by Emma Hart
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Best Served Cold
CHAPTER ONE – RAELYNN
CHAPTER TWO – RAELYNN
CHAPTER THREE – CHASE
CHAPTER FOUR – RAELYNN
CHAPTER FIVE – RAELYNN
CHAPTER SIX – CHASE
CHAPTER SEVEN – RAELYNN
CHAPTER EIGHT – RAELYNN
CHAPTER NINE – CHASE
CHAPTER TEN – RAELYNN
CHAPTER ELEVEN – RAELYNN
CHAPTER TWELVE – CHASE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN – RAELYNN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN – RAELYNN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN – CHASE
CHAPTER SIXTEEN – RAELYNN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – RAELYNN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – CHASE
CHAPTER NINETEEN – RAELYNN
CHAPTER TWENTY – RAELYNN
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE – RAELYNN
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO – CHASE
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE – RAELYNN
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR – RAELYNN
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE – CHASE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX – RAELYNN
EPILOGUE – RAELYNN
THE END
Coming Soon
Books by Emma Hart
About Emma Hart
BEST SERVED COLD
Emma Hart
Copyright © by Emma Hart 2018
First Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Cover Design and Formatting by Emma Hart
Editing by Ellie at My Brother’s Editor
BEST SERVED COLD
Emma Hart
CHAPTER ONE – RAELYNN
Chase Aaron was a douchebag of the highest degree.
If I sat here behind the counter of my failing ice cream store and told you all the reasons why I knew that to be true, you’d be here all day. Not that being stuck in an ice cream store all day was a bad thing, but I digress.
No, he was a douchebag because he was the reason my business was failing. The no-good asshole had taken all my plans, all my dreams and my ideas, and he’d opened his very own ice cream store.
Right. Next. Door.
Why had I told him all my plans, you ask? Well, the first answer was simple: I, Raelynn Fortune, was an idiot.
The second answer was, at the time I told him, he was my boyfriend. He’d been my boyfriend for two years, and I was excited. I’d planned the overhaul to my family store, the one we’d run for generations, and I couldn’t wait.
Best Served Cold had finally been mine.
And, one month after I’d broken up with Chase, he’d handed me a sundae full of revenge on a silver platter when he rented the space next to mine and opened his own damn store.
The Frozen Spoon was everything Best Served Cold was not.
It was fresh and modern. It was bright and airy, and the modern diner-style set-up was eye-catching for everyone who walked past. The neon sign literally screamed at you to come and get the best ice cream in Key West.
Of course, I’d never stepped foot inside the traitor’s store. You’d catch me swimming naked with sharks before I ever walked into the place that was full of my ideas.
In contrast, Best Served Cold was tired. Antique, my grandparents called it. A classic.
I preferred to call it old and dated, but whatever.
Put simply, it wasn’t as bright as it used to be. The sign at the front was at least thirty-five years old—a decade older than I was. The writing was chipped and broken, and the bulbs that lit it up in the darkness, well. Only one of those suckers worked.
Hence my plans to liven the place up.
Plans that would have been in place if it weren’t for Chase.
I hated him.
Hate was a strong word, and not one I used lightly. It was reserved almost entirely for my ex-boyfriend—and brussels sprouts. That was how serious my feelings toward him were.
I hated him. More than I’d ever hated anyone or anything.
I blew out a long breath and slumped against the counter. A glance at the clock told me to give up. Nobody had been in here since one-thirty, and even then, it was the older generations in town who refused to change who they went to for their sweet treats.
The bell above the door dinged. Unfortunately for me, it wasn’t a customer. Fortunately, it was my best friend, complete with her four-year-old niece.
“Hey,” Sophie said, shutting the door behind her. “I was going to ask if you were free, but…”
I rolled my eyes. “You’re so funny.”
Her niece, Jessica, bounded up to the counter. She had to stand on tip-toes to see over it, but that didn’t stop her from leaning against it, gripping it with her little hands. Sparkly pink nail polish adorned her tiny fingernails, and on her head, she wore a unicorn headband.
I see that obsession was still going strong.
“Hiya, Rae!” she said brightly. “Can I had an ice cream, peas?”
I leaned forward on my forearms, so I was down to her level. “I think I can do that for you. What would you like today? A cone? A little sundae?”
“Little sundae,” she replied, making a circle with her hands. “Can you make a unicorn one?”
I glanced at Sophie, but she shrugged.
“A unicorn one, huh? How would I do that?”
“I dunno,” she whispered. “Mix the colors?”
I pursed my lips. “Why don’t we take a look at the ice creams and you tell me how to make it?”
She nodded and bounced over to the ice cream display case. It was full of tubs of different flavor ice creams, everything from mango to blueberry to cookies and cream. Most of them were untouched since the old people in town tended to shun anything more exotic than chocolate.
“I fink strawberry, booberry, and…” She tapped her finger against her nose. “And backberry.”
“Blackberry?”
“Uh-huh. Pink, purple, and boo. That’s unicorn colors.”
I guessed it was. “All righty then.” I turned and grabbed a plastic pink sundae dish that I kept especially for kids. “One scoop of each?” I asked Sophie.
She shrugged again, a small smirk on her lips. “I only have her ‘til five. You give her ten if you want.”
“Three it is,” I said before Jess got any ideas.
I rinsed the scoop between each flavor, then added her regular toppings. Strawberry sauce, complete with multi-colored sprinkles and pink stars.
“There you go,” I said, setting it on the table with a shiny silver spoon.
“Fank you!” Jess scrambled up onto the chair and got stuck right in.
“That’s cute,” Sophie said, perching on one of the old leather stools at the bar that nobody ever used.
Because nobody ever came in here, and if they did, they’d need a hip replacement by the time they left if they used those stools.
Yeah. That was where my business was at. I’d probably make more money renting it out as a damn bingo hall.
Which was very, very sad.
“You know what you need to do?” Sophie asked, jumping up and grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge behind the counter.
“Start making you pay?”
She rolled her eyes. “You need to redecorate it. You were going to do it before that buttmunch moved in next door.”
“He stole my idea, remember?” The only thing more bitter
than my tone was a basket full of limes, and even then, only just.
“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 shoulder 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 on 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 pricey, 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?”
Squinting, 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 known 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 emptying 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.