Page 5 of The Deal Maker
He chuckles. “I bet. Trying to fit everything on your scooter or in the back of your old Corolla would be something to see.”
“The only reason she still runs is because of you, man,” I say, tapping my card on the scanner to pay for the minor repair. At least it wasn’t major this time. It’s getting to the point where I’m going to have to decide if it’s worth spending more than the car is worth on repairs.
I pick up my small Corolla that I've had since the dawn of time, or rather the dawn of my driving abilities, and head back. I have one guy on shift right now, but midday is the best time to start getting people who are out for lunch. Witty’s and the bakery are a great draw for a crowd.
I'm walking back past The Candy Jar when I see Maggie cleaning the front doors. The smart thing to do would be to walk the few more steps next door and get started on my setup. But my brain keeps coming up with scenarios for her reaction to the proposal and needs to get some more details to fill in the fantasy.
I open the door and there's a ring that sounds an awful lot like an ice cream truck. Clever marketing.
"What happened now?" Maggie asks, frowning when she sees me.
I raise my hands as if I’m in some sort of western duel. “Can’t a guy come into a candy shop?”
Maggie shook her head. “No. Not if your name is Duke Jacobson.”
I fold my arms over my chest and say, “Wait a minute. I didn’t see a sign on the door that I’ve been banned.”
“A temporary oversight on my part. Is there something you need? I’ve got a lot going on right now.”
It would be easy to point out that the shop is empty right now, but from the tired look on her face, I’d say my life will be a lot longer if I keep my mouth shut.
"Yes, I'd love moose tracks in a cone."
She raises an eyebrow and then says, “You’re one of those, huh?”
I’m trying to figure out what she means while she puts on one of those flimsy plastic gloves. “I think I missed it. Is there supposed to be meaning in the flavor?”
I’m not big into the news or op-ed pieces. Maybe there’s a new quiz out there I haven’t yet tried. I’ve taken all the job-related ones and I already know how that’s going.
“Moose tracks are basically vanilla with little peanut butter cups in them.”
“There’s also a swirl of fudge in there,” I say, peeking through the glass to look at the container. Is she hating on peanut butter cups?
“It doesn’t matter. It’s like the safest option outside of ordering straight vanilla.”
I didn’t know I was going to be getting a psychological evaluation on my ice cream choices today, but okay.
“People with peanut allergies would disagree.” I stick my hands in my pants pockets and study her. She’s focused on slipping on the other glove.
“One scoop or two?”
“Two.” I haven’t had lunch yet and I figure I might as well get two of my “safe choice” to nurse my wounds. Moose tracks is my favorite ice cream of all time. There’s the chocolate swirl and the peanut butter cups with vanilla ice cream that just meld together in perfection.
But now I’m doubting my life choices..
“What does mint chip mean?” I say, curious.
She has to dig at the moose tracks because the container is nearly empty. I want to say that there must be quite a few people in Willow Cove who like this flavor, but then again, it could’ve been sitting there for a while when other flavors changed out.
“It’s two steps above moose tracks.” She presses the scoop down on top of the other and I’m pretty sure this will satisfy lunch and dinner from the size of it. Okay, to be honest, it’s just a light snack for me.
I lean my elbow on the glass and ask, “How many levels are there?” I have to admit, I’m interested in this whole sliding scale of ice cream options. Does she think of them as tarot cards or something?
“Ten. One is boring, vanilla. Ten is exciting and adventurous.”
I wait for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t, focusing on what it takes to get one more scoop onto my already full waffle cone.
“So, number ten is chocolate?”
