Stay Sweet(55)

“Seriously?” Cate howls. “It’s the middle of a shift. And I’m on my break. Also, I’m not the boss here,” she says, pointing to Amelia’s flower pin. “You are.”

Jen and Bernadette, the two other girls on this shift, are frozen.

“It’s okay, everything’s fine.” Amelia tries to reassure them while simultaneously straightening up and wiping, a tornado of stress. “But Cate and I are going to take over the windows for a little while. Jen, can you please go empty the trash cans? And sweep up these sprinkles, and”—she glances behind her—“Bern, I know we’re okay on waffle cones right now, but could you get some more cooking anyway, to get the place smelling yummy?” She takes a deep breath. “And please make sure all of you have your shirts tucked in,” she adds, taking her own advice.

“Who the hell is coming?” Cate says, doing the same. “The president?”

Amelia combs her fingers through her hair and glances out the window. “Grady’s dad is on his way here,” she announces. “So everyone, please . . .” Amelia blanks on how to end her sentence. Because what is she asking them, really? “. . . be on your best behavior.”

Not a minute later, a black Mercedes pulls into the stand’s driveway.

“Grady,” she calls out. “He’s here.”

Grady pops up beside her and peeks discreetly over her shoulder. “Okay. I’m going outside.”

The next few customers Amelia helps, she feels like she’s drunk, she has so much adrenaline coursing through her veins. As she hands over a double-scoop cone, she catches a glimpse of Grady greeting his dad out of the corner of her eye. Grady extends his hand for a shake, and his dad obliges.

“How was your vacation?” Grady asks breezily as he leads his dad inside.

“Courses were beautiful. I shot very well.” Grady’s dad surveys the place down the tip of his nose. “You’ve been busy.”

“I can’t believe you came all the way here to surprise me,” Grady says, his energy 180 degrees off from where he was a few minutes ago.

“I think you can understand why I felt compelled not to take your word for how well things are going.”

Grady’s cheeks burn. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. I’m excited to show this place off.” Except Grady does the opposite. He ushers his dad into the office and closes the door.

“Grady’s dad is intense,” Cate whispers.

Amelia whispers back, “He’s here to spy on him to make sure things are going well.”

“Then you’d better make sure he doesn’t open our walk-in freezer.”

Frowning, Amelia walks over and puts on the purple jacket. Maybe two drums of each flavor are left. “Cate, why didn’t you tell me we were so low?” She grabs the clipboard to see, but no one has been filling out the stock sheet.

“Because I didn’t want to upset you. And don’t even say anything about the clipboard, okay? It’s painfully obvious what we have left.”

Grady calls out, “Amelia! Can you bring my dad a scoop of each flavor?”

“Coming!”

“Coming!” Cate singsongs, mocking her. “You sound like his secretary.”

“I do not,” Amelia says, knowing she does.

Amelia makes four junior-sized cups, careful that each flavor is a full, round, beautiful scoop. She stands at the office door, ready to enter, but there’s a conversation in progress. She presses her ear to the door.

“What’s it like up in the house?” Grady’s dad asks.

“Hot,” Grady says with a jovial laugh. “But I can take it.”

“And the girls aren’t distracting you too much?”

“No, no,” Grady says. “They stay down here. And I’m up at the farmhouse, working, basically twenty-four-seven.”

Amelia frowns. That’s not entirely true, Grady.

“I worried this was going to be a party for you.”

“Oh, anything but. Between my online classes and running the business, I don’t have time for any distractions.”

“And how are they taking to having a man in charge?”

“There’ve been some growing pains,” Grady says with a laugh. “But they know who’s boss.”

Amelia shakes her head. What the heck does that mean?

After a pause, Grady says, “Sorry, Dad. I don’t know what’s taking her so long with your ice cream. Hey, Amelia!”

Amelia nudges the door open with her foot. “Here you go, Mr. Meade,” she says. Grady’s dad nods and then leans back, as if she were an inconvenient waitress, to allow her the room to place them on the desk in front of him.

“Frankly, Grady, you’re doing better than I expected.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“But now you need to be asking yourself how you can take things to the next level. I want you thinking big.”

“How do you mean?”

“Like your email about raising prices. Your spreadsheet was solid, but you missed opportunities like, say, shrinking your scoop size.” He peers into the cups Amelia arranges before him, and then up at her with a pressed smile. “How many ounces is this, dear?”

She bristles. “Four.”