Stay Sweet(21)

Grady takes a good, long look before placing it in the box. “I’m planning to go through everything when things calm down. Maybe even frame a few things.”

Amelia smiles. As far as first impressions go, Grady is off to a very good start.

While Grady continues his task, Amelia discreetly observes him. He’s wearing a button-up chambray shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His dark fitted jeans are folded in big cuffs to his calves, and he has white canvas sneakers on his feet—bright white, as if they just came out of the box—and no socks, though he’s got a significant tan line around his ankles.

Grady is handsome for sure, but Amelia tells herself she’s intrigued mostly because boys do not dress like him in Sand Lake. Boys here wear their jeans loose. They only put on button-ups for church or school dances. They prefer boots, but if they do wear sneakers, they’re dirty from a pickup game of football or a hike or a ride on a quad. Though it’s not as if Grady comes across as any less masculine. If anything, he seems almost more self-assured.

When the last of the mementos are boxed up, Amelia follows Grady around the stand to the door. The other two boxes are stacked there, along with a messenger bag, which Grady hoists over his shoulder. Meanwhile, Amelia takes the key out of her purse. “This might be the first time a boy has ever stepped inside Meade Creamery,” she says, smiling over her shoulder as she opens the padlock.

“Actually, I’ve been in plenty of times before. I spent a whole summer in Sand Lake when I was a kid.”

Amelia blanches as she follows him inside. “Wait. Seriously?”

He doesn’t hear her. He’s spinning in a slow circle, taking everything in. “Wow. This place hasn’t changed. Like at all.”

“You say it like it’s a bad thing.”

Grady steps over to the punch clock, checks the time against his cell phone, and pats the top of it, as if the machine were a small dog that had just performed an adorable little trick for him. “Not at all. Nostalgia is huge part of the Meade Creamery brand identity.”

“Brand identity,” she repeats. Amelia has never thought of Meade Creamery as a brand. But maybe it is?

Amelia looks around too, noticing the work that will need to be done to get the stand ready for customers. The cleaning she did on the day she found Molly is barely a leg up. The toppings sideboard is empty, the scooping cabinet is unplugged. No paper cups unwrapped and stacked by size, no napkin dispensers filled, no waffle batter mixed up.

Grady moves into the office, rounds the desk, and sits down. Even though Grady says that he’s been here before, the sight of a boy inside the stand is very strange to Amelia. And to see one behind the Head Girl’s desk is completely bizarre.

He takes several copies of the Sand Lake Ledger out of his messenger bag and fans them across the desk. “Did you happen to see the newspaper this morning?”

“I did. I was surprised that you’re planning to open tomorrow. That’s . . . very ambitious.”

Though Amelia has tried to say it like it might not be a compliment, Grady grins. “The reporter wanted a quick human-interest story on the stuff people have been leaving at the stand, but once I introduced myself and explained how I’ll be taking over the business, it turned into free front-page advertising.” Grady takes out his laptop and connects it to his phone with a white cord. He taps the space bar and a bluish glow brightens his face. “Just give me a quick sec to answer an email from my advisor and we’ll get to talking.”

“Sure.” Amelia lowers herself into a seat that has not been offered to her. She makes sure to sit tall, folds her hands in her lap.

As he types, he explains, “I’m trying to get Truman to pony up some internship or independent study credits for the work I’ll be doing here this summer.” He groans, like this has been a hassle. “Truman likes to push kids toward alumni Fortune 500 companies, but those places don’t let you actually do anything. Just sit in on board meetings, shake a bunch of hands, eat steak lunches, and make contacts. But here I’ve got the chance to really get my hands dirty, see what I’m capable of, bring what I’ve learned in the classroom to the real world.” He eyes her, looking to see her reaction.

Coolly, Amelia smooths her shorts. But inside, she is lit up with the sudden understanding, one she learned how to recognize from the older stand girls, that Grady is trying to impress her.

After hitting Send with a bit of a flourish, Grady closes his laptop and slides it off to the side. He takes a legal pad out of his messenger bag and searches in the smaller pockets for something to write with.

She stops herself from telling Grady to check the top desk drawer, because of the tube of OXY and the collapsible selfie stick that are mixed in with the pencils and pens. And she tightens, remembering other girly things hidden around the office, like the tampons of varying absorbencies in the bottom drawer of their filing cabinet, the heating pad for cramps and the PMS tea, and, dear God, the box of condoms—donated by Heather, who preached that girls shouldn’t ever depend on a guy to bring protection—filling one whole cubby of the credenza. The space is more like a shared bathroom for a family of sisters than it is a traditional office, because they never imagined that a boy might be in here.

Grady says, “Aha,” and, to Amelia’s great relief, pulls a pen from his bag. Leaning back in his chair, he clicks the top of it rapid-fire. “So. Amelia. I’ll get right to it. I’d like to officially offer you, and the rest of the girls, your jobs at Meade Creamery back.”