Love, Laughter & Happily Ever After: A sweet romantic comedy collection

by Ellie Hall

  “I’ll have the tortellini, please,” Doug says.

  “That’s always been my favorite. I’ll be back soon.” With a bounce, Alexia leaves.

  Doug scans the room and then his eyes lands on me.

  As I fiddle with the parmesan cheese and flaked pepper shakers, warmth spikes through my system. Good thing I ordered the Tartufo.

  He leans in. “I have a weird feeling about this.”

  I knock over the pepper and sneeze. “You what now?”

  “Something is off…”

  The corners of my lips lower. “About this restaurant? I’ve been coming here for years. They serve up nothing but good home cooked food. Maybe avoid breadbasket refills if you’re concerned about your waistline. Not that you need to be.” I’m rambling and need to stop now if I know what’s good for me. The warmth rises to my cheeks. “I’m on the lake committee and we’re committed to Lib’s health.”

  “Lib?”

  “Liberty Lake. This is our home. Our livelihoods are connected to that body of water. If something is going on we have to get to the bottom of it.”

  “We?”

  “Do you only speak in monosyllables? Lib. We. Whatever. It’s up to us to figure this out.”

  He grunts. “What makes you think I want to help you?”

  My jaw drops. This man is insufferable. He’s hot then cold. And by hot I mean attractive. He’s callous and cold—and that’s saying something considering I peddle ice cream.

  Alexia approaches with two plates. “The Tartufo for you and the tortellini.” She sets them down at our respective places.

  The interruption did nothing to squelch my sass. I smooth my spoon along the crunchy cookie coating the chocolate shell hiding cherry ice cream with a creamy core. A waffle cone wedge sticks out of the side of the dome of the dessert. I may as well get some satisfaction out of this meal...and let him pay for it.

  Doug is midbite when he does a double-take at my plate. “Ice cream for dinner?”

  I smirk. “And breakfast. Lunch. Tea time. All the time. A balanced diet is an ice cream cone in each hand.”

  “Interesting philosophy.”

  “It’s a lifestyle. Valentino’s serves Queen’s Cones flavors. Couldn’t pass up the Tartufo. It’s delicious,” I add, savoring a bite. “I’d offer you some, but I happen to know you hate ice cream.”

  Doug grunts then shovels food into his mouth like a caveman or like he wants to keep from saying something impolite.

  I rave about how good my meal is with the intent to torment.

  When we get the bill, I let Doug reach for it. He had the chance to get free ice cream earlier. Now, he can pay.

  He tosses some bills on the table, abruptly gets up, and says, “Come on, I want dessert.”

  “I would’ve shared.” No, I wouldn’t have.

  “Not here,” he growls.

  4

  Sundae School // Doug

  Dinner with Rose was agonizing. Not because she lacked table manners, the service was bad, or the food inedible. I’d give five stars across the board.

  The problem is Rose. Rather, how being around her repeatedly tries to light something inside me. It’s like I got a new set of spark plugs.

  Walking alongside her is no better. As we step into the warm evening, leaving the garlic and basil from the restaurant behind, her vanilla sugar scent teases my nose. Is it even fair that she smells like dessert?

  Dressed in a lavender sundress with tiny white flowers showcasing her tan, her curves, and her smooth skin, she’s irresistible. So was her ice cream dinner.

  Then there’s the hair—the mane of a lioness. Rose may as well be crowned queen of the pride. Her sparkly brown eyes are pools of curiosity and knowledge. It’s like she’s ready for adventure and yet would never stray from being true to herself.

  I eye my motorcycle in the parking lot. “I should leave.”

  She inclines her head slightly. “I thought you wanted dessert. I’ve placed my bet and don’t want to lose five bucks.”

  My brow furrows as I look around. “Who’d you place a bet with?” She hadn’t been on her phone.

  “Myself.”

  “Should I bother asking how that would work?”

  “You said you wanted dessert. Five dollars says you couldn’t get through a Queen’s Cones Special.”

  “Five dollars? That’s pennies.”

  She tucks her chin back. “Says the guy who needed a job so badly he went to the sketchy quick lube.”

  “It’s not sketchy.”

  “Harlen is.”

  I tip my head from side to side. “You may not be wrong.”

  Rose jerks her head with surprise. “Wait. Hold up. Are you agreeing with me on something?”

  “Yes, and I’ll up the ante. A hundred dollars says I can down a Queen’s Cones Special.” Whatever that is.

  She walks toward the sidewalk.

  “Hang on. We need to shake on it.”

  “Should we spit in our palms too just to make it extra official?”

  I wrinkle my nose but laugh. “You’re impossible.”

  “I’ve been called a lot of things, but that’s a first.” She holds up her hand and counts off as she says, “Spunky.”

  “Sassy.”

  “I won’t disagree.”

  I stab the air with my finger. “Ah! The second thing we agree on.”

  Her lips tease toward a smile. “Fun, funny, caring, carefree...Also, eclectic.”

  “Unique,” I add.

  With each word spoken, the animosity between us fades ever so slightly.

  “Yep. One of a kind. That’s me. How about you?”

  I don’t want to talk about me. I’d rather tell her she’s infuriatingly beautiful, but the words stick like a bad alternator.

  “You seem serious.”

  I lift and lower a shoulder. “You might say passionate.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Is that so? Tell me, Doug Slate, what exactly are you passionate about?”

  I bite the inside of my lip. “Cars.”

  “You drive a motorcycle.”

  “Anything with wheels.”

  “Can you ride a unicycle?”

  “One of my many secret talents.”

  “What about a wagon? That has wheels.”

  I chuckle. “I prefer the motorized variety. Cars, trucks, motorcycles. Anything with an engine.”

  “In that case, I have something to show you.”

  The little boy in me bounces to life—the one whose favorite moments growing up were when my dad and I would go to his massive garage aka the showroom housing his large collection of classic cars. It was the only time he and I connected.

  We stand outside the ice cream shop after hours. The landscape lighting glows invitingly.

  Rose falls in and then out of shadow. Now, illuminated, her beauty softens. It melts me. A piece of her wavy hair hangs near her eye and I fight the urge to smooth it away.

  “You’re impossible,” I repeat. My voice lower, huskier this time. How can a woman this perfect exist? She’s impossibly beautiful. Impossibly smart, clever, funny. She’s everything I never realized I sought in a woman. In a person.

  But that’s not why I’m here.

  “You’ve mentioned. Can’t say that’s what I’d like to hear out of my date’s mouth, but I’ve been called worse.”

  There’s a story there, but I snag on something else she said. “So is this a date?”

  “Do I need to remind you about my sneaky employee and her best friend? How do you know Christina, anyway?”

  I clear my throat. “Oh, she’s my, uh—” I don’t want to lie. “She’s my aunt.”

  Rose waggles her eyebrows. “Fancy schmancy. Good to have family in high places, especially if you’re reduced to seeking a job at the Oil Change King.”

  I balk. “There’s nothing wrong with car maintenance. It’s good, honest work.”

  She waves her hand dismissively. “I don’t disagree.”

&nbs
p; “Ah, number three.”

  “Number three what?” she asks.

  “That’s the third thing we don’t disagree on.”

  “So the third thing we do agree on.”

  I chuckle. “Now we’re disagreeing on semantics.”

  “Either way, I want you to understand that Harlen is shady. Ask your aunt about him. But I thought we came here for dessert. Did you change your mind about hating ice cream?” She slides the key into the lock of her shop.

  “I never said I hated it. But hang on. We still haven’t shaken hands on the bet.”

  She holds out her palm. I slide mine against her smooth skin.

  Rose’s shake is firm, intentional. No limp, half-hearted tremor there. She means to win this bet. However, whether it’s five dollars or five hundred, the moment we connect five billion nerve endings shoot to life inside me. I’ve been jolted, jumpstarted.

  Our eyes meet in the low light. Hers sparkle. Mine...I imagine they’re as bright as a pair of high beams.

  If touching this woman’s palm ignited something inside me, I cannot imagine the power of her lips.

  Her hand remains locked in mine. We’re well past the normal amount of time for a handshake.

  Rose’s lips part, but she doesn’t say anything as she slowly loosens her hand from mine.

  “Right. Dessert.” My voice is a rough mess.

  As I said, she’s impossible. It should be impossible for me to feel so much, so suddenly about someone, especially when I’m here to focus on my company.

  The sweet scent of buttery waffle cones and cinnamon warms the air even though the interior of the ice cream shop is relatively cool.

  When I first stopped in, I was parched from the long, hot drive on the bike from the city. I hardly noticed anything other than the pretty woman behind the counter. A distraction I didn’t and still don’t need.

  “So, is this a do-over? Are you going to try some ice cream?”

  “Yes, but I’ll pay for it. I understand the freebie was only for the Hello, Summer Soiree.”

  “Oh, you’ll pay buddy. You’re going to owe me a hundred bucks. I have my doubts about your ability to consume the Queen’s Cones Special.”

  I hold my hands out and say, “Ye of little faith. Come on, let me have it.”

  Rose gets to work behind the counter, scooping, arranging, and sprinkling. “Watch carefully. This is the anatomy of ice cream sundae perfection.”

  In less than five minutes she presents me with a waffle cone bowl overflowing with ice cream and toppings.

  “What you have here are three scoops—vanilla, triple chocolate, and mint chip. On top is hot fudge and melted marshmallow. Oh, and a drizzle of caramel. Plus Reece’s Pieces, mini M&Ms, and rainbow sprinkles. Topped with a squirt of whipped cream.”

  “Looks good. The only thing missing is the cherry on top.”

  She dangles one in the air. “Are you up for this challenge?”

  “I’ve never lost a bet.”

  She laughs. “You’ve never had a Queen’s Cones Special.”

  “I think I can handle it.”

  She meets my eyes.

  “Challenge accepted.” Again, my voice is rough as if there’s more to this conversation than the words we’re speaking. More to the wager than whether I can eat an ice cream sundae.

  We sit down at a table and I take a bite. It’s creamy, sugary, melty perfection. “You do the talking. I’m doing the eating. This is good.”

  “Number four,” she says.

  I smile around a bite, picking up her meaning. The fourth thing we agree on.

  “I apologize for getting off to a rough start with you. For the record, I don’t hate ice cream. I love it.”

  The sun may as well have knocked the moon out of orbit. She beams. “Thank you. I pride myself on my business and work hard. In fact, the Queen’s Cones Special inspired this whole place.”

  I nod, indicating she go on.

  Rose tells me about the joy brought by her humble ice cream shop, her employees Emma and Jeanie, and the lake town. Meanwhile, she produced a second spoon and helps me eat the sundae.

  “What about the bet?” But before she answers I add, “Never mind. Ice cream this good should be shared. Dig in. It’s delicious.”

  “I know.”

  “What inspired the Queen’s Cones Special?”

  “On my first night in Liberty Lake, the cupboards in the cottage I rented for the week were bare. I went to the market and cleared out their ice cream section. This sundae was born. Well, minus the waffle cone bowl. That took a while to perfect.”

  “So ice cream for dinner is nothing new?”

  She laughs. “My life. My rules.”

  “What brought you to Liberty Lake?”

  She glances out the window toward the water. “Freedom.”

  “You found it?”

  Her gaze floats back to me. “Sure did. And I haven’t left.” She gets up from the table. “But I should now.”

  “I thought you had something to show me.” The truth is, I don’t want tonight to end. But it has to. I shouldn’t be tempted by the queen of cones.

  5

  Nice Cream // Rose

  The blind date with Doug quickly turned into me seeing rather clearly that there’s more to my mortal ice cream enemy than a burly biker with a beard.

  He’s Christina’s nephew for one, meaning it’s hard to believe he has to work at the Oil Change King. Maybe he’s the black sheep of the family? The wayward son who fell on hard times and was sent to live with his kindly aunt?

  For two, he doesn’t hate ice cream after all. He polished off the Queen’s Cones Special...with a little help from me. He, I mean, it—in creamy, chocolaty perfection—was irresistible. I couldn’t help myself. I had to have a bite...or two.

  Don’t roll your eyes at me. I only thought about Doug for an hour before I fell asleep. I know better than to toss and turn, unable to rest because I can’t stop thinking about a guy. Give me some credit.

  I’m a businesswoman and won’t let a handsome, charming, and capable man interfere with the life I’ve created in Liberty Lake.

  Okay, it was an hour and five minutes. Cut me some slack. But I did decline to extend our night to show him something...aka my car. No, that’s not a euphemism for anything.

  I have what’s known as a hotrod—a 1968 Chevy Corvette convertible in the original rally red. I peeled out of my old life and drove all the way here without stopping. Well, except twice to refuel. The Vette is a gas-guzzler. I parked in the garage behind the cottage and haven’t moved it since...the car won’t start. But that’s a problem for tomorrow.

  There’s no reason to leave Liberty Lake, anyway. Everything I want is right here.

  Plus, last night, I had to get home to Butterscotch. I gave her an extra rosehip treat for waiting up. Doug will have to take a raincheck. Or not.

  Although, it is raining today. I hope it’ll clear up by the afternoon.

  The bunny and I do our normal morning routine and watch the rain pock the surface of the lake. I shake my head, worried about our water. I’ve researched acid rain and other environmental issues but am convinced the contamination comes from nearby. It’s not enough to shut down the lake. Not yet.

  I learned the hard way it’s better to prevent catastrophe than find it’s too late to fix a problem. I made that mistake once. One of my shortcomings is I try to see the best in people.

  “I’m pretty flawsome if I do say so myself.”

  Butterscotch chitters.

  “Thanks for agreeing.”

  Yes, I have my flaws but I’m awesome too. I accept both. Anderson has no idea what he’s missing. Not that it matters.

  We gaze at the lake. “What could be polluting you? It’s not oil. There must be another chemical coming from the Oil Change King.”

  I jerk back in my chair.

  Butterscotch twitches her ears irritably at my sudden movement.

  “That’s it. Doug can be our ins
ide man at the shop. He can investigate and find out what Harlen is up to.”

  The phone rings. I stiffen when I read the caller ID. “It’s your favorite person.”

  Butterscotch hops down and hides in her hutch.

  I answer. “Good morning, Margo.”

  “It isn’t a good morning. Mom just called and said we have to go out to the lake for your birthday in August.”

  “You don’t. Truly.”

  “I have an appointment with the caterer that week.”

  “Wouldn’t want to miss that.”

  “That’s what I told Mother. Can we change the date?”

  Butterscotch grumbles from her hutch as if to say, That woman has some nerve!

  “Change the date of my birthday? No need. The mosquitos are really bad that time of year. Wouldn’t want you to get any welts.”

  She huffs. “My feeling exactly. Plus, we’re busy. Have a lot going on with wedding planning. Anderson is up for a promotion and has been working around the clock.”

  My stomach slithers at the mention of his name.

  “We’ve hardly had any time together,” my sister whines.

  I’ve tried to explain to her about the writing on the wall. I’ve seen it. Experienced it. She doesn’t listen.

  “Can you please talk to Mom? Tell her that there’s no need to go to the lake. You’ll have other birthdays. Or maybe we could do it in the autumn when there aren’t so many bugs. You know me, Rose.”

  Yep. I know her...and her fiancé. Know him all too well.

  “Sure. I’ll talk to Mom.”

  I hang up. Now would be a great time for the Corvette to start because I’d like to drive away from this frustration.

  Instead, I hurry to work.

  As always, Emma opened up shop but the shade umbrellas remain closed because of the continued rain. She has evening classes for her master’s degree in elementary education so she comes in first and leaves early.

  “Looks like someone was hungry for a midnight snack.” She winks at the pair of spoons still on the table where Doug and I sat last night.

  I snatch them up.

  My sister’s call reminded me exactly why I shouldn’t date.

  We get a flurry of people ordering warm beverages on the cool, rainy morning before Jeanie comes in, all sunny smiles.