Page 56 of Cherry on Top

“Can’t Dad go?”

“Well, he could, of course . . .” The way she trailed off made it clear that of course he could, but he didn’t want to. Will couldn’t deny Patrick Johnson had already put his years and years of time in, traveling from one Johnson’s location to another, overseeing their expansion, managing the day-to-day operations, and now he didn’t want to anymore. Will couldn’t blame him. It was a lot of work.

But that doesn’t mean you need to do it, either.

“Or Brewer?”

“He’s so busy, Will. He’s managing the whole chain. He can’t take the time out to open a store.”

Will wasn’t really surprised at that argument either. Brewer had never wanted to get his hands dirty with the actual running of the business. He preferred his suits to stay pristine, lording over everything from behind a desk.

“I’m sure you’ll find someone,” Will said. Ignoring, as best he could, the strong surge of responsibility he felt. “If I can think of anyone that could do it, I’ll let you know.”

“If that’s all you can do,” Carla said.

“It is,” Will said firmly. For her. For himself, too.

“Right.” She paused. “Is it going better, now that you’ve been open for a few months?”

“Yeah,” he said. “A lot better. We’re busy.”

“Good.” She sounded pleased at that, at least.

It wasn’t like Will didn’t think she’d ask at all. Or care. She was too business-minded to ignore the fact that he’d come here, to Indigo Bay, and not just started another outcropping of Johnson’s, but something that was entirely his own concept. Still, it hurt to know that played second fiddle to their own business concerns.

Not surprising. There was a reason he’d ended up making the break when he had. He’d begun to realize, two winters ago, that every year he became more and more entrenched in the Johnson’s business, and eventually, he wouldn’t be anything more than a slave to it. And he hadn’t wanted that. Hadn’t wanted any of it.

He’d told Kate the bare rudimentary background and then a little more about his family’s never-ending expectations, as they’d grown to be not just employer and employee but friends.

Still, when he finally stood and walked back to the front counter, he hadn’t realized his face would be reflecting all of this. But Kate took one look at him and shook her head. “Again?” she asked under her breath as he checked the stock of the various ice creams sitting in the big glass-topped freezer.

But Will didn’t want to talk about it; honestly, he didn’t want to think about it.

Vanilla was running low, so he headed to the back. Grabbed a fresh five-gallon bucket and lugged it up towards the freezer. Pulled the nearly empty one and began to scoop out the remains, using his big metal scoop to pile it on top. He’d done this so many times, probably numbering in the thousands over the years. When he’d first started working in the family business, his mom had always reminded him to not make the new ice cream “look like garbage; pile it up nice, make it look appealing.”

“My mom wanted someone to go to Tybee, to open their new store,” Will said.

Kate’s expression morphed from curiosity to sympathy.

“Their manager ditched. Hoped I might have some ‘free time’ on my hands to help them out.”

Kate laughed, humorlessly. “Does she not know you’re working sixty-hour weeks?”

“To know that, she’d have to ask about that.”

“Ah.” Kate’s single syllable contained multitudes.

What else was there to say? Everyone had issues with their parents. At least Will’s parents loved him, and they didn’t try to stifle him or change him, the way Giana tried to do with Enzo. It wasn’t their fault, necessarily, that they got distracted by just how useful he could be.

It had never bothered Brewer. They’d read him and slotted him into the place he was most suited. Then they’d tried to do the same with Will.

But he was never going to be the owner. He was only going to be the lackey, at everyone’s beck and call.

“I’m gonna get some of these replaced and then . . .” Will trailed off, glancing around. His two employees besides Kate were working—one at the register, the other competently scooping ice cream and making sundaes and milkshakes.

“And then you’re gonna take off for the rest of the evening?” she asked archly. “Why don’t you go find Enzo?”

“I—”

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