Best Served Cold

“What do you mean?”

She pulled out a chair and sat next to me. “Think of it like this. Red is my color, yes?”

I nodded. Red nails, red lips, red shoes—red was Grandma.

“When I think of your grandfather, I think of yellow and beige because he’s always covered in sawdust.”

That was true. And let me tell you—sawdust got everywhere.

“When I think of you, I think of pastel colors. Soft pinks and purples and greens.”

I frowned. “You do?”

“Don’t ask me why. Baby blues, peaches, lemon yellows.” She reached out and tucked some of my hair behind my ear. “When we took over Best Served Cold, we made it our own. Something that reflected who we were as people. I think you need to do the same.”

“That’s different,” I said quietly. “You didn’t have anyone to compete with back then. Now, I do, and he’s right next door.”

“Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t mean you can’t make the store fit you, sugar. If you’re worried about him, you need to come up with something that makes you unique.” She smiled. “Something that sends you viral on that latergram or whatever it’s called.”

I choked back a laugh. “Instagram.”

“That one.” She patted my shoulder and stood up to check dinner. “Marketing one-oh-one, sugar. Give them a reason to want to come to your store. Not just because they want ice cream, but because they want something specific.”

I rested my elbow on the table and my chin in my hand. “You mean how like Dad used to do those epic chocolate sundaes? The really huge ones he did for the eating competitions?”

“Exactly like that. People went to the store just to try to conquer that sundae. Few ever did.”

“That’s because it weighed like one hundred pounds and was so sickly you wanted to vomit halfway through.”

“Slightly an exaggeration.” Grandma tossed a smile over her shoulder as she opened the oven door to check the lasagna. “But that’s what you need. A hook to pull them in.”

That made sense. But in theory, it’d be a lot harder to pull off. I could resurrect the eating challenge my dad had started, but I wanted it to be unique. It had to fit me and what I was trying to do.

Owning a business was hard.

Nobody ever taught you that in school.

I began my search on Pinterest. The more I looked, the more inspired I became. I created a new board and saved all my favorite ideas to it, but it wasn’t until I came across ice cream lights that attached to the wall that my stomach fluttered with excitement.

I clicked the accompanying link. They were adorable—in shades of peach and light green and cream, colors Grandma said made her think of me. They were a little pricey, but it wasn’t like I needed to rip out the floor or buy new appliances.

“I like those,” Grandpa said from behind me. “Are you finally renovating the store to make it more Raelynn?”

“I think so. I’m looking for ideas. They’re quite expensive, but I think they’re cute.” I tilted my head to the side.

“Buy ‘em,” he grunted. “You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

My finger hovered over the trackpad for a second before I hit “Add to basket.”

Grandma peered over. “Cute.” Then she looked at Grandpa. “Samuel, you need to clean up before dinner.”

He was covered head to toe in sawdust. “I’m not done yet.”

“But your dinner almost is,” she said. “And how can you not be done with that table? It’s been weeks.”

“I finished that two weeks ago,” he answered. “Get off my back, woman.”

Grandma swatted at him with her towel and smiled affectionately. “Get out of here.”

Grandpa winked at me.

“Hey, Grandpa? Before you go?”

“What’s up, buttercup?”

I clicked back onto Pinterest and brought up tables that looked like ice cream cones. “How hard would these be to make?”

Squinting, he leaned down and pursed his lips. “I don’t see ‘em being that hard or taking that long to make. Why? Do you want ‘em?”

“I think so,” I said slowly. “I’d pay you. And I can paint them!”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort.” He snorted. “Pay me my ass, girl. Buy the supplies, and I’ll make the tables for you. How many d’ya want?”

“Six?” I winced.

He nodded. “I’ll find the materials. You buy ‘em. I’ll make ‘em. Done.”

“Wonderful,” Grandma said, interrupting us. “Samuel, clean yourself up before I send you to eat in the garage.”

“Better eatin’ in there than being moaned at out here.” He shot me another wink then trundled off to the stairs.

I had no idea how those two hadn’t ever killed each other.

Even if it was kind of adorable.

CHAPTER TWO – RAELYNN

I laid the piece of paper out on the floor of Best Served Cold and uncapped the thick marker I’d swiped from Grandpa’s desk.

CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS.

Big, bold and black, it would explain why I’d be shut for the next two weeks. I didn’t need all the tables, just a couple. The little ones I had known would be perfect with a lick of paint. In fact, the mix would probably be nice.