Page 1 of Sugar & Ink
Chapter One
Josie
I stood behind the counter and looked around Scoop & Swirl, hardly believing it was real.
Six months ago, this place had been an empty shell with faded walls, stained floors, and enough dust to choke a person. Now it looked exactly the way I’d imagined it during all those nights when I’d lain awake staring at the ceiling and wondering if I’d completely lost my mind.
The walls were painted a soft mint green that somehow managed to feel cheerful without being obnoxious. White tables sat in front of the large windows facing Main Street. The display freezer gleamed beneath the lights. String lights framed the windows, and the giant mural of dancing ice cream cones I’d spent three days painting stretched across the back wall. Every inch of the place felt bright and welcoming.
It felt like mine.
I wrapped my fingers around the edge of the counter and slowly turned my head, taking everything in for what had to be the hundredth time. Tomorrow morning at ten o’clock, I’d unlock the front door and officially open for business. People would walk through those doors expecting ice cream, and somehow it would be my job to provide it.
Eight months ago, I would’ve laughed if someone had told me I’d be standing here.
Actually, no.
Eight months ago, I probably would’ve cried.
The divorce had been finalized eight months ago, but it had taken me another two months before I’d been capable of doing much of anything except feeling sorry for myself. Looking back, I probably deserved those two months. Finding out your husband had been cheating on you with at least six different women tended to put a damper on a person’s motivation.
At least six.
The number still made me want to roll my eyes.
Every few weeks somebody seemed to uncover another one. At this point I wasn’t sure if the number was six, seven, ten, or twenty.
Not that it mattered.
One would’ve been enough. Bruce hadn’t just cheated. He’d made a damn hobby out of it.
The worst part wasn’t even the cheating itself. It was realizing how much of my life I’d spent making myself smaller for someone who’d never appreciated it in the first place.
Bruce always had plans.
Bruce always had dreams.
Bruce always had hobbies.
If he wanted something, we found a way to make it happen. When I wanted something, suddenly there wasn’t enough money or it wasn’t realistic.
Opening an ice cream shop had always fallen into the unrealistic category.
Every time I brought it up, he’d smile that patronizing smile of his and tell me it was a cute idea.
Cute.
I hated that word.
Cute was what people called ideas they didn’t take seriously. Cute was what people called dreams they expected you to outgrow.
Turns out there was nothing cute about spending six months renovating a building mostly by yourself.
My shoulders still hurt from moving freezers. My knees still hurt from laying tile. And there was definitely nothing cute about balancing budgets and wondering if you were about to spend every penny you’d saved on a dream that might fail.
I looked around the shop again and smiled.
Maybe it would fail. Maybe it wouldn’t.
