Page 27 of Cherry on Top

“She probably meant to—after I’d already started it.” Enzo made an irritated noise.

“Probably. I know you have every right to be frustrated, but I know she did it because she loves you, and she wants you to be happy.”

“I am happy,” Enzo grumbled.

“I know,” she said sympathetically and reached out, patting his arm. “So why are you hesitating to paint the story?”

Enzo was trying to find a nicer way to tell her he thought it was a load of bullshit when she continued. “Let me guess, you think the story’s silly and heavily embroidered with fiction to sell tickets to the festival.”

“Maybe a little?” Enzo winced. “Though I can’t blame you guys for doing it, because it’s brought a lot of tourism to the town.” Tourism the town needed. Enzo wasn’t stupid enough to believe Indigo Bay would survive without it, especially during the offseason.

“It has,” she agreed.

“But you’re right, I . . .I’m afraid I’ve never really understood it. And how can I paint something I don’t understand?”

“Not everyone does,” Joy admitted. “Will said he hoped that I might be able to convince you, and I’m not against trying to do that. But I think it’s more than that. Art is more than that. You know that, and so do I. Maybe I’m not painting with colors but with words, but you have to care about it, and I can’t make you do that.”

That was not what Enzo had expected her to say. He’d expected her to drag out every good reason, every tourist-centered, every leader-of-the-town reason. But she hadn’t.

“Oh. Well.”

Joy smiled mischievously. “Do you still want me to tell the story again?”

She scraped the last of her ice cream. It was coffee—he could smell it now, in the air. And it smelled fucking delicious. He kind of hoped that maybe Will’s suggestion of chocolate might include that particular flavor.

Enzo glanced behind the counter, where Will was bent over the glass case, arm muscles bunching as he effortlessly scooped out ice cream.

He wanted to paint a mural on his wall, but even more than that, he wanted to make it right. And what if Will’s theory was spot-on, and he’d just never been particularly receptive to the story before because he’d been too young and too pissed-off?

“I do,” Enzo said.

Joy nodded. “I hoped you might. We’ll wait for Will, because he loves it so much.”

“I hear you’re remodeling the Inn,” Enzo said.

“I am. Your mom’s helping me out. She’s got a ton of antique dealer contacts in Charleston, from when she moved there.”

Giana had only spent a year or so in Charleston, before coming back to Indigo Bay. Enzo hadn’t been particularly surprised when she’d returned to the small town—he’d been fairly certain she’d only moved because he was moving, and she was trying to distract herself from the inevitable loneliness after he’d left.

“I’m glad she’s got more friends in town,” Enzo said.

“Me too. It’s too bad we didn’t connect earlier,” Joy admitted. She shot him a little smile. “You Morettis can be a prickly lot.”

It was only the truth. Hard to take offense, when he’d certainly thought it himself a dozen or a hundred or even a thousand times. “We can be,” Enzo agreed.

Joy patted him on the arm again. “But you generally mean well,” she added.

“Thanks,” Enzo said dryly. “I’m not sure you’re right, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Joy laughed. “It’s good to have you home.”

“I’m glad someone besides my mother thinks so.”

Before Joy could answer that one, Will walked over, Enzo’s attention suddenly riveted by the unbelievable creation he was setting in front of him.

It was streaked in an intoxicating swirl with deep, dark chocolate, but the milkshake itself was white, flecked with tiny little black specks. Vanilla bean, Enzo realized. And, like a crown on the top, was a swirl of whipped cream, and nestled into it was a triangle of deep, rich-looking brownie, partially dipped in white chocolate, a little bow tie drawn on with more dark chocolate, and like the jewel in the crown was a bright red cherry.

“This looks amazing,” Enzo said, not even sure where he should start.

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