Page 3 of Miami Ice

Today is the day,I think with optimism.It’s going to be the start of big changes.

Thank you, T. Swift, for my theme and music inspiration today.

The rest of the show goes by slowly. The woman next to me is arguing with her husband—they sell jewelry, and he wants to pack up and go home and she doesn’t—and I’m sure that’s not helping people want to stop and linger by my table.

“I’m telling you, Jess, this is a waste of time. Nobody is buying your shit!” he snaps.

“Nobody is buying my shit because you are hovering over the table like the grumpy pain in the ass you are!” she retorts.

And there go any customers for the rest of the day.

As I watch them, I can’t imagine being married to someone who obviously doesn’t support my passion and speaks to me so awfully in public.

See, this is why I wait. I don’t want to settle. I want to find a man who is perfect for me.

I think about this. Based on my previous dating experiences, finding him might be as elusive as finding customers for my jars.

Another woman comes down the aisle, pushing twin girls in a double stroller. I love seeing little girl twins. It reminds me so much of the childhood I had with Ella. But unlike us, these little girls are identical twins with chocolate-brown hair. Their hairstyle is even the same—both of them have space buns.

My heart melts. So adorable.

The woman comes over to my table and begins looking at my jars.

“Hello, welcome to Georgie’s Jars,” I say, smiling warmly at her. “These are hand-painted Mason jars—even the inside is painted. They’re designed to look rustic.”

“Ooh,” she says, picking up a jar for closer inspection.

“That’s my personal favorite,” I say cheerfully. “It’s for Pinkmas, and it even has a gingerbread man on it.”

The woman stops and looks at me, almost as if she’s seeing me for the first time. Her eyes flicker over me with interest. “You like a pink Christmas?” she asks.

“Pink!” one of the little girls declares before putting some Goldfish crackers in her mouth.

“I love pink, too,” I say to the girl, who can’t be more than two or three. Then I turn back to their mother. “I think a pink Christmas is magical. Full of sweetness and goodness, you know. I’m doing a Pinkmas theme in my apartment—I love Christmas—and I’m combining pink with gingerbread men and women in my kitchen. Gingerbread evokes so many warm memories. It’s sweet with spice. Comforting. Cute. The whole pink-with-gingerbread concept brings me such joy.”

Her dark brows go into a V shape as she continues to study me. I wonder if I’ve babbled too much.

“That’s it!” she suddenly says, her face lighting up. “I know who you remind me of!”

“Oh?” I ask, smiling at her. “Someone good, I hope.”

“Yes! You’re like a character out ofFrozen. The braids of Elsa, but you’re like Anna.”

I grin at her. “Oh, you think so? That’s a great compliment, thank you. You’ve made my day. I do love that movie.”

“Elsa!” the other twin says. “I want to watch Elsa!”

“Yes, darling, we’ll do that tonight, but hold on, Mommy is working.”

Working?

“So you’re an artist—you do rustic jars and own this business, yes?” she asks.

I nod. “Yes, I do. This business is my passion.”

“Perfect!” she says, her whole face lighting up. “And you live in Miami?”

Now this is getting weird. “Um, yes.”

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