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hazel

. . .

I’m halfway through my BLT when I blurt it out: “National Ice Cream Day is exactly eight days away, and I have absolutely nothing planned.”

Finn looks up from his club sandwich, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. Those green eyes of his—the ones I’ve known since I was five—crinkle slightly. “And this is a crisis because...?”

“Because,” I say, leaning forward across our favorite table at The Coastal Café, “Fourth of July weekend was incredible for Sinfully Sweet. Like, beyond my wildest projections, incredible. But I need to keep that momentum going all summer if I want to make it through the winter.”

Finn wipes a bit of mayo from the corner of his mouth with his napkin. “Haze, you’ve been open for what—two months? And you’re already the talk of Starlight Bay. That’s not luck. That’s you making the best damn ice cream this side of Boston.”

I feel warmth spread through my chest at his words, but I shake my head. “That’s sweet of you to say, but?—”

“It’s not sweet, it’s true.” He sets down his sandwich and gives me that look—the one that’s equal parts supportive best friend and something deeper I’m not quite ready to examine.

“Remember Mrs. Brody? She came in three times last week. Three times, Hazel. That woman hasn’t left her house for anything other than groceries in years. ”

“Okay, fine, maybe the ice cream is good,” I concede, taking another bite of my sandwich. “But good ice cream doesn’t automatically translate to sustainable business. I need events, promotions, something to draw people to the shop consistently.”

Finn pulls out his phone and starts typing. “What are you doing?”

“Looking up National Ice Cream Day.” His fingers fly across the screen. “Okay, so it’s always the third Sunday in July. This year, that’s the twentieth. What kind of crowd are you thinking?”

I pause, pickle halfway to my mouth. “I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about specifics yet. Maybe a buy-one-get-one deal? Or a new flavor launch?”

“Think bigger.” Finn’s eyes light up with that familiar spark he gets when he’s problem-solving. “What if we made it an event? Like, a real celebration?”

“An event?” I put down my pickle, intrigued despite my initial panic. “What kind of event?”

“Something that gets the whole town involved.” Finn’s excitement is contagious as he leans closer, lowering his voice like we’re conspiring.

“Picture this: ‘Starlight Bay’s First Annual Ice Cream Festival.’ We could set up in the town square, have music, games, maybe even an ice cream eating contest.”

I feel a flutter of possibility in my chest. “That actually sounds... amazing. But pulling something like that together in eight days? I’d need permits, vendors?—”

“You’ve got me,” Finn interrupts, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. His touch is warm and familiar, like everything about him. “And I happen to know that the mayor owes my dad a favor after that whole website redesign fiasco last year.”

I laugh, remembering how Finn stayed up three nights straight fixing the town’s hacked website before the summer tourism campaign launched. “Always my knight in shining armor, aren’t you?”

“Only for you, Brown.” He winks, and I ignore the little flip my stomach does in response.

“Okay,” I say, pulling my notebook from my bag and flipping to a clean page. “If we’re doing this, we need a plan. I’m thinking we showcase all my bestsellers, plus maybe two or three special flavors just for the event.”

Finn nods enthusiastically. “You should definitely bring back that lavender honey one from opening weekend. Mrs. Reyes at the library hasn’t stopped talking about it.”

“Really? I thought it was too weird for most people.”

“That’s what makes your shop special, Haze. You take risks.” His eyes hold mine for a beat too long. “It’s what I’ve always admired about you.”

I clear my throat and look down at my notebook. “Right. So, bestsellers, special flavors... what else?”

“What about a collaboration? You could partner with other local businesses. Like, I bet Theo at the bakery would love to provide cookies for ice cream sandwiches.”

“And the coffee shop could do affogatos with my vanilla bean,” I add, the ideas starting to flow.

Finn grins. “See? This is happening. And I’ve got another idea—what if we had people vote for their favorite flavor? The winner becomes a permanent addition to your menu.”

“That’s brilliant,” I say, scribbling furiously. “It would give people a reason to try multiple flavors and feel invested in the shop.”

“Plus,” Finn adds, stealing one of my potato chips, “it gives you valuable market research for free.”

I swat his hand playfully. “Always thinking like a businessman.”

“Someone has to balance out your artistic temperament.” He catches my hand, holding it a second longer than necessary. “We make a good team, Brown.”

I pull my hand away, ignoring the warmth creeping up my neck. “We always have.”

“So it’s settled then? Starlight Bay’s First Annual Ice Cream Festival, starring Sinfully Sweet?”

I take a deep breath, the anxiety of eight days ago morphing into excitement. “Let’s do it.”

Finn raises his iced tea. “To brain freezes and business booms.”

I clink my glass against his, smiling. “And to best friends who always know exactly what I need.”

Something flickers across his face—disappointment, maybe?—but it’s gone so quickly I wonder if I imagined it.

“Always,” he says softly.

I spend the rest of lunch scribbling notes while Finn bounces ideas off me. By the time he pays the check, my notebook looks like a tornado hit it, but I can actually see this thing coming together.

“I should probably head back,” I say, glancing at my watch. “Sarah’s covering the shop, but Saturday afternoons get crazy.”

Finn stands and grabs his jacket from the back of his chair. “Mind if I walk with you? I want to take some pictures of the square for the layout.”

“Sure.” I tuck my notebook into my bag, trying not to notice how his hand briefly touches the small of my back as we navigate through the crowded café.

Outside, the July heat hits us like a wall. Starlight Bay in summer is picture-perfect—all-white picket fences and window boxes overflowing with petunias—but the humidity makes my hair curl in ways that definitely aren’t intentional.

“So what’s Helen think about all this?” Finn asks about my big sister as we stroll toward Main Street.

I groan. “Helen thinks I’m certifiably insane. Her exact words were, ‘Why would you want to be a small-town ice cream lady when you could be conquering the world?’”

“Classic Helen.” Finn chuckles. “Still trying to convince you to move back to Boston?”

“Every single phone call.” I kick a pebble down the sidewalk. “She doesn’t get why I’d choose this over some corporate marketing job in the city.”

“And what do you tell her?”

I pause, watching Mrs. Brody tend to her rose garden across the street. She waves, and I wave back automatically. “That some people need skyscrapers to feel alive, and some people need... this.”

Finn follows my gaze, taking in the tree-lined street, the kids on bikes, the lazy summer afternoon feel of it all. “This is pretty great.”

“It is.” I steal a glance at him, wondering if he ever thinks about leaving. He’s smart enough to work anywhere and do anything. “Don’t you ever miss the excitement of the city?”

“I visited you enough times in Boston to know it’s not for me.” His voice is matter-of-fact. “Besides, everything I want is right here.”

Something in his tone makes my pulse quicken, but before I can analyze it, we’re at Sinfully Sweet, and I can see the line of customers through the window.

“Looks like you’re needed,” Finn says, but he’s smiling.

“The price of success.” I dig for my keys. “Thank you for lunch. And for... well, for turning my panic into a plan.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” He steps closer, and for a moment, I think he might hug me, but instead, he just touches my shoulder. “I’ll call you tonight with an update on the permits, okay?”

“Okay.” I watch him walk away, noting the confident set of his shoulders and the way he nods to everyone we pass. This is his town as much as it’s mine, and somehow, that makes the idea of the festival feel even more right.

The bell above my door chimes as I step inside, and immediately, I’m enveloped by the sweet, cold air and the chatter of happy customers. Sarah looks relieved to see me.

“Thank God you’re back,” she says, tying her apron tighter. “We’re almost out of the mint chocolate chip, and that family over there has been debating flavors for ten minutes.”

I laugh, washing my hands quickly before jumping back behind the counter. “Just another successful Saturday at Sinfully Sweet.”

But as I scoop ice cream and ring up orders, my mind keeps drifting to festival plans and the way Finn’s eyes lit up when he talked about us making a good team.

Eight days suddenly don’t feel like nearly enough time—for the festival or for figuring out why my best friend’s smile makes my heart do things I’ve been trying very hard to ignore.