Page 3

hazel

. . .

The last customer leaves just as I'm wiping down the counter for the third time tonight. Sarah flips the sign to "Closed" and turns the lock with more force than necessary.

"Okay, spill," she says, grabbing a towel to help me clean up. "You've been distracted all evening. I watched you give Mrs. Henderson vanilla instead of mint chip, and she was too polite to say anything."

I groan, remembering the confused look on Mrs. Henderson's face. "I'll make it up to her tomorrow."

"This is about Finn, isn't it?" Sarah starts stacking chairs on tables with practiced efficiency. "You've been weird ever since he left this afternoon."

"I'm not weird." I scrub at an invisible spot on the counter. "I'm focused."

"Focused on pretending you don't have feelings for your best friend."

My hand stills. "Sarah?—"

"Hazel." She stops what she's doing and looks at me directly. "That man is head over heels in love with you. Like, embarrassingly obvious, write-songs-about-you in love."

I laugh, but it comes out forced. "That's ridiculous. Finn and I grew up together. We're like siblings."

"Siblings don't look at each other the way you two do."

"What way?" I ask, even though I know I shouldn't.

Sarah leans against the counter, studying my face. "Like you're both drowning, and the other person is oxygen."

My stomach flips, but I shake my head. "You're imagining things. Finn's just... he's protective. He's always been that way, ever since we were kids. It's not romantic."

"Right. And that's why Finn's spent the last month planning your festival like it's his own wedding."

I turn away, focusing on organizing the napkin dispensers that are already perfectly organized. "He's being a good friend. That's what friends do."

"Friends don't learn your entire inventory by heart. Friends, don't drop everything when you text about ice cream emergencies. And friends definitely don't look like they've been punched in the gut when you mention other guys."

"I don't mention other guys."

"Exactly my point." Sarah's voice is gentle now. "Hazel, when's the last time you went on a date?"

I pause, a napkin dispenser halfway to its spot. "I've been busy with the shop."

"Before the shop. In Boston."

I think back, trying to remember. There was that guy from my marketing class and the barista at the coffee shop near my apartment, but nothing serious. Nothing that made me want to stay in Boston instead of coming home.

Nothing that made me feel the way I feel when Finn walks into my shop.

"That's not the point," I say finally. "Even if.

.. even if there was something there, which there isn't, I can't risk it.

Finn's my best friend. He's been there for everything—when Dad had his heart attack, when I was scared about opening the shop, when I need someone to taste-test weird ice cream flavors at nine in the morning. "

"And you think dating him would ruin that?"

I set down the dispenser and face her. "I think if it didn't work out, I'd lose the most important person in my life. And I can't... I won't do that."

Sarah's expression softens. "What if it did work out?"

The question renders me speechless. For a moment, I let myself imagine it—Finn's hand in mine, not just as friends but as something more. Waking up next to those green eyes. Having someone who believes in my dreams because they're part of his dreams, too.

Then reality crashes back in.

"He's got his company to think about," I say, grabbing my keys from behind the register. "Did you see how stressed he looked when he left? He has real responsibilities and important clients. I can't ask him to keep dropping everything for ice cream emergencies."

"Maybe he wants to drop everything for your ice cream emergencies."

I flip off the lights, plunging us into the soft glow of the streetlights outside. "That's exactly the problem. Finn's too good a friend to say no, even when he should."

We step outside, and I lock the door behind us. The spring air is cool against my skin, carrying the sound of waves from the harbor.

"You know what I think?" Sarah says as we walk toward our cars.

"I'm sure you're going to tell me."

"I think you're scared. And I think Finn's scared too. You're both so afraid of losing what you have that you won't risk finding out what you could have."

I stop walking. "And what if we find out it's nothing? What if we try and realize we were better as friends?"

"Then you figure it out. Like adults." Sarah unlocks her car and turns to face me. "But Hazel, what if you find out it's everything?"

My heart does that fluttering thing it always does when I think about Finn in ways I shouldn't. I press my hand to my chest, willing it to calm down.

"Sarah, you don't understand. Finn's seen me at my absolute worst—remember when I got food poisoning from that questionable sushi in Boston, and he drove four hours just to bring me soup? That's not romance, that's... that's family."

"Family doesn't blush when you laugh at their jokes."

"He doesn't—" I start to protest, then stop. Maybe he does. Perhaps I've been so busy convincing myself we're just friends that I've been ignoring the way his cheeks turn pink when I tease him or how his voice gets softer when he says my name.

"Look," Sarah says, opening her car door. "I'm not saying you have to march over there tonight and declare your undying love. But maybe stop running away every time he gets too close. Maybe let yourself feel what you're feeling instead of analyzing it to death."

She slides into her seat and then rolls down the window. "And maybe consider that the reason you've never seriously dated anyone else isn't because you're too busy with ice cream."

Before I can respond, she's backing out of the parking space, leaving me standing alone under the streetlight with my thoughts spinning like a broken soft-serve machine.

I get in my own car but don't start it right away.

Instead, I sit there thinking about this afternoon—how Finn's face lit up when he explained his marketing ideas, how he remembered exactly which flavors were my bestsellers, how he insisted on staying late to help me prep for tomorrow even though I could see the exhaustion in his eyes.

My phone buzzes. A text from Finn: *Hope closing went smoothly. Don't forget to lock the back door—I noticed the latch was loose earlier.*

Even now, he's looking out for me. My fingers hover over the keyboard, wanting to type something that acknowledges the flutter in my chest —the way his concern makes me feel cherished and protected, and maybe something more than just friendship.

Instead, I type back: *Already locked. Thanks for everything today.*

Safe. Friendly. That is exactly what I always do.

I start the car and pull out of the lot, but instead of heading straight home, I find myself driving the long way past Finn's apartment complex.

His living room light is on, and I can see his silhouette moving around inside.

For just a moment, I imagine pulling into his parking space, walking up those stairs, and telling him that Sarah might be right about everything.

But I keep driving because some risks feel too big to take, even when—especially when—they might be worth it.