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Of course, the flavor had to be just right. Not only was this her way of making a second first impression on her new neighbor, but she owed him for how helpful he was with her car. She didn’t know what he did to it. When she left the garage, though, it was running like it was brand new, and even after she pushed it back up the mountain, it drove like a dream.
For work like that, and his kindness at doing the repair for free, he deserved her absolute best.
Gloria spent the entire next morning leafing through her notes, rifling through her recipes, trying to choose the perfect flavor for Franklin. None of them seemed right, though.
In the end, she decided to create one for him. A little bit spicy, a little bit salty, but with a sweetness underneath that brought it all together. Grabbing cinnamon, pretzels, and adding them to a sweet cream base she used as a standard, Gloria thought she was almost there.
Then, in a burst of inspiration, she reached for a large saucepan.
In went the sugar, water, and just a little lemon juice. Once the mixture started to darken, she gave it a swirl, mixing it, tending to the pan until her caramel turned just the right shade of amber. She stirred in the cream, then a splash of vanilla extract when she was done cooking her sauce.
There was something about Franklin Carter that just screamed a dark caramel ribbon threaded throughout his creation.
Once it was made, she poured the new ice cream flavor into a glass container and stuck it in her freezer to set up a little. Then she busied herself with writing the recipe in her book before turning her attention to cleaning up the kitchen and her ice cream machine. Anything to stay busy while she waited for her neighbor to come home.
Sometime around the middle of the afternoon, it started to snow. Gloria cranked up the heat, wrapped herself in the afghan Great Aunt Patti left for her, and pulled a chair closer to the window. As she sipped on a cup of hot chocolate, she watched the snowflakes fall.
No, she wasn’t stalking her hot neighbor and waiting for him to come home. Why would you think that?
Of course, as the snow started to fall faster and heavier, it made it difficult to see much of anything out there. The clouds were thick and white, the w
ind swirling the large snowflakes, turning the serene scene into an angry blizzard before she knew it. She marveled as the grass disappeared, the mountain suddenly blanketed by a few inches of fresh powder.
It was still early when the twin lights broke through the storm. Franklin’s big, blue pick-up truck crept easily up the path. She could just about make out the dark shadow as he hopped from the cabin and booked it toward his front door.
Gloria wasn’t that antsy. She gave the poor guy at least half an hour before she bundled herself up, grabbed her ice cream, and marched through the snow.
It had started to die down a little, thank goodness, and there was only one near miss where she slid on an icy patch she couldn’t see beneath her feet. Remembering to wear boots next time instead of sneakers, she took a deep breath and knocked on his door.
When Franklin opened the door, she wasn’t sure what took her breath away more: the warmth seeping from his place that seemed to wrap her in a loving embrace, or the sight of her handsome neighbor fresh out of the shower.
His hair was damp, the smell of his soap lingering on his skin instead of motor oil. He wasn’t wearing his coveralls anymore, either. He’d traded his work outfit for a pair of jeans molded to his yummy butt, and a worn flannel that made her think naughty thoughts about her mountainside neighbor.
“Ms. Watson? What are you doing out in this weather?”
“It’s Gloria,” she said, finding her voice at last. She gulped, then gave him a bright, beaming smile as she held out the ice cream container. “Hi. This is for you. Cinnamon ice cream with pretzels and a dark caramel ribbon. Here you go.”
He didn’t take it. With a baffled look in his dark eyes, he leaned against the doorjamb, but he didn’t take it.
“What am I supposed to do with that?”
“Um.” She offered the ice cream out to him again. “Take it, maybe? Then eat it.”
“Why?”
She gasped, clutching the container to her chest. “Don’t tell me you don’t like ice cream?”
“What? Who doesn’t like ice cream?”
“People who are lactose intolerant.”
Franklin snorted. “They shouldn’t eat it because it’ll mess their systems up and good. That’s not the same as not liking it.”
Gloria blinked at his comment. Not only was it the first sign that her delicious neighbor might actually have a sense of humor, but he even thought along the same lines as she did.
Great. As if she needed another reason to be drawn to him.
“It’s my way of saying thank you. Come on… you know you want it. It’s really good ice cream. And I know because I made it.”
