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“We might not make it, but we just might, and in the meantime, we get to make a living, doing what we love. Feeding people,” he says.
“Right on. Everyone should choose a job they love. The world would be filled with much happier people,” Maxi agrees.
“And what do you two do?” he asks.
“He saves lives, and I get them drunk.”
He laughs. “That doesn’t sound too bad either.”
The town is alive with people eating and drinking at outdoor venues, milling around in the quaint shops, and listening to a saxophonist playing on the street. Dogs are on leashes, and Maxi has to stop and say hello to everyone who passes.
It’s a fun night, and the sandwiches are top-notch.
“See, I had a good feeling about that place. We’ll have to come back,” she says.
We.
“Definitely,” I agree.
Once we’ve made it back around to the car, she offers the keys to me. “Your turn.”
Instead of the parkway, we take the highway home. Which is the quickest route. We bypass Gatlinburg and head straight to Balsam Ridge.
“Let’s get ice cream,” she says as we pass Jack the Dipper’s Ice Cream Parlor.
“Of course you want dessert from a place named after a serial killer,” I say as I pull into the parking lot.
“His name is Jack, and he dips ice cream. What else would he call it?”
She exits the car, walks up to the window, and stands to the side to look over the flavors.
“Okay, so I’ve narrowed it down to four flavors. So, you get a waffle cone with two scoops—one banana walnut and the other chocolate brownie crunch. I’ll get coconut and cherry vanilla,” she instructs.
“I don’t get to order my own?” I ask.
She looks over at me. “Do you want something different? We can do three scoops each,” she says.
I chuckle. “No, those four sound great. You go ahead,” I say and step aside.
She places our order and then walks around to the other window to collect the cones.
“I’ll start with this one, and then we’ll switch. We’ll switch back once we get to the second layer,” she says as she hands me one of the ice creams.
“Got it.”
Taking a seat at one of the red metal tables out front, I watch as she dives in to the creamy confection.
“Mmm,” she groans. “The coconut is so good,” she declares as she holds it out for me to try.
I have a large bite, and she pulls it back.
“How’s yours?” she asks.
I’m not a big fan of banana, so I stick it out for her to try. I watch as her tongue darts out and licks the side of the cone where the melted ice cream has cascaded down the edge.
“So good. You have to try it,” she says.
I take a bite, and it’s not too bad. We switch, and I finish off the coconut.
