I’d know. I’d know that he made me cry, and that would be enough.
I locked the door to the store and pulled the blind over the window that covered the top half of it. Leaning back, my butt almost hit the handle as I covered my mouth and nose with my hands.
I shut my eyes to stop any tears.
Why the hell did it hurt so much? I didn’t even care about that design anymore. It had never truly been me. It had been something I thought people wanted, and as right as I’d obviously been, I’d never really loved it.
Not how I loved my new ideas.
Why did the tears still sting my eyes? I was over him. I wasn’t over this, but I was over him. I didn’t care if my body reacted to him. I didn’t. I didn’t want it to. I didn’t like him. I hated him.
Did I?
Yes.
I did. That’s why I was crying. I was angry. They were angry tears. Big, fat, hot angry tears that dripped right off my chin and onto the floor.
Shit. When did that happen?
I swiped over my cheeks and walked into the restroom for customers. The tissue dispenser was still stocked in the ladies’ room, so I pulled out as much tissue as I could and went to the mirror.
Yep. I was looking like a raccoon.
I cleaned up my makeup as well as I could, then blew my nose and threw the tissues in the trash. I could sit here and cry on the floor all day long, or I could wipe my tears and get the hell on with it.
My foot was sore, sure, and there were a million things I needed to do, but right now, I just wanted to see if my idea for a mermaid banana split would work. I needed to focus creatively.
Mostly, because if it worked, it would be a big fuck you to the idiot next door.
Maybe that wasn’t the best reason to be creative, but personally, I didn’t see a little revenge being served up creatively as a bad thing.
I got revenge and an emotional outlet. Win-freaking-win.
I flicked my ponytail over my shoulder and gathered the ingredients. The mermaid ice cream had turned out amazingly, with different greens blending together with thin streaks of purple and yellow. I’d never been so proud of anything.
I didn’t allow my mind to wander as I fixed the mermaid banana split. One banana, three scoops, whipped cream. Sprinkles. Edible glitter. White cotton candy and a glazed cherry finished it, but the wafers were the real finishing piece. I’d dipped them in chocolate and then covered them with a magical mix of green and purple glitter.
I positioned them at one end of the dish, creating the illusion of a mermaid’s tail. A sprinkling of the glitter over the entire thing, and hey—it looked pretty damn good.
I took five seconds to take a picture of a portion of the split, making sure to include a hint of the tail for Instagram before Sophie killed me.
Then, I grabbed a spoon.
And I ate the whole fucking thing.
I didn’t regret it one bit. It tasted good. The ice cream was vanilla, which seemed so plain for such a beautiful scoop, but it worked.
See, if I’d been really smart, I’d have opened up a boozy ice cream store. Maybe I could do a Starbucks and put a secret one on the menu.
Rose-fairy ice cream.
Did rose wine freeze? Why didn’t I know that? I felt like I was missing a trick there. Parents everywhere would thank me.
I knew I was already thanking myself for considering the idea and I didn’t even have tiny dictators running around my ankles every day.
I grabbed my phone for a quick Google search. Can you freeze rose wine for ice cream?
The search popped up a dozen results on the first page alone, and you know what? I fist-pumped. I needed a little freaking good in my day.
Grandma had said to give people a reason to come here.
I had one—but now I had an even better one.
I’d have to look into licenses and other stuff, so maybe it wouldn’t be a reopening idea, but something to introduce down the line.
Jesus, three weeks ago I’d been thinking about selling, and now I was considering the possibility of getting myself a liquor license to sell boozy ice cream.
I don’t know about anyone else, but I counted that as winning at life. And until such time I got a license—if I needed one, and I was sure I probably did—I’d make it and eat it all myself.
Holy crap. I was going to get tired of all these good ideas if I didn’t slow down soon.
With a snort-giggle at myself, I accepted I was currently the victim of a sugar high and wrote the idea down before I forgot it. My days were nothing short of roller coasters lately, between ex-boyfriends and admissions and broken toes and new ideas.