Page 49 of Echoes at Driftwood Cottage

Reaching the door, she gave it a yank but realized the old, rusty padlock refused to budge. She darted back around through the garage and into the laundry room to get the key ring Gran always kept hanging on the peg.

One by one, she inserted the assortment of keys into the keyhole. jiggled it a bit, before finding the right one that worked. After setting the padlock to one side, the door swung open in a slow, squeaky creaking noise on its own, revealing a hoarder’s paradise filled to the brim with junk—rusted shovels and rakes and her granddad’s old metal toolbox.

Taking her first step inside, sunlight streamed in through the cracks in the walls, casting shadows on the dirt floor. She noticed the smell first, dirt and rot, earth and decay. It was like entering a time capsule with everything perfectly preserved as he had left it all those years ago.

The shed was a cluttered mess with bags of fertilizer, bags of unopened potting soil, clay pots, and other ceramic planters littering the ground. She recognized his tattered gardening gloves left on a stack of old boxes in the corner, covered in another thick layer of dust.

She started to move the boxes so she could go through them, heaving each one into a new stack closer to the door, allowing for some elbow room, when she noticed a metal locker at least four feet tall hidden behind even more boxes. She looked around for something to stand on so she could reach the handle. She slid over one of the large square planters, turned it upside down, and used it as a stepladder. But when she tried to open the locker, she found it locked.

Frustrated and sweaty now, she hopped down from the planter to retrieve the keyring again, trying to force each key into the hole. But none fit the lock on the handle.

“This is stupid,” Rowan grumbled. “What’s so freaking important in this stupid shed that everything needs protecting like a bank vault? I give up.”

Aggravated by the situation, she kicked at a box and stomped into the house to get something cold to drink.

Inside Vanilla Bean Machine, the delectable scent of freshly made waffle cones and nutty butter pecan drifted throughout the shop, out the door, and along the pier. Maybe that was why he and Kiki had never been busier. It seemed like the entire town had lined up for their freshly churned taste of cake batter or their daily blast of cherry vanilla or to get the warm hug of a chocolate sundae oozing with caramel sauce and hot fudge.

The afterschool crowd had wiped them out of the basic flavors—vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry—leaving them to push the blueberry and peach, and figuring out crazy ways to serve up a banana split with the flavors they had on hand.

By five-thirty, Daniel had exhausted his supply of waffle and sugar cones and ran out of five-ounce single containers. With nothing left to use for a small scoop, he substituted the larger eight-ounce size for single serves. Thankfully, most of the late-afternoon crowd wanted hand-packed quarts to go.

When it calmed down around six, Daniel locked the front door and turned the CLOSED sign around.

“What are you doing?” Kiki asked.

“What does it look like? I’m closing early. I need to start new batches, then push out an order to my supplier and hope they can get everything here by tomorrow.”

“Does that mean I can go? I’m no good at working the machines. You said so yourself. They always mess up when I go near them.”

“That’s because you don’t follow the instructions.”

Kiki shrugged. “I should start packing for my trip anyway. We leave tomorrow morning. You haven’t forgotten about Big Sur, have you?”

“No, no. Go ahead. Maybe I should rethink staying open until nine.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying. It’s crazy around here when you leave at six. I can barely manage the nighttime crowd by myself.”

Daniel rubbed his forehead where a headache began. “I would’ve paid your boyfriend who hangs around here anyway to help out.” Not wanting an argument, he held up a hand. “Take off. Have fun. Take plenty of photos.”

“Oh, I will. I plan to document the whole trip on social media,” Kiki said, grabbing her backpack. “See you in a week.”

Daniel ran a hand through his hair as he watched her leave, knowing he needed a backup plan. He reached for his phone and texted Rowan.

Any chance you’d want to spend the evening making ice cream?

Sure. But you’re still buying dinner. And I want all the lavender I can eat for dessert.

No problem about dinner. I’ll order a pizza and have it waiting when you get here. But no can do on the lavender. I’m all sold out.

Okay. What about orange blossom?

All gone. What’s your third choice?

Cake batter.

Gone. Fourth?

Let’s make this simple. What flavors do you still have?

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