Page 36 of The Fall Classic

“Sorry, I got overexcited about coming,” I admit, “and forgot to look the part.”

She tilts her head and bites her lip, still smiling. “You got excited?”

“Yeah. For ice cream.”

Her dimples are so big, I could fall into them. “Me too.”

I have to look at the Mudcakes sign to collect myself, which reminds me that it’s hot and humid and we’re still outside. “Shall we?”

I open the screen door for her, and it bangs behind us when we go in.

We both get Compost Crunch in a cone, but I add a second scoop—Silted Caramel—because Scottie told me to, and then we go outside and sit on the patio along the side of the shop, where cool air misters and a fan make it tolerable. That fan is clicking, though, and the sound is starting to stress me out.

“That thing feels rickety for how fast it’s spinning,” I say, about to guide us to a spot away from the spinning death trap.

“Oh, it’s always clicked,” she says, looking up at it. “Ever since I was a kid. My parents took me here whenever my dad closed a new deal.” She wrinkles her brow for a second. “It’s like an old friend at this point.”

“You’re friends with a ceiling fan?” I ask, taking my first bite of Silted Caramel, and dang it, if Scottie wasn’t right. It’s delicious—cold and creamy, sweet with the right hint of salt.

“You become friends with everything in a small town,” she says before nodding at my cone. “How is it?”

I look at the two scoops—well, one and a quarter now. I’ve been putting in work on the Silted Caramel.

“It’s fantastic,” I say.

“Wait till you get to the Compost Crunch,” she says, so I eat the rest of the Silted Caramel in one big bite.

Then I wince as cold hits the roof of my mouth like a fist and my eyes water. I smack my palm to my forehead, knocking off my cap. “Brain freeze.”

She snorts and coughs into her ice cream. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed.”

I bump my palm to my head again as the pain subsides. I’m still squinting, though, as I grab my cap from the ground. “Yes, you should have. It was dumb.”

But now I’m finally at the Compost Crunch, and after the brain freeze fades, I take a more reasonable bite, and, wow. It’s as good as she said. It’s a brown butter base of some kind, and the toffee and almond offer the perfect crunch, while the dark chocolate is bitter enough to keep the sweetness from being boring.

She must be able to tell how much I love it, because she looks pleased. “So good, right?”

“So good,” I say, taking another bite.

I look past her through the window into the shop, take another bite, and listen to the fan clicking.

Then I look up at it.

“I think I could be friends with this fan.”

She looks at me and then back at her ice cream, smiling. “Good.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Logan

Ididn’t work up the nerve to ask Georgie out on a real date, but I did text her about meeting up today, because even though it’s a given in my mind that I’ll be here, I cannot and will not take her presence for granted, especially because I know the truth now.

Every day when she takes a break, she’s driving the ten miles here and ten miles back. It’s probably eating up a ton of gas, and part of me has been debating running to Sugar Maple and dropping a hundred-dollar tip into her tip jar when she’s not looking. But if the girl who doesn’t even want me knowing she works as a barista found out, she’d be humiliated. I can’t do that to her.

She’ll let me know when she lets me know.

I pull up to Meant to Bean and see Georgie in the coffee truck stopped at the light on Broad Street. I hop out of my truck and walk straight into the coffee shop so she doesn’t have to worry about me noticing. As always, my gaze goes straight to our window booth.