Page 5

hazel

. . .

“Carl isn’t going to like you pinning that thing to his store. You know how he goes on about his aesthetic.” My big sister, Helen, shakes her head as she waits for me to finish up.

I chuckle, shaking my head as I carefully tape the flyer to the storefront window.

“He agreed earlier today. I may have bribed him with a lifetime supply of our Maple Bourbon Pecan.” I smooth the corner of the colorful announcement advertising Starlight Bay’s first annual Ice Cream Festival. My festival. My dream.

Helen snorts as she scrolls through the messages on her phone. “By ‘lifetime supply,’ you mean one free scoop per month, which he’ll forget about by September.”

“Still counts,” I say as we head back to Sinfully Sweet, the best damn ice cream shop in Massachusetts. At least, that’s what Finn swears. But he’s a partial owner and may be biased.

The shop is quiet tonight, just the three of us working late. Sarah stands at the industrial mixer, her brow furrowed in concentration as she watches cream and sugar transform into something magical. The rhythmic whirring provides a comforting soundtrack to our evening.

“So,” Helen says, not looking up from her screen, “when are you and Finn finally going to seal the deal with a much-delayed roll in the hay?”

I nearly drop the stapler. “Excuse me?”

“You know,” Helen continues, her fingers typing away as she updates my website with our new flavors, “have sex. Do the horizontal tango. Make the beast with?—”

“I get it,” I interrupt, feeling heat rush to my cheeks. “And that’s none of your business.”

Sarah glances over her shoulder, trying and failing to hide her smirk.

“It’s been what, twenty years?” Helen presses. “The sexual tension is suffocating. I can barely stand being in the same room as you two.”

“We’re best friends, and I’m not sure we share the same feelings. It’s best to take things slow,” I mutter, suddenly very interested in aligning the flyers perfectly.

“Twenty years is glacially slow,” Helen counters. “Is there a problem? Equipment malfunction? Performance anxiety?”

“Helen!” I hiss, glancing at Sarah, who has abandoned all pretense of not listening.

“What?” Helen shrugs innocently. “I’m your twin. I’m contractually obligated to be involved in your love life.”

“No such contract exists,” I say firmly, though I can’t help but smile. “And for your information, I’m just... waiting for the right moment.”

The truth is, every moment with Finn feels right. Every touch and every late-night conversation that stretches until dawn. But something holds me back—perhaps the fear that once we cross that line, everything changes. And I’ve never been good with change.

Sarah clears her throat. “The salted caramel base is ready. Want to try it?”

Grateful for the interruption, I move to the counter, dipping a small spoon into the creamy mixture. “Perfect,” I declare after tasting it. “Let’s add the chocolate chunks.”

Helen sighs dramatically. “Fine, avoid the topic. But don’t think this conversation is over.”

I know it isn’t. Nothing ever is with Helen. But for now, I lose myself in the familiar rhythm of ice cream making, in the comfort of creation, pushing thoughts of Finn—and the inevitable “right moment”—to the back of my mind.

Sarah pours the chocolate chunks into the mixture, and I watch them disappear into the swirling cream. The familiar process usually calms me, but Helen’s words have stirred something restless in my chest.

“You know what your problem is?” Helen says, finally setting down her phone. “You overthink everything. Some things are meant to be messy and imperfect.”

“Says the woman who color-codes her calendar,” I shoot back, measuring out the sea salt with precise movements.

“That’s different. That’s organization. What you’re doing is self-sabotage.”

Sarah adds the final ingredients and restarts the machine. “Can I just say,” she ventures carefully, “that Finn looks at you like you hung the moon? I’ve worked here six months, and I’ve never seen him look at anyone else that way.”

My heart does a little flip. “Finn’s always been protective of me.”

“Protective is one thing,” Sarah continues, emboldened. “But the way he watches you when you’re not looking? That’s something else entirely.”

Helen claps her hands together. “See? Even Sarah sees it. And she’s what, nineteen?”

“Twenty-one,” Sarah corrects with a grin. “But I know longing when I see it. My boyfriend looked at me like that for months before he finally made a move.”

I lean against the counter, suddenly feeling exhausted. “What if it ruins everything? What if we try, and it doesn’t work out? I can’t lose him.”

“What if it does work out?” Helen counters, her voice gentler now. “What if you’re missing out on something amazing because you’re too scared to take the leap?”

The mixer winds down, and Sarah begins transferring the ice cream to the freezer containers. “My grandmother always said that regret weighs more than failure,” she offers quietly.

I watch her work, thinking about all the moments with Finn that have felt charged with possibility. The way his hand lingers when he helps me down from a ladder. How he always finds excuses to stay late and help close up. The way he said my name last week when I caught him staring.

“Maybe,” I whisper, more to myself than to them.

Helen’s phone buzzes, and she glances at it. “Speaking of the devil. Finn’s asking if we need anything from the late-night grocery run.”

My pulse quickens. “Tell him we’re fine.”

“I’m telling him to bring coffee,” Helen says, already typing. “And maybe some of those pastries you like from the bakery section.”

“Helen, don’t?—”

“Too late. He’ll be here in twenty minutes.” She gives me a knowing look.

“Perfect timing to test out that new flavor.”

I glare at my sister, but there’s no real heat behind it. Twenty-nine years of being Helen’s twin has taught me that resistance is futile.

“Fine,” I concede, turning my attention back to the creamy mixture. “But no more talk about my love life when he gets here. Promise me.”

Helen makes a show of crossing her heart. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were kicked out of Girl Scouts after two weeks,” I remind her.

“Details.” She waves her hand dismissively. “Besides, I don’t need to say anything. The way you two orbit each other does all the talking.”

Sarah hums in agreement as she labels the container with neat handwriting: “Midnight Mocha Madness – Test Batch #3.” The name had come to me during one of those late-night brainstorming sessions with Finn, both of us punchy with exhaustion, his shoulder warm against mine as we huddled over my recipe notebook.

“This might be the one,” Sarah says, admiring the rich, glossy texture. “The espresso really brings out the depth in the chocolate.”

I dip another spoon in for a taste, closing my eyes as the flavors bloom across my tongue. “It’s close. Maybe a touch more sea salt.”

The bell above the shop door jingles, and my heart performs its usual gymnastics routine at the sound of Finn’s footsteps.

“Delivery for the ice cream queens,” he calls out, his voice warm and familiar in a way that makes my stomach flutter.

He appears in the doorway to the kitchen, grocery bags in hand, hair slightly damp from the light drizzle outside. His green eyes find mine immediately, and there it is – that look Sarah mentioned, like I’m the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

“You’re early,” I say, suddenly conscious of the smudge of chocolate I probably have on my cheek and the mess of my ponytail.

“Traffic was light,” he replies with a shrug, setting the bags on the counter. “Plus, I heard there was experimental ice cream happening, and I’ve never been one to miss a tasting opportunity.”

Helen shoots me a pointed look that I steadfastly ignore.

“Perfect timing,” Sarah says, already reaching for clean-tasting spoons. “We just finished batch three of Hazel’s new creation.”

Finn steps closer, and I catch the scent of rain and that subtle cologne he’s worn since college. “What’s the verdict so far?”

“Needs more salt,” I say; at the same time, Helen says, “Needs more courage.”

Finn raises an eyebrow. “Salt, I understand, but courage?”

“Ignore her,” I say quickly, shoving a spoon into his hand. “Here, try it and tell me what you think.”

Our fingers brush during the exchange, and I wonder for the millionth time if he feels it too – that electric current that seems to run between us, growing stronger with each passing year.

Finn takes his time, savoring the flavor with his eyes closed. I watch his throat move as he swallows, and heat rises to my cheeks when I realize I’m staring.

“Well?” I ask, my voice embarrassingly breathless.

He opens his eyes, and the intensity in them nearly stops my heart. “It’s amazing, Haze. But I think you’re right about the salt. It’s almost there–– just needs that little extra push to be perfect.”

“Metaphors,” Helen mutters under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear. “Everywhere.”

I fight the urge to kick my sister under the counter. Instead, I reach for the sea salt, carefully measuring out a small amount to fold into the remaining mixture.

“So, what else did you bring us besides coffee?” I ask Finn, desperate to change the subject before Helen can make another loaded comment.

“Those almond croissants you like,” he says, unpacking the grocery bags. “And some of those weird cheese puffs Helen’s addicted to.”

“They’re not weird. They’re sophisticated,” Helen protests, already tearing into the bag.

Sarah finishes labeling the containers and slides them into the blast freezer. “I think I’ll head out if that’s okay? I promised my roommate I’d help her study for her nursing exam.”

“Of course,” I say, relieved to have one less witness to Helen’s matchmaking attempts. “Thanks for staying late.”

As Sarah gathers her things, Helen suddenly snaps her fingers. “Oh! I just remembered I have that... thing. That important thing I need to do.”

“What thing?” I narrow my eyes suspiciously.

“You know, that conference call with the marketing team in... Japan.” She checks her watch dramatically. “It’s morning there now.”

“You don’t have a marketing team in Japan,” Finn points out, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“Not yet, but Hazel’s ice cream empire has global potential.” Helen is already grabbing her jacket. “Sarah, I’ll walk you out. We can discuss that social media campaign I was thinking about.”

Before I can protest, Helen and Sarah are heading for the door, my sister throwing a not-so-subtle wink over her shoulder. “Don’t wait up, twin! And remember—courage!”

The bell jingles as they leave, and suddenly, the shop feels much smaller with just Finn and me. He’s leaning against the counter now, arms crossed over his chest, watching me with that half-smile that always makes my stomach flip.

“So,” he says casually, “what exactly do you need courage for?”

I busy myself with cleaning the already spotless counter. “Helen’s just being Helen. You know how she gets these... ideas.”

“Ideas,” he repeats, moving closer. “About?”

My heart is hammering so loudly I’m sure he can hear it. “Nothing important. Just sister stuff.” I reach for a croissant, needing something to do with my hands. “Want to split this?”

Finn takes the pastry, his fingers brushing mine again. This time, he doesn’t immediately pull away. “Hazel.”

The way he says my name makes me look up. There’s something different in his eyes tonight—a determination I haven’t seen before.

“What?” I manage to whisper.

“I heard what Helen was saying when I came in.” His voice is low and steady. “About us.”

The room suddenly feels too warm. “You did?”

He nods, breaking the croissant in half but keeping his eyes on mine. “I’ve been thinking about us too. A lot, actually.”

“Finn—”

“Let me finish, please?” He takes a deep breath. “We’ve been dancing around this for years, Haze. Everyone sees it. I think even Carl at the bookstore has a bet going about when we’ll finally get together.”

I laugh nervously. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” He steps closer, close enough that I can see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. “Because I don’t think it is. I think it makes perfect sense. You and me—we’ve always made sense.”

My mouth goes dry. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m tired of waiting for the right moment.” He sets down the croissant untouched. “I’m saying that maybe we need to make the moment right instead of waiting for it to happen.”

My pulse is racing now, the words I’ve kept locked away for so long threatening to spill out. “But what if?—”

“What if it’s amazing?” he interrupts gently. “What if we’ve been missing out on something incredible because we’re both too scared to take that step?”

It’s almost precisely what Helen said, and hearing it from Finn’s lips makes it impossible to ignore. Twenty years of friendship, of longing glances and lingering touches, of being there for each other through everything—it all comes down to this moment.

“I don’t want to lose you,” I confess, my voice barely above a whisper.

Finn reaches out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His touch sends shivers down my spine. “You couldn’t lose me if you tried, Hazel Brown. I’m not going anywhere.”

Something shifts inside me then, a quiet certainty replacing the fear. Maybe Sarah’s grandmother was right about regret weighing more than failure. Maybe Helen is right about me overthinking everything.

Maybe it’s time to be brave.

I step forward, close the distance between us, and place my hand on his chest. I can feel his heart beating as rapidly as mine.

“So,” I say, looking up at him, “what happens now?”

His smile is slow and sure, lighting up his entire face. “Now? I think now I finally get to kiss you if that’s okay.”

Instead of answering, I rise up on my tiptoes and press my lips to his.

The world doesn’t shatter, nor does the shop crumble to dust around us.

Instead, Finn’s strong arms encircle my waist, drawing me closer with an urgency that electrifies my senses.

His kiss is a fervent exploration, tasting of rich coffee and untamed possibility, and I am left questioning why I ever delayed embracing something that feels so intensely right.

When we finally break apart, both breathless, Finn rests his forehead against mine.

“For the record,” he murmurs, “that was worth waiting twenty years for.”

I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in months. “Helen’s never going to let us hear the end of this.”

“Probably not,” he agrees, brushing his thumb across my cheek. “But I think we can handle it.”

As if on cue, my phone buzzes with a text. I reluctantly pull away to check it, already knowing who it’s from.

Helen: Did you find your courage yet? If not, I can come back with PowerPoint presentations and visual aids.

I show the message to Finn, who laughs and takes the phone from my hand. He quickly types a response and shows it to me before hitting send.

Me: Courage found. Don’t wait up.