Page 50 of Worth the Trip

I nodded. “Understood.” I respected her request for approximately seven seconds before the book beside her silverware gave me something else to ask about. “You get that from Franklin Books?”

“This morning.”

“I passed it yesterday. Didn’t go in.”

“You missed out.”

“What makes it special?”

“Mr. Franklin remembers what people love, not just what they bought.”

That opened something in her.

Nolani started telling me about Franklin Books, how the stacks looked like a fire-code discussion until somebody asked for a title and Mr. Franklin walked straight to it. Then she mentioned his daughter, Camille, wanting a winter partnership with Crème & Chill, which led me to Scoops & Stories.

“So you got a bookstore inside the ice cream shop?”

“Not exactly. Scoops & Stories is part of Crème & Chill. We built a reading area into it with shelves, floor cushions, little tables, and weekend story hours.”

I sat back. “You giving children sugar and unrestricted access to literature under one roof.”

“When you say it like that, it sounds irresponsible.”

“Nah. Sounds strategic.”

Her expression changed when she talked about it. She leaned in without realizing it, hands moving now because she was interested instead of nervous.

“A lot of children associate books with correction. Reading logs, tests, questions about what they misunderstood. I wanted them to experience stories as joy first. Something they could choose. Something that belonged to them before anybody graded it. Imagination shouldn’t feel like another assignment. Crème & Chill was never only about dessert. I love developing flavors, but I love creating spaces where people feel good enough to stay too.”

I watched her for a second.

“So you ain’t really selling ice cream.”

Her brows lifted. “What am I selling?”

“Belonging. Ice cream just got better margins.”

She smiled, slower this time. “Something like that.”

“Smart.”

“Thank you.”

“And dangerous.”

“Why dangerous?”

“’Cause now I’m interested in seeing it.”

Her attention held mine.

Good.

I wanted her to know I wasn’t listening just to wait for my turn to speak.

The entrées arrived before I could ask anything else. Her snapper smelled good enough to test my earlier confidence, but I had already committed publicly to my redfish and wasn’t about to fold under pressure.

Nolani pointed her fork toward my plate. “Is yours better?”