“We’ll tell you later.” I grinned. “But right now, you should come out to the dining room. Wren’s giving an interview I don’t think you want to miss.”
Aunt Beth glanced back at Uncle Troy, but he shooed her out of the kitchen. “Go, go! I’ll man the kitchen and register. Go!”
We got to the dining room in time to see Wren explaining the photo collage to a rapt Mr. Gilford. “This farm isn’t like any other place on earth,” Wren was saying. “My grandfather worked as a gas station attendant for years, saving every penny he earned so that he could buy this land. He and my grandmother built the farmhouse, the barns, and this creamery. It took decades.”
Mr. Gilford nodded. “And you’re the third generation to live and work on this farm,” he said. “What makes it special to you?”
“How much time do you have?” Wren joked, then looked around the creamery. “I see myself and my family in everything on our farm—our house, the land, our animals. We don’t just raise cows. We love them. And the land. And this creamery. People who come here for shakes, or hayrides, or the petting zoo … they understand that. And they know it makes a difference.” She glanced at Aunt Beth. “And that’s why I want to take over the farm someday. To keep my family’s legacy alive.”
Mr. Gilford turned to Aunt Beth. “What do you have to say about your daughter’s dream, Mrs. Dawson?”
“I … I …” Aunt Beth’s eyes filled with tears. “I wish her dream could come true, but I’m afraid it can’t—”
“It can, Mom,” Wren said insistently. “You don’t have to sell the farm to CheeseCo. Not with the profits we’re bringing in from our shakes.”
Aunt Beth shook her head, sighing. “Wren—”
“It’s true,” I piped up. “The website and social media traffic have quadrupled over the last week. Imagine what can happen in another month! Maybe we could even make our shakes in other locations. Like as a milkshake chain,” I added before I could lose my nerve.
Aunt Beth’s eyes widened. “I had no idea our shakes had made such a difference,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. “I’ve been so preoccupied with CheeseCo …”
“Look around you, Mom.” Wren swept her hand around the dining room while Ms. Hale snapped dozens of pictures. “Almost every single person in here has a shake!”
It was true. Crazy shakes of every color and flavor filled every inch of table space in the room. But Mr. Gilford set his eyes on one shake in particular. He pointed to a red-white-and-blue shake a little boy nearby was slurping down. “What’s this shake right here?”
I beamed. “That’s our special Fourth of July shake. The Star-Spangled Twizzle Sizzle. Would you like to try one?”
“I’d love to,” Mr. Gilford said, and with that, I hurried to the shake machine to get to work. This was the moment I’d been waiting for. The farm’s history was Wren’s specialty, but the shakes were mine. And if ever there was a moment to make a lasting impression on Mr. Gilford, it was right now.
First, I drizzled strawberry and blueberry syrups down the edges of two shake glasses in alternating columns, then poured in the shake itself: a vanilla shake blended with fresh berries. I squirted huge mountains of whipped cream atop the shakes, and then added red and blue sprinkles, M&M’s, and gummy stars. I stuck three Twizzlers into the whipped cream along with a kebob of gummy stars, and then set a red-white-and-blue donut right in the center. Finally, I finished the shakes by sticking a sparking candle into the donut atop each one.
“Hol—y!” Mr. Gilford’s mouth dropped open as I set the shakes down on a table in front of him and Ms. Hale. “Those aren’t shakes. Those are works of art!”
While Ms. Hale snapped photos of one sparkling shake, Mr. Gilford blew out the candle on his and then dug in, trying to scoop a little bit of everything onto his spoon at once. He took a bite, and sat back chewing and grinning all at once. “That …” He swallowed. “… is the most overstuffed, oversweetened, over-the-top exercise in excess I’ve ever tasted!”
“You … like it, then?” I asked as my heart thudded.
He beamed. “I love it!” And then he was silent for the next few minutes as he finished the shake, down to the very last drop.
When Ms. Hale had finished photographing her shake—and downed it, too—she said, “I’d like to get a few photos of the farm facilities, too, if that’s all right.”
“I’ll give you a tour,” Wren said quickly, but just as she was about to lead her and Mr. Gilford out into the farmyard, Mr. Brannigen breezed through the creamery door. His CheeseCo partners, plus Luke, were right on his heels.
Luke came straight over to me and Wren. “I saw him pull up,” he whispered. “Vulture.”
Mr. Brannigen gave Luke a sharp look, as though maybe he’d heard his nickname, but then turned his attention to Aunt Beth.
“Mrs. Dawson,” he boomed. Then he paused, taking in Mr. Gilford’s and Ms. Hale’s press badges. “What’s this, now? You’ve invited the press to cover the sale of the farm to CheeseCo.” He smiled. “How perfect!”
“I …” Aunt Beth glanced between Mr. Gilford and Mr. Brannigen, and then at Uncle Troy, who walked over from the sales counter to stand beside her.
Wren met Mr. Brannigen’s eyes dead-on, standing tall before him. “The reporters here have nothing to do with CheeseCo. They’re interested in our farm.”
Mr. Brannigen waved a dismissive hand. “Young lady, in a few minutes, it won’t be your farm. It will be CheeseCo’s.”
Wren and Luke looked at Aunt Beth and Uncle Troy pleadingly. “Mom. Dad. Please. Don’t,” Wren said.
“Aunt Beth.” I took her hand. “Do you want to keep the farm?”
Everyone seemed to hold their breaths, and even the chatter in the dining room seemed to die down. Mr. Gilford’s pen hung suspended over his notepad, his eyes gleaming with the excitement of a great story about to break. Wren and I glanced at each other, and I could see the happy ending she wished for shining in her eyes. Please, I thought, let her wish be granted.
Aunt Beth stared at the ground for a long minute, and Uncle Troy slid his arm around her shoulders, giving her a fortifying squeeze. “You know,” she said softly, “I should’ve signed the CheeseCo contract days ago, but every time I sit down to do it, I can’t bring myself to put the pen to paper. It just doesn’t feel right.”
At her words, hope rose inside me. I said, “Then look at everything again. See if you can make it work.”
She glanced at me. “I didn’t think it was so important to you, Bria.”
“The farm isn’t just a part of Wren and Luke’s family history. It’s a part of mine, too. It’s a special place.”
She took my hand. “I’ve always felt that way about it, and I’m so glad you do, too.” She glanced at Uncle Troy, and almost simultaneously, they smiled at each other in some sort of silent understanding. Then Aunt Beth set her shoulders, and turned to Mr. Brannigen. “Mr. Brannigen, there’s been a change of plans. We’re not selling the farm.” She grinned at Wren, Luke, and me in turn, and then did a little dance, whooping. “We’re not selling the farm!”
There was a burst of jubilant hollering from my entire family as Luke, Wren, and I launched ourselves at Aunt Beth and Uncle Troy for an enormous group hug. As we did, applause and whistles erupted from all over the dining room.
I noticed Mr. Brannigen staring at Aunt Beth and Uncle Troy, seemingly too stunned to speak. “B—but we have a contract!” he finally blustered, waving the CheeseCo papers.
“An unsigned contract,” Aunt Beth reminded him. “Instead of selling, we’ll be looking into franchising opportunities. Our shakes are in high demand. If we can partner with a company interested in investing in our products and sharing in our workload and profits, then maybe we can sell our shakes at other locations. We could start a crazy shake chain, like the girls said.”
“This was never discussed in our negotiations.” Mr. Brannigen frowned. “CheeseCo’s never entertained the idea of franch
ises.”
“Until now.” Wren stepped forward. “You like uncovering opportunities in surprising places, right?”
“Y-yes, I suppose I do …” He fiddled with the papers in his hands.
“Then I’m sure you’ll want to be the first one to see the business proposal my parents are going to put together, before they shop it around to other companies.”
Mr. Brannigen glanced at his partners, and there was a subtle but collective nodding of heads. He cleared his throat gruffly. “Yes. Yes, I’d like that.” He smoothed the lapels of his jacket. “Well. If we’re not signing contracts today, there’s only one thing left to do.”
“What’s that, Mr. Brannigen?” Luke asked.
He smiled. “Enjoy one of those shakes of yours.”
Wren and I shared wide grins.
“Coming right up,” I said.
Wren turned to Mr. Gilford. “I’d be happy to give you that tour of the rest of the farm, if you still want to write about us in your article.”
“An up-and-coming future farmer like you? Oh, you can bet I’m going to write about you.” Mr. Gilford slipped his notebook into his pants pocket. “Family-run businesses like this are few and far between, so don’t be surprised if your farm gets the spotlight. I expect the feature to run toward the end of this week, but I’ll let you know the exact date.”
As Wren, Mr. Gilford, and Ms. Hale made their way out the door, I went back to the shake machine, smiling. Still, the happiness I felt over my family’s victory was tinged with a bittersweet regret. The one other person I wanted to celebrate this moment with was Gabe. But the only glimpse I’d had of him all day long was on his tractor in the distance. As the door swung closed, I could hear the tractor’s faraway rumble, and my heart tugged in my chest. I wanted to fly after the sound.
But what would be the use of that? Gabe probably didn’t want to see me, or speak to me. Not after I’d turned him down. No. I needed to stay here, and so did my heart, in this moment, celebrating with my family. And Gabe?
I sighed wistfully. Gabe would be my one summer regret.
* * *
By the time Mr. Brannigen and his CheeseCo partners left, the afternoon had turned into evening. Mr. Brannigen had devoured not one, but two Star-Spangled Twizzle Sizzles, and then had gone back to the house to talk shake franchising possibilities with Aunt Beth and Uncle Troy. I didn’t know how the meeting had gone, but I had a good feeling about it. After all, nobody drank two crazy shakes without really loving them. That much was certain. And if he loved them, maybe it meant he’d come to love this new idea about a shake chain, too.
After we closed up the creamery for the night, Wren, Luke, and my aunt and uncle decided to head down to the pond for swimming and fireworks. While Uncle Troy and Luke finished the evening’s milking, Aunt Beth, Wren, and I packed burgers into a picnic basket in the kitchen.
“You’re coming to the pond, right?” Wren asked me. “No leeches this time. Promise.”
I smiled. “I’ll be down in a while,” I said. I needed to be alone with my thoughts for a few minutes, to let go of the last bit of hope I’d clung to all day. I’d seen the tractor parked in the farmyard earlier, and there was no sign of Gabe anywhere. He’d gone home, without a single word to me.
Aunt Beth turned to me with a warm hug. “I still can’t believe what you and Wren pulled off today. My girls, standing up to Mr. Brannigen.” She shook her head, grinning at both of us. “I guess I better get busy looking into franchises now.”
“And we have more crazy shakes to invent this summer,” I said with a glance at Wren, who nodded. “And … maybe more rodeos to attend?” I asked hopefully.
Aunt Beth and Wren exchanged glances and laughed.
“Honey, if you want another rodeo,” Aunt Beth said, “you’ll get another rodeo.”
“Look out. We’ve created a monster.” Wren elbowed me. “Next you’ll want to go night fishing again, too.”
“Maybe. Who knows?” I shrugged. “There’s tons I want to do the rest of the summer. I have my sketchbook to fill with new shakes, and maybe some other drawings, too. I’ll need to practice, because when I get back to school, I want to sign up for art, and maybe a graphic design class, too.”
“You certainly have an eye for it,” my aunt said.
I grinned. “But while I’m here, I want to make the most of the farm, dirt and all.” I paused. “Aunt Beth? I’ve been thinking … could I come to stay again? Maybe next summer?”
Aunt Beth beamed and hugged me again. “Oh, honey, we’d love that so much.”
Wren glanced over her shoulder at me as we walked out the creamery’s door. “Only next time, bring your own work boots.”
I stuck out my tongue at her, laughing, and then waved as she and my aunt walked toward the pond.
I headed for the red barn and the old tire swing, feeling the need for its tried-and-true comfort. I climbed on, pushing off with one leg to set it in motion. I tilted my head back and closed my eyes, feeling the dipping and diving, and the warm evening air streaming across my face. I wouldn’t think about Gabe anymore, I told myself. Instead, I’d think about the email I’d gotten back from Jane this afternoon—the one thanking me for my apology and saying I could call her when I got back to Chicago and maybe we’d grab a shake together. I’d think about all the ways I could start the school year by being a better friend to her and Devany. I’d think about what I could do with my love for design, and all the fun ways I could turn that into a creative job someday. Most of all, I’d think about how this barn and this swing—and the entire Dawson family farm—would be here for years and years more, and that, in my own little way, I’d helped make that happen.
I lost track of time, caught in the easy swooping rhythm of the swing, and soon the sky beyond the barn door had purpled into dusk. I might have stayed like that, swinging my thoughts of Gabe away forever, if warm hands hadn’t caught me about the waist, slowly easing the swing to a stop.
“Gabe?” I breathed as he turned the swing around. Then I was looking into his gray eyes, our faces inches from each other. “I—I thought you went home already.”
“I had to talk to you. To tell you how sorry I was. All those things I said …” He shook his head. “I was way out of line—”
“No, I was the one out of line.” I sucked in a breath. “The thing is … I lied. I told you that I didn’t like you, but it wasn’t true. I knew Wren was crushing on you, and I couldn’t hurt her.” The words came out in a rush.
“Oh.” Gabe’s eyes lit up, and he nodded slowly. “I understand,” he said. “I wouldn’t have wanted to hurt her, either.” He passed a hand over his hair. “But now she knows it wouldn’t have worked. We both do. And it’s all good.”
“I just wish I’d never lied to you,” I said softly. My heart clanged wildly against my ribs, with wondering and fresh hope. “Because you’re the first real crush I ever had. The only one.”
“You are, too,” Gabe whispered, and my face burned with happiness. Then he smiled. “You do know how to shake things up, Bria Muller. I’ll give you that.”
I grinned “Ha! Very punny. But just so you know, you turned my world upside down, too, Mr. Dark Side of the Spoon.”
He shrugged, laughing. “I have my moments.” He leaned down to pick up a tall glass from the ground. “Here. I made this for you.”
I laughed, staring down at the shake he held in his hands. Swimming in the thick vanilla shake were mini chocolate cows, and decorating the edge of the glass were more chocolate animals—cows, pigs, horses, and goats.
“Whoa,” I said, impressed. “What sort of a crazy shake is that?”
He tilted his head. “How about a … Second Chance Shake?”
“Would that mean a second chance for the farm? Or for you?”
He blushed. “Maybe … both?”
“And maybe for me, too,” I said. “Thank you.” I took a sip. The shake wasn’t as expertly made as one Wren or I would have concocted, but it w
as delicious all the same.
Just then, a starburst of fiery red and blue exploded in the night sky beyond the barn doors.
“The fireworks are starting,” Gabe said.
Together we lifted our eyes to the sky, taking in the spectacular show. As showers of gold sparks rained down like magic fairy dust, Gabe’s hand found mine. The moment our fingertips touched, the electric warmth made me feel like I was floating up into the sky, my heart as bright as the lights bursting above.
“Not too shabby for a small-town fireworks show, right?” Gabe whispered when the show ended.
I shrugged. “Meh,” I said with feigned indifference. “I don’t know. I was expecting a much bigger finale.”
“Wha—? A bigger finale,” he mumbled under his breath. Then, louder and in disbelief. “A bigger finale!”
I giggled, and he grabbed me around the waist teasingly, but then I lost my breath entirely when, in the moonlight, I saw his face inches from mine, stars flecked in his eyes. “Bria,” he whispered, and my heart flared like a big fireworks finale at the way he said my name.
Time seemed to slow as I looked into his eyes. “Do you remember when I first came here? You told me you hoped I’d find a reason to change my mind about the farm.”
“I remember,” he said quietly.
“I found a lot of good reasons,” I whispered, “and one really great one.” I smiled up at him. “You.”
He smiled back slowly, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead, and leaned toward me. Our lips met in a soft touch that swept the earth, the stars, and the entire universe away, until it felt like just the two of us, spinning through delicious space.
“If I’m your first crush, does that mean that was your first kiss?” he whispered when our lips parted.
“Yes,” I breathed as my heart thrilled. “But hopefully not the last?”
He smiled once more. “We have all summer.” Our lips met again in a perfect blend of impossible sweetness, better than any shake in the world.
Are you ready for a taste of frosty sweetness? Give some of Bria’s crazy shake recipes a try, and you’ll be chillin’ in no time! To make any of these shakes, you’ll need a blender or food processor. Just remember to always use adult supervision when you’re using a blender, and never open a blender lid or put anything into a blender while it’s running.
Shake It Off Page 14