Page 36 of Kiss Me Like You Mean It

I eye the writing in the window:

Cones ★ Waffles ★ Sundaes ★ Splits ★ Gossip ★ Shakes

‘Gossip?’ My brows lift.

‘Miss Rita knows all.’ Nico opens the door for us, setting a silver bell tinkling over our heads. ‘She’s the Deuxmoi of Roseport and she’s about to have a field day with you,’ he carries on, his voice holding a wry warning.

‘Phoebe!’ a tiny Hispanic woman in her late seventies exclaims from behind the counter. ‘Let me guess, the swear jar has filled up again?’

‘Yep.’ Phoebe bounces forward, Taco hot on her heels.

‘Lucky for me your daddy is one of those Brits who’s always cursing. You can get away with a lot when it’s in one of those Bridgerton accents.’ The woman bats her false eyelashes at Nico, who laughs.

‘I need to clean up my act before my daughter bankrupts me,’ he says ruefully, pulling out one of the pink bar stools for me to sit at. ‘Miss Rita, let me introduce my friend, Lee Turner-Jones.’

I smile at the woman who is eyeing me like I’m the ice cream sundae. Her grin widens. ‘Oh, I know who you are,’ she says, delighted. ‘Bud was in this morning and he said you were pretty as a picture.’

‘Bud said that?’ Nico asks, taking the stool beside me.

‘As good as.’ Miss Rita waves a hand in the air. ‘You just have to translate the grunts, and I happen to be fluent. I think he was very taken with Ms Ophelia Turner-Jones and now I see why. Is that hair natural or out of a bottle?’

I touch my hair. ‘Um, it’s got some highlights in it,’ I say, casting Nico an uncertain look.

‘Maybe I should go blonde?’ Miss Rita purses her lips.

I don’t know how to reply to that. Should I tell her she’d look pretty as a blonde? Is that a weird thing to say to a stranger? But maybe if I don’t agree with her she’ll think I’m being rude? In the end I overthink my potential response for too long to say anything and remain awkwardly silent.

‘Lee isn’t just Dad’s friend,’ Phoebe says, her nose practically pressed to the glass that houses dozens of tubs of ice cream in a full rainbow of colours. ‘She’s his wife.’

A sound like a broken fax machine comes out of my mouth.

‘Phoebe,’ Nico groans.

Miss Rita lets out a long, booming laugh that seems far too big for her tiny body, before slapping a couple of menus on the counter. ‘Oh, don’t you worry, I know all about it.’ She gives me an exaggerated wink.

‘News travels fast,’ Nico says, and he doesn’t seem surprised. He also doesn’t sound happy about it.

‘You know you’re going to need the whole town to pull this thing off,’ Rita says.

‘What whole thing?’ I ask, curiosity outstripping social anxiety.

‘What are your specials today, Rita?’ Nico cuts in, and my eyes narrow. Something weird is going on here and I don’t think I can leave it alone. One way or another I’m going to get the truth out of Nicolas Hart.

‘I’ve got strawberry cheesecake, brown butter pecan and blue cheese and pickle.’ Rita says.

‘Blue cheese?’ I repeat, distracted from my interrogation plans.

‘Miss Rita is something of an… ice cream maverick,’ Nico says, clearly aiming for diplomacy.

The woman in question looks pleased. ‘I like to push boundaries,’ she says, fluffing her hair. ‘Not that people appreciate me around here. I’m a misunderstood genius, not valued in my own time. Anyway, what do you think, you want to try it?’ She looks at me hopefully.

I can only blink at her.

‘Lee has already taken on my boundary-pushing spinach pancakes this morning,’ Nico says smoothly, coming to my rescue. ‘Besides, if I know her, she wants brown butter pecan.’

‘That’s true,’ I agree gratefully. ‘It sounds like heaven.’

‘Okay,’ Rita says, though she looks disappointed. ‘Phoebe, you want your usual? Cotton candy and chocolate peanut butter?’