CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
AMELIA WAKES UP TO A text from Grady.
No cereal this morning.
And when she arrives at the farmhouse, he is already holding the screen door open for her, Moo cradled in his arms. He has made them both a full breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast, crispy bacon, sliced banana. He’s even dressed up, a madras plaid shirt and a polka-dot tie.
“You are good at eggs,” she admits, taking a bite.
“Told you,” he boasts.
They eat quickly, excited to get working, and descend the basement stairs.
“I called Marburger Dairy and asked them to resume the deliveries Molly used to get. They should come by later this afternoon.”
“What if I don’t get it right?” Amelia asks, tying an apron around her.
“I have complete faith in you.”
She quickly ducks her head in the refrigerator to hide her blushing cheeks. Inside is a large plastic container of the Home Sweet Home base that she prepared last night. The honeysuckle flowers have floated to the top.
“Grady, can you help me? I don’t want to spill any.” Even though he just got comfortable on the couch, he jumps right up. “I’ll hold the strainer,” she tells him, unhooking a huge silver conical sieve from the side of the worktable and grabbing an empty plastic tub. “Take this tub and pour the base through the strainer into this.”
He does exactly what Amelia says. The cream is tinged a soft yellow. The strainer holds all the bruised flowers of honeysuckle, coated with the cooked cream. She selects a blossom and pops it into her mouth, sucking it clean. It tastes deliciously, delicately sweet.
Amelia walks over to the ice cream maker, clicks it on, and sets the time and the temperature to what Molly Meade indicated in her recipe, which Amelia has hung on the refrigerator door. She also took a photo of it with her phone as a backup. Just in case.
She flips up the silver hatch at the top of the machine and pours the base in.
“Eight minutes,” she says.
“Okay.” Grady flops back down on the couch and taps his foot.
Amelia is so nervous, she can hardly handle it. She stands next to the machine and listens to it churn and spin.
“I could put on a record,” Grady offers.
“Yeah, sure.”
He picks one out. The Mills Brothers. Four African-American men in white suit jackets and bow ties. “These dudes look cool.”
“I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you in that same outfit.”
“Hardy har.” He puts the needle down and a jazzy harmony kicks in. Grady sits on the couch and taps his foot along with the beat. “I can’t believe you figured out how to use that thing,” he says, pointing at the huge silver vat of the pasteurizer.
“It wasn’t hard,” Amelia says. “It’s actually just like a pot on the stove. Except you have more control over the temperature, and you can obviously put more in it.”
He appears to be glancing at the album cover, but Amelia has the sense that he’s watching her. She grabs one of the cardboard ice cream drums and opens the ice cream maker’s latch to check on the consistency of the ice cream. Immediately, Grady is behind her, peering over her shoulder, wanting to see every step.
When the consistency seems right, Amelia opens the latch full throttle and the ice cream comes pouring out of the spout. She works quickly, turning the cardboard tub every few seconds so the ice cream pours in evenly, tapping it against the table to make sure there are no air bubbles inside. Molly’s measurements are perfectly precise. There’s barely any overrun.
Grady is grinning. “You make it look easy.”
She’s barely listening, up on her toes, peering into the drum. Her heart is beating faster than it ever has for any boy. “The color’s good. And it has the right smell.”
Grady rubs his hands together. “Can we try it?”
Amelia reaches for a spoon, slides it into the drum, and hands it to Grady. “Here, I’m too nervous.”
He takes the spoon, but immediately turns it around to feed her. “Close your eyes, Amelia. So you can concentrate.”
She closes her eyes and thinks about that night down at the lake, when she and Cate and all the girls said goodbye to Molly Meade. She feels the spoon under her nose, smells the sweetness of the cream, feels the chill radiating off it. She opens her mouth.
Her eyes pop open. “It’s . . . perfect!” She reaches for another spoon. “Here, you try!”
Grady has a similar reaction, though his joy is considerably muted. Maybe he will never be able to disassociate the experience of losing his mom from the taste of Molly Meade’s ice cream. He swallows, and lifts his eyes to hers, and he is beaming. “You did it!” He wraps his arms around her waist and lifts her up in the air.
“Okay, okay!”
Laughing, he gently lowers her. But when her feet hit the ground, Grady doesn’t let her go. Instead, he pulls her even closer to him. There is a warmth in his eyes; his chest fills with every inhale, collapses with every exhale.
Her cheeks burn. “Grady—” she begins, but she has no idea what to say next.
Not that it matters.
They are kissing.
Even though Grady is off-limits.
And, technically, her boss.
And she told Cate there was nothing between them.
The idea that she is falling for a Meade is ridiculous.
All these thoughts are in her head somewhere, but really, what she wants to concentrate on are his lips on hers, how he can’t seem to get close enough to her, how his curls feel softer than she ever imagined. Amelia and Grady are fizzing like two shook-up soda bottles, a summer’s worth of tension uncapped.
Together they shuffle toward Molly’s couch, not allowing any space to bloom between them, and lower themselves onto it. Grady rolls so he’s on top of her, fitting between her legs. His hands rub her from ankle to knee and she prickles in goose bumps. He leans forward to her ear, nudging her head gently to the side with his nose, kissing that tiny space between her earlobe and her neck. Amelia opens her eyes . . . and sees the goldenrod yellow of the couch.
Cate.
What is Cate going to say?
Amelia already knows. Cate warned them all on opening day why the girls should be careful around him, why there should be boundaries.
But Cate hasn’t spent time with Grady the way Amelia has. She has come to know him in a way the other girls don’t.
Does it matter?
Or has she chosen Grady over the girls in a way that is now inexcusable?
Amelia pulls away. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“Really? Should I stop?”
She doesn’t want him to. “I’m working. I’m officially working right now. And you’re my boss.”
“Amelia. I hope you don’t think I’m trying to work some kind of power dynamic thing over you. Because that’s not what this is at all.” He shakes his head, resolute. “I’ve always been so intimidated by you. At first, because I thought you were pretty. But then you turned out to be smart, too.”
“That doesn’t change how it’ll look to people.”
“By people, you mean the girls.”
“Yes. I do.” She sits up. “I care about what they think.”
He takes her hand in his. “So what do you want to do?”
She thinks. “No one can know about this. Whatever this is.”
“Okay.”
“And I don’t think we should kiss during work hours. At least not when I’m on the clock.” He makes a pouty face that Amelia finds unfairly cute. “I’m serious, Grady. I take my job very seriously.”
“I know you do.”
“And as soon as I get our stock levels back up, I’m working at the stand again with the other girls.”
“Absolutely understood.”
“Okay.”
“Aren’t you supposed to take at least one fifteen-minute break per shift? That’s labor law.”
She grins. “I can work with that.”
He wags his eyebrows. “So . . . break time?”
“Break’s over. I want to bring the ice cream down and let Cate taste it. And the other girls too.”
Grady threads a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. “Can I come with you? I want to see them freak out when they taste how great this is.”
They both roll off the couch, grinning and goofy and suddenly shy with each other. Amelia smooths her hair, makes sure her shirt is tucked in tight. Grady does the same, picks up her drum of ice cream, and holds her hand until they reach the front door. There’s a pause where a kiss might go, but they smile at each other instead, owning this secret.