by Mary Manners
“So we have to stick together, right—like peanut butter and jelly?” She swiped the tears that spilled over as she mimicked the words Cade had often used to comfort her. Sniffles followed as she gazed up at him, squeezing Polly tight. “And like vanilla ice cream with hot fudge?”
Cade plastered on a smile, knowing from experience that she’d follow his lead if he coaxed her. He swallowed hard and struggled to hold a steady tone, though his own tears threatened to render him mute. “That’s right. You’ve got it, kiddo.”
One moment passed…two as Cade waited for the storm to either unleash or subside. It could go either way.
“Can we have ice cream for dinner?” Gracie drew a long sigh and patted Polly’s belly, seemingly content, for the moment at least, with their impromptu heart-to-heart. “Polly’s tummy’s growlin’ and so is mine. We’re both lots and lots hungry.”
Cade tossed up a quick prayer of thanks for Gracie’s quick recovery. They’d passed by an ice cream shop on the way into town. The massive signage of a waffle cone overflowing with a double-scoop of vanilla sprinkled with colorful candy pieces stood as a clear indication of the sweets to be found inside. Through the glass, he’d noticed the place was hopping with business as a petite blonde in a pink apron filled orders from behind the counter. As he’d paused at the traffic light, her gaze had drifted for the slightest moment to capture his. For a few breaths in time, they seemed connected as her wisp of a smile spoke to him. Then, just as quickly, the traffic light changed. The blare of a horn from the car behind him shocked him from his stupor and, like a puff of smoke in a wind storm, the moment lifted. But the memory of her smile had followed him as Cade had plunged the SUV into motion and continued on toward the cottage once again.
Cade turned his thoughts back to Gracie. “Ice cream for dinner?” He wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know about that. You’ve had more than your fair share of sweets today…yesterday, too. We’ve sort of worked our way through a vending-machine buffet this entire trip.”
“Please, Uncle Cade.” Gracie batted those pretty blue eyes that had a tendency to melt his heart—and his resolve—into oblivion. “Please!”
“Twist my arm.” He crouched lower and extended his right limb for her. A visit to the ice cream shop might prove adventuresome, though he had no desire to head out again tonight. Traci had mentioned something about a story hour there on Saturday mornings, though, that Gracie might enjoy, and he’d found a flyer to that effect placed in the paper holder beneath his mailbox. Who could pass up the combination of rich ice cream and picture books? For a four-year-old, what’s not to love about that? Besides, the blonde wearing the pink apron at the serving counter had intrigued him…left him wondering what he might find should he step inside. Cade nodded to Gracie as he shook his arm. “Go ahead. Climb on.”
Gracie grabbed onto his forearm and held tight as Cade swung her in to the air in moving-crane fashion. Her grunts of effort morphed to squeals of delight followed by giggles as he gathered her in close for a bear hug.
“Please, Uncle Cade,” she murmured against his chest as the sweet scent of chocolate drifted. “I want an ice cream mountain—two big scoops—with rainbow sprinkles and whipped cream on top.”
“But you just had cookies for a snack. You’re sure to hang from the chandelier with that much sugar in your system.”
Gracie glanced up toward the ceiling. “What chandelier?”
“The proverbial chandelier, sweetie.” Cade stifled a smattering of laughter. “It’s figurative language.”
“I don’t get it.” It was a phrase Gracie often used, prompting Cade to explain his play on words. “But I love ice cream.”
“I know you do. But...” Cade’s gaze shifted to the basket on the table and its contents that overflowed like a well-stocked shopping cart. Outside the French doors, the evening sun dipped along the forest canopy, stroking the sky with swirls of color. Muscles along his spine screamed, and his fingers protested at the thought of gripping the steering wheel for the ride back into town just now, despite his interest in the pink-sheathed blonde. Who was she, and why did she have his curiosity so fired up? It was as if an outside force tugged at him, nudging his mind and his heart. Cade’s investigative senses tingled…there was more to the story there. He just knew it. But that was a scavenger hunt best left for tomorrow.
Like a gentle breath of air, Amy’s words drifted back to him from a day not so long ago when Gracie wailed through the throes of a tantrum over a piece of candy she’d been denied while waiting alongside them in the grocery store check-out aisle.
“Don’t be afraid to say no, Cade. Sometimes saying no really means yes…yes, I love you enough to set boundaries. Yes, I love you enough to stand firm. Be firm where Gracie is involved, Cade…always be loving but firm.” It was as if she had known…as if she’d sensed the inevitable, impending loss that lay ahead and used the time she had left to impart her wisdom to him. Now, whenever things got kind of crazy, and he wasn’t sure which way to turn, Cade heard her gentle voice and remembered those words.
“Can we have ice cream, Uncle Cade?” Gracie tugged at the hem of his T-shirt. “Can we…please oh please?”
Be firm, Cade…loving but firm.
Cade kept his tone light but unyielding as he invoked a bit of humor. “Well…I suppose the ice cream shop might have something in lima bean flavor—or maybe spinach a la mode,” he teased. “Either of those might pass for dinner.”
“No!” Gracie’s gaze swung back to him, her eyes wide and rounded with telltale hints of sleepiness. Cade knew she stood dangerously close to hitting the wall. Surely, she’d get her belly full and nod off soon after…just one more reason to stay close to home tonight. He’d learned through trial and error that being out and about when Gracie crashed could lead to a meltdown. He only prayed she’d sleep through the night tonight so he could as well. Now, Polly dangled from one hand while Gracie’s other wrapped around Cade’s neck. “You’re jokin’, right?”
“Yes, I’m being facetious.” Cade kissed her cheek and gently set her down. “But there’ll be no ice cream tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Because we have plenty of food here.” Cade motioned to the dining table. “Look, Miss Vivian left us a basketful of treats.”
“She’s the nice lady you’ve been talking to on the phone, right?”
“That’s right. She fixed your bed for you as soon as it was delivered, so you’d have somewhere comfortable to sleep. That’s why she called earlier while we were driving into town. She wanted me to know so I wouldn’t worry over where you’d sleep tonight.”
“The angels said she’s our friend—not a stranger—so it’s OK to talk to her.”
“The angels?” Cade made his way to the table and began to sort through the basket’s contents. “What angels?”
“I saw them in my dream.”
“Well that must have been some dream.”
“It was nice.” Gracie shrugged. “They said the other lady is nice, too…the one who knows I like raisins.”
“But how…” Cade scratched his head as he glanced at the basket. The raisins were buried in the basket beneath the other food. How did Gracie even know they’d been included in the mix?
“I want to meet Miss Vivian and the other lady, too.”
“Miss Vivian is out of town for a few days, but we’ll pencil a visit to Emmy Lassiter in at the top of our to-do list for tomorrow, OK?”
“Yep. I want to say thank you for the raisins and the pizza bites. I love them and Polly does, too.”
“That would be a polite thing to do.” Cade handed Gracie a juice box. “Miss Vivian and—”
“Emmy, right? The angels told me to look for Emmy.”
“They did, did they?”
“Uh huh.” Gracie nodded. “She’s gonna be our friend.”
“Is that so?”
“Yep, it sure is.” A stiff nod of her head emphasized the point. “And I think you’re gonna be h
er special friend, Uncle Cade.”
“Special how?”
“I dunno.” Again, Gracie shrugged. “The angels didn’t say.”
“Well, in the meantime, how about I make you a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of vegetable soup to fuel that imagination of yours?”
“It’s not my imagination, Uncle Cade.” Gracie crossed her arms tight along her chest. “The angels are for real. Ask Miss Vivian. She knows.”
“I just might do that.” Though just how he’d broach the subject, Cade had no earthly idea. “Now, about soup and a sandwich…?”
“That’s not as yummy as ice cream, but it’ll do.”
“It’ll do?” Cade laughed softly. “Well, that’s good to hear. How about we compromise on the ice cream and stop in that shop tomorrow on our way back into town to buy groceries? Along the way, we can do a little of that exploring you requested.”
“Oooh…I like ’sploring.” Gracie climbed onto a chair at the table and made quick work of dumping the remaining contents of the food basket. She found the can of soup. “Can I pour it into the pot and help you stir?”
“I don’t see why not.” Cade riffled through the cabinet beside the stove and found a small saucepan. He popped the top on the can and then handed it back to Gracie and waited while she dumped the contents into the pot before placing it on the stovetop. He scooted a chair over to the counter and Gracie climbed aboard before he handed her a wooden spoon. “Stir away,” he prompted as his thoughts drifted to the blonde once again. What was her connection to the ice cream shop, and why had he felt, for at least that briefest of moments, so in tune with her?
And Gracie’s talk about angels…what, exactly, was up with that? He’d investigate tomorrow…after he had his belly filled and a few much-needed hours of R and R.
2
Emmy Lassiter moved the oversized rocking chair to the head of an area rug that covered the center of the expansive activity room and then placed her favorite picture book about a mischievous mouse and his cookie in the seat. The rocker dwarfed her, but she didn’t care. It was a piece—a memory—from Grandma June’s estate. Apparently, it was the same chair her father had been sung to sleep in as a child. The flat-backed slats made it sit-for-a-spell comfortable, and the warm oak had been polished to a shine. Dad had gifted her with the chair nearly six months ago at the grand-opening celebration for her children’s story hour at Babycakes.
The ice cream shop had been operational for about a year when Emmy came to the decision that serving up chilled treats wasn’t enough—she wanted to offer something more substantial to the children that frequented her establishment. So she’d converted the storage area off to the side of the ice cream shop’s main entrance into a children’s reading and activity room. She’d had the better part of one outer wall removed and replaced the drywall and bricks with an expanse of oversized windows that offered a picturesque view of the bustling yet quaint boulevard beyond.
The windows were adorned with valances in a splash of Babycakes’s signature bubblegum-pink, while built-in wall shelves that had once been stocked with paper products and supplies for the topping bar, were now crisply-painted and lined with hundreds of picture books. Child-sized tables and cozy oversized beanbag chairs, coupled with a variety of handcrafted wall murals, invited children and their parents to settle in, relax, and lounge for a while.
Emmy’s Saturday morning story hour garnered a modest yet loyal following. She’d named the weekly adventure Saturday Sprinkles because she loved to sprinkle a bit of fun into the mix—songs and rhymes, movement, and a touch of humor that often came in the form of puppetry or dress up. Saturday Sprinkles kicked off each Saturday at ten—an hour before the shop officially opened for business. Though she hadn’t made efforts to formally advertise the program beyond designing a simple flyer and placing it in the shop’s window, the story hour had grown of its own accord, mainly due to word-of-mouth along the streets of Angel Falls. She would happily welcome additional children, though, and had a handful of ideas for a more formal advertising campaign pinned at the top of her priority list.
The Angel Falls Trumpet came to mind. It was the most widely-read newspaper in the area. Perhaps she’d request an advertising quote. She made a mental note to look into it first thing Monday morning after reviewing the marketing budget to see what sort of package she could afford.
Emmy sighed and smoothed a hand over one armrest of the rocking chair as a wisp of a smile tickled her lips. What had been a merely a dream only a handful of years ago was now a front-and-center reality. She did a slow sweep of the room, drinking in the whimsical coziness as she thought about how far she’d come from the day she’d stepped through the doors of Angel Falls Community-First Bank to request a loan to supplement the insurance money left to her by Grandma June, who had shared many a picture book with Emmy when she was a little girl. Emmy had begun this business venture with little more than what some might deem a flight of fancy coupled with a small pocketful of cash and a carefully thought out financial plan. But she’d seen things through…she’d followed her dream despite all the obstacles in her path.
Now Babycakes’s cheery pastel color scheme in vibrant pinks and sky blues was off-set by bold black wrought-iron tables along the walls and a faux-leather couch accented by overstuffed throw pillows at the center of the room. Easy access to wireless Internet invited patrons to stay and surf while nursing a sweet, chilled drink along with a hot fudge sundae or a sliver of frosted fudge brownie a la mode. Cheerful cut carnations in small fluted vases were replenished every other morning to maintain a fresh style as they added a touch of class and a rainbow of colors to patron tables.
Gleaming stainless steel machines stood along the wall like smartly dressed soldiers. They churned a dozen delicious soft-serve flavors, cranking each out in whimsical swirls at the simple lift of a lever. Just a few of today’s showcased offerings were Blueberry Cheesecake, Chocolaty Velvet Delight, Dreamy-Creamy Peach, and Mango Tango. And, of course, the ever-popular Very Vanilla remained a front-and-center, steadfast favorite.
Customers had their choice of serving cups in three different sizes and with-or-without dividers that kept the flavors from co-mingling as they waited to be devoured. There were waffle, sugar, cake, or chocolate-dipped cones as well as the Mountain Majesty…an oversized chocolate-dipped bowl that held an entire quart of swirled ice cream complete with a plethora of toppings and was meant for only the hardiest appetites.
But Emmy’s favorite offering of all was the expansive topping bar. It began with three dozen clear plastic, gallon-sized tubes with stainless-steel levers mounted to the wall in a long pair of rows. Each morning, Emmy lovingly filled each container to the brim with everything from salted peanuts to crumbled-chocolate candy pieces, gummy fruits, and rainbow sprinkles. Just beyond the array of tubes, the selection continued with a buffet of inset, chilled plastic bins that were heaped with plump cherries, juicy pineapple chunks, fresh blueberries, mini-marshmallows, and an assortment of white and dark chocolate-dipped wafer cookies. Hot fudge, strawberry, and caramel-filled pump dispensers, along with two varieties of whipped cream-in-a-can, rounded out the mouth-watering selections.
Emmy’s heart never failed to trill at the delight in her young customers’ eyes as they marveled at the seemingly endless array of choices. There was no limit to the possible combinations or the dreams that came as a side dish to the wonder of it all. The smiles and delighted chatter never got old.
Never, ever.
The delivery door at the rear of the shop opened and then, just as quickly, slammed shut again.
“Hey, Emmy, I’ve got the cookies you asked for.”
“Hey, Marcie.” Emmy shifted her attention from the topping bar as her childhood friend and part-time business manager strode through the stock room door and into the service area. As she neared, the delicious aromas of brown sugar and chocolate swirled. “Ooh…what kind of scrumptious treats do you have there?”
“Double
chocolate chunk cookies…just like you ordered.”
“I thought so.” Emmy leaned in for a generous sniff. “Oh. My. Goodness. They smell delicious.”
“I have to agree. I believe Mrs. Alverez has outdone herself this week.” Marcie’s green eyes flashed as spiked auburn hair framed dusky, high-boned cheeks. She’d done some modeling through college and planned to make her mark on a New York runway until a speeding ticket she’d acquired while zipping along the boulevard, in what Emmy assumed must be the oddest twist of fate on record, led to a walk down the matrimonial aisle with Angel Falls’s Chief of Police, Lane Fowler. Marcie had settled nicely into marriage and, half-a-dozen years later, she and Lane were expecting their third child.
Now, Marcie dipped a hand beneath the platter’s plastic covering, snatched a cookie, and broke it in two as warm chocolate oozed over her fingertips. She handed half to Emmy before popping a chunk into her mouth. Marcie chewed, swallowed, and then gushed, “Oh, yes…they are absolutely to die for. The kids are sure to go crazy for these.”
Emmy pressed a palm to her belly in delight as she nibbled the sweet confection. “Oh, it is good.”
“I told you.” Marcie snatched a second cookie before resealing the plastic wrap. “You’ll have to give Mrs. Alverez a raise.”
“You’ve got that right.” The kindly older woman Emmy had met and quickly befriended through Angel Falls Community Church had proved to be a gifted baker, and just weeks before Babycakes’s opening, Emmy had commissioned her to make all the baked goods for the shop. Her rotating menu included frosted brownies both with and without pecans, cupcakes in a variety of flavors and heaped in magnificent swirls of icing, mini fruit pies, and sweet breads that changed flavor with each day of the week. And cookies…thank goodness for the cookies. “What began for her as a weekend hobby has become a full-time job.”
“Yes, and if business keeps growing we’ll have to expand again soon enough.” Marcie did a slow sweep of the area. “That display case we added last week has made the serving line a bit cramped.”