Page 91 of Cherry on Top

His “Welcome to Cherry’s” was half out of his mouth before it died. Before he trailed off in utter surprise.

“Mom!” he exclaimed, shocked. “Dad!”

“Oh, honey, the pictures didn’t do this place justice,” Carla said as she wandered around, her bright blue eyes, the same color as his, taking in the bright white walls, the candy pink striped booth cushions, the comfortable but old-fashioned white enamel chairs he’d spend ages sourcing.

“Yeah, they really didn’t.” His father walked over to the counter and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s good to see you, son.”

Will gazed at him, still shocked at their appearance. “It’s . . .uh . . .good to see you too. Didn’t expect you. At all.”

Why are you here?

’Cause you’re proud of me and wanted to finally see what I did?

Or because you want to convince me in person to do what you want?

“You’ve built something really nice,” his mom said, giving him an approving smile.

“Yeah,” Will said uneasily. He wasn’t naive enough to believe that because the former was true, the latter wouldn’t be either.

“Your mom said it was busier?” Patrick Johnson was all business.

“It’s quiet in the early afternoons, but in a few hours, we’ll be slammed,” Will said. Disliking the fact that his parents had been here for less than five minutes and he was already trying to prove to them that he was doing good.

He’d been a good father, from the angle that he’d instilled responsibility and determination in his sons. But everything else . . .yeah. Will couldn’t say his childhood had been shit. He knew he’d had a better one than a lot of kids out there, but sometimes he’d just wished for his dad to show some softness. Some love or approval that didn’t come directly from whatever accomplishment they’d just achieved.

Will knew he’d been trying to gain his unconditional love forever, and that was one of the reasons he’d finally come to Indigo Bay and opened Cherry’s.

The first thing he’d done entirely for him.

Because he’d wanted to. Because he’d wanted to carve himself a place that wasn’t dependent on his family.

“I’m not surprised, you know how to run a good business . . .” Carla said, trailing off.

“It’s a nice town, too. Busy downtown. Clean streets. Lots of tourists. Reminds me of a lot of places we’ve opened shops,” Patrick said. “This was a good move, son. Diversification is everything. You know that.”

Will did not roll his eyes. But he still considered it.

“Yeah, I do,” he said instead. “Not that I’m not happy that you’re here, but why are you here?”

“Can’t we want to see you, see what you’ve created here?” His mother shot him a smile.

Will did not bring up that he’d been open for months now, which he thought was heroic levels of restraint on his part.

He did not bring up Tybee Island either, even though part of him just wanted to cut through all this crap and get to the bottom of why they were here, sooner rather than later.

“You want some ice cream?”

“Oh, just a taste,” Carla said, when Patrick shook his head. “Come on, Pat. You gotta try it. It’s homemade, right?”

“Yep.”

Will’s plastic sample spoons were the same bright cherry pink as the stripes on the walls. He did roll his eyes a little as he grabbed a handful and bent down into the ice cream case, picking a handful of different flavors before passing them to his parents.

“This is the dark chocolate espresso bean,” he said as his father’s face creased into pleasure at all the flavors exploding across his tongue.

There was nothing wrong with the ice cream they served at the Johnson’s chain, but it wasn’t made in-house with the best milk and cream and eggs he could get his hands on.

“Delicious,” Carla said, as she sampled the brown butter cherry brickle he’d just finished perfecting. “You even make the vanilla here?”

---