Page 104 of Worth the Trip

For once, she didn’t argue.

She showed me the waffle-cone press, roasted pecans, homemade caramel, and strawberry purée they cooked down themselves instead of buying syrup.

“I wanted the strawberry to taste like somebody actually touched it before it reached the freezer.”

I nodded. “Makes sense.”

“You’re not going to turn that into a philosophy?”

“Nah. Sometimes fruit is just good.”

She laughed hard enough to lean against the counter.

Better.

We moved into Scoops & Stories next. Low shelves curved beneath an arch painted like open pages. Picture books, middle-grade novels, graphic novels, poetry, and enough Black authors to make it clear every child walking through there was supposed to recognize that imagination belonged to them too.

One handwritten recommendation card caught my attention.

For the child who needs proof that imagination belongs to them too.

“You wrote this?”

“Most of them.”

I looked around. “Why put books inside an ice cream shop?”

“Because kids come for ice cream. If they leave loving a book too, I win twice.”

I nodded.

That sounded exactly like her.

She moved along one shelf and adjusted a book that hadn’t needed adjusting.

“Some of them come after school and stay for hours. They don’t have to buy anything to sit here.”

“So you built somewhere they can just be.”

“Yeah.”

I looked at the beanbags, little tables, books, and children scattered around them.

“Smart.”

Nolani looked at me.

“That’s it?”

“What you want, a dissertation?”

Her laugh came immediately.

“Maybe.”

“Nah. It works. I can see it.”

Something in her expression eased.