Page 189 of Worth the Trip

I looked toward the shirt.

Absolutely not.

Big Lando:

Say good morning to your man properly.

Me:

Good morning, Landon.

Three dots appeared.

Big Lando:

That sounded like you confirming a dental appointment. Try again.

I pressed my lips together.

Me:

Good morning, baby.

This time, his response took longer.

I pictured him somewhere in Self Springs staring at that one word with the same shameless pleasure he’d worn every time I gave it to him the day before.

Big Lando:

Yeah. That’s better.

Me:

Go to work, Big Lando.

Big Lando:

Already here, love. Go handle Monday. Eat something before coffee starts lying to you about being breakfast.

I locked my phone before he could become more correct.

The shirt stayed on the chair.

So did my smile.

By the time I reached Crème & Chill, Monday had settled into its familiar rhythm. Landon had already made me laugh twice, miss him once, and reconsider whether the road between Self Ridge and Self Springs had any business being as long as it was. Freezers hummed beneath the opening playlist, metal scoops rested in warm rinse water, and the first batch of brown sugar praline churned behind the prep counter. Nyla carried two boxes of waffle cones toward storage while humming along with the music, because my twin had never met an ordinary moment she couldn’t improve with background vocals.

I tied my apron over my blouse and reviewed the production list. Three flavors needed restocking before lunch. Two wholesale orders were scheduled for pickup. Our delivery vendor had substituted the wrong chocolate wafers, and somebody had placed the Scoops & Stories reading logs beneath a stack of invoices.

Nothing was on fire.

Monday was already performing above expectations.

Nyla placed her boxes down and studied me. “Why are you smiling at inventory?”

“I’m reviewing inventory.”

“Inventory got locs now?”