.

  I emptied the dishwas
her, walking back and forth as I put the scoops and dishes back where they belonged. There were only a handful of things to be washed from yesterday, so I filled the sink with hot water instead of running the dishwasher.

  My arms were elbow-deep in suds when I picked up the plastic bowl I’d used when Soph and Jessie had come in yesterday. Smears of blue and pink and purple decorated the sides of the pink bowl, and remnants of sprinkles were stuck to the dried-on ice-cream.

  Unicorn ice-cream.

  Jessie’s request screamed at me.

  Unicorn ice-cream. That’s what she’d wanted. Something girly and pretty and fantastical.

  My grip on the bowl slipped, and it dropped into the water with a splash that sent bubbles over both the wall and me.

  I didn’t care.

  A goddamn four-year-old had just given me the biggest inspiration of my life.

  What if my specialty was unicorn ice-cream? Colors and glitter and magic all in cones and sundaes and bowls?

  Was it possible? Was that what I needed to do to save the family business?

  I tossed off the marigolds I’d put on to protect my nails. They splashed as they hit the water, but I still didn’t care. I could clean up the mess anytime I wanted.

  That was not right now.

  I ran to my phone on the counter and opened my Pinterest app. I typed the term into the search bar, and a shiver ran over me when hundreds of results popped up. And not an, “Oh, shit, someone just walked over my grave” kinda shiver.

  It was an, “Oh, shit, this is a real thing, and I can do it,” kinda shiver.

  Hoards of images of multi-colored ice-cream and decorated cones popped up. Blues, purples, and pinks all mixed together in a galaxy-looking mix. There were several different versions of the ice-cream, and my heart beat a little faster in anticipation of every single scoop being totally different.

  Mixed in were images of cones dipped in chocolate then in sprinkles. Ice-cream sundaes had cones sitting on top as a unicorn horn. One ice-cream image showed pinks and greens and yellows mixed together with tiny candy stars. Sundae glasses that were dipped in white icing and then in hundreds and thousands.

  There was even ice-cream nachos. A plate full of wafers topped with ice-cream and sauces and toppings.