“See you soon,” he said instead of replying. She gave him a knowing smile before carrying on her way. Deacon held the door open and signaled for Grady to go inside, which he did.
“Carrying the bag and holding the door. Such a gentleman.” Grady winked, and his voice was slightly different, almost…flirty. “I didn’t mean that how it sounded,” he added quickly. “I was being playful.”
“I know,” Deacon replied, but…why was his pulse beating faster?
He locked the door behind them and led Grady to the kitchen.
“So this is where the magic happens, huh?” Grady looked around at the steel counters, the matching ice cream machines, and touched the door to one of the freezers that was taller than he was.
“Yep. Sometimes still can’t believe she’s mine. That probably sounds crazy to say about an ice cream parlor, but…”
“Why would that sound crazy?” Grady’s brows pulled together.
Well, shit. Now he wasn’t so sure. “I don’t know, really. Ice cream isn’t most people’s dream.”
“Most people don’t have your vision or talent. This is amazing, and you should be damn proud. This place makes people happy—believe me, I saw it when I was stalking you.”
“I knew it!”
Grady snickered. “Seriously, though, friends meet with friends here. Parents bond with their children here. People carry memories of their loved ones from within these walls and of eating something you made. That’s pretty fucking incredible, Deacon. This is the best kind of dream you can have.”
Deacon was struck dumb for a second. Emotion lodged in his throat, and he couldn’t form the right words. What Grady said got to him, like he’d verbalized exactly what Deacon had wanted when it came to Sundae’s Best, like he lived inside his head and heart.
Grady frowned, then looked down, running a hand through his hair, which fell down over his forehead and was just scratching the back of his neck. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No,” Deacon finally replied. “You said something so right it’s like you plucked the words right out of my damn heart.” Jesus, he liked this man. A lot. Standing there, he wondered if somehow, in some crazy way, his granny had been right. If for whatever reason, they needed each other. All he knew was he felt things in a way he hadn’t since losing Patricia. He wanted to smile more than he ever thought he would again. And maybe, just maybe, he felt some kinda hope he never thought would live inside him again.
“You’re looking at me funny,” Grady said.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Don’t know, really. Coming here, I guess? Befriending me. Stalking me.”
Grady chuckled. “Am I ever going to live that down?”
“Not as long as I know you, you’re not.”
Grady shook his head, but a small smile teased his lips. It was a nice smile, and it seemed to hold mischief and happiness. It made Deacon want to match it with his own.
“We gonna make some ice cream, or what?” Grady asked.
“Yeah…yeah, we are. Let’s do this.”
When Grady’s smile spread wider, Deacon felt a silly, inexplicable sense of pride that he was the one to put it there.
Chapter 11
Grady
They were at it for hours, mixing multiple batches, tweaking the ingredients a little bit each time.
Deacon kept note of what was what. In between, they ate ice cream from the freezers, cleaned the kitchen, and Deacon shared tidbits of information—the difference between the blast freezer and the regular one, how it got frozen more quickly, slowing the enzyme activity by keeping it cold. Custard, he said, was kept warmer and eaten right away. Grady felt ridiculous for not knowing that.
The biggest thing was how much bourbon to add, not wanting the taste to be overwhelming but still be strong enough to give it that warm feeling of sitting by the fire on a cold winter’s day, savoring the bite of it on your tongue.
“I’m big on keeping things simple—milk, cream, sugar, salt, eggs,” Deacon told him. “The high butter and fat content make it creamy.”
“I’m trying so hard not to make a sex joke,” Grady teased. Deacon rolled his eyes, but Grady could tell it was in a playful way.
“Should we taste them?” Deacon asked. They’d waited, wanting to try them one after the other. They had three bourbon batches: one with caramel and chocolate, like they’d originally said; the second with toffee, caramel, and chocolate; and the third with toffee and caramel.
“Can we? Is it okay?”
Deacon shrugged. “They won’t be as frozen as they could be, but we’ll get the gist of it. We can try them again later too.”
“Then how is that a question? Of course I want to try them.”
Deacon bit his bottom lip as though trying not to smile. He was excited, Grady could tell, and that just made him more eager himself.
“Come on.” Deacon grabbed three small bowls, two spoons, and scoops, and then they plucked the containers from the freezer, Deacon putting one flavor into each dish. “You go first.” He nodded toward Grady.