Page 122 of Rockstar Baby

“Suit yourself.” She smiled at me, then her gaze slid past me to my ice cream truck. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I closed my eyes. “No way.” He’d told me he was going to come back, but I didn’t really believe him. Part of me assumed he’d just disappear and send me checks monthly like a car payment.

She gripped my hand again. “Do you want me to get rid of him?”

“I just want to talk, fairy queen.” His voice slid down my spine like a caress.

I turned. “You don’t get to call me that anymore, Rory.”

He winced as if I’d taken aim at him. Again.

“Right. I’m sorry, Ivy Rose.”

I flattened my lips and saw red. It was my name, but it sounded far different coming out of him. That lilt of Ireland and sadness. I shouldn’t be affected by it. He was an utter shit.

“She doesn’t want to talk to you. Why don’t you scram? It’s what you’re best at.” Kinleigh’s strawberry curls floated around her head in the summer breeze. She was wearing a blue sundress with tiny roses all over it. Her wild blue eyes were fierce and she looked like she was heading into battle. All she needed was her trusty baseball bat from upstairs.

I’d seen her wield it. It was fairly impressive.

“I’m not running anymore.” Rory’s voice was strong and sure.

“If you say so.” I was tired and there was still so much to do on the truck. August would be by in the afternoon to help, but for now, I was on my own.

By the time I’d gotten home last night, August had already been asleep in front of the TV. His own hours were just as wicked as mine.

I brushed by Rory and unlocked the back of the truck then climbed up.

Rory hovered outside the doorway, flicking his finger over the flap on his reusable coffee cup. He cleared his throat. “I got you a coffee.”

“I can’t drink that. Pregnant, remember?”

He swallowed and pulled off his aviator sunglasses to tuck into the neck of his shirt. “Right. It’s decaf, but it’s your flavors. Mint and chocolate.”

“Should have just gotten me a hot chocolate. Oh, wait, it’s ninety degrees out.”

He ran the palm of his hand along the back of his neck. “Right. It’s iced.”

“Oh.”

I turned to see the chocolate confection sitting on the counter of the receiving window. I hadn’t bothered to put the shutters down last night since a layer of paint needed to dry before I took another crack at it today.

I was tired of painting.

For such a small truck, it was surprisingly difficult for me to get to every corner due to my newly added belly as well as being vertically challenged. But there were many years of abuse that needed to be covered. I’d had the entire truck powder coated on the outside, but it wasn’t quite as easy to do inside.

Especially with all the equipment I had.

The genius lightbulb moment Kinleigh had for the name of the truck had also changed half of my ideas. It was so much snappier. I wish I’d thought of it. But I knew it was a goldmine when I told Macy the new name of the truck.

Ivy’s Sweets had been cute. So had the turquoise and pink effects. However, Rolling Cones was catchy and perfect to use for social media blasts. I had dozens of names for flavors with the new musical slant.

We’d come up with a jukebox theme, and it had just exploded after that. So much that I couldn’t keep up with all the ideas.

“May I come onboard?”

“Do I look like a captain?”

He set his coffee just inside the door then jammed his hands into his pockets as he moved back again. “A little. Change out the pink hat for an old-timey conductor stripe and you’d be right there. Kind of.”