Once we’re finished with the cash register lesson—including me ringing up a real pair of customers who came into the shop—he brings me to the toppings bar. Pointing out what everything is, he explains I need to make sure to keep everything well stocked. Replenishing the toppings as often as I can is crucial to keeping the toppings bar in good shape. The more they pile on their frozen yogurt, the heavier their cup weighs, and the more we can charge them. Though summer is dwindling, which causes the frozen yogurt business to slow down—at least according to Blake.
“Hours will eventually be cut by mid next month, if not sooner,” Blake explains as we walk back to the storage room. “Business drops once summer is really over, and by the end of football season, it really dies off.”
“Why is that?”
“It’s too cold to eat frozen yogurt,” he says, his voice definitely carrying a duh vibe.
“You can still eat it inside,” I point out. “It’s never too cold to eat delicious frozen yogurt.”
Blake studies me like I’m crazy. I sort of am, but frozen yogurt really is delicious and my stomach is growling, which is embarrassing. “If you can convince people of that and increase business during the winter months, my mom might kiss you.”
I make a face. “I’m not into that sort of thing.”
Blake’s cheeks blaze up. His face is so red I feel instantly sorry for him. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters.
“I know. I was just teasing.” Could I be more awkward? Reaching out, I touch his arm and smile at him but he won’t even look my way. The buzzer indicating someone just walked into the shop goes off and he’s gone in an instant, not looking back at me once as he scurries out of there.
Guess he was just saved by the bell.
Smoothing a hand over my hair, I walk back out into the front of the store, my mouth dropping open when I see who’s standing in front of the frozen yogurt machines, contemplating the flavors.
“Oh. Hey,” Emily Griffith says distractedly, barely glancing in my direction.
White-hot rage rises inside of me as I walk over to join Blake behind the counter. I want to sock her in the mouth. Punch her in the stomach. Slap her face as hard as I can. And I’m not one prone to violence, but this chick makes my blood boil.
Worse? She doesn’t even realize it.
“You don’t have salted caramel anymore?” Em whines at Blake.
“We’ll get it back soon,” Blake reassures her with a friendly smile.
All she does is make a face as she shoves her cup under the nozzle and adds birthday cake flavored frozen yogurt to it. I watch as she examines the toppings bar, then dumps chocolate chips, M&Ms and chocolate sprinkles on top of her yogurt before bringing it to the counter.
Blake never moves away from the cash register, and I scowl at him. “Let me ring her up,” I say.
“I’ve got it.” He never takes his eyes away from Em as she stands in front of us looking positively bored. She even yawns. Doesn’t bother covering her mouth either.
Again, I want to punch her. And I promise I’m not a violent person.
“I need the practice on the register.” I hip-check him and bump him out of the way, flashing an extra big smile at Em. My mom always said to kill them with kindness, so I’m going for that approach. Besides, she has no idea what she did to Tuttle and me.
Or does she?
“Will that be all?” I ask Em with a sickeningly sweet voice.
“Looks like it, don’t you think?” she says sarcastically.
Gritting my teeth, I set her yogurt cup on the scale, stick an orange spoon in it since orange is my least favorite of the plastic spoon colors available, and I punch in the price. She hands me a five and I hand back her change, telling her to have a nice day.
For the first time since she walked in here, she actually meets my gaze and recognition dawns, the dollar bill and loose change spilling from her hand and landing on the counter. “Amanda Winters.”
“Emily Griffith,” I return.
“So. How’s Tuttle?” She smirks.
“I wouldn’t know, considering I really don’t talk to him,” I say coolly, lying through my still gritted teeth.
“Funny, I heard you two were sort of an item. But maybe that was only in your imagination?” She raises her brows.
I imagine leaping over the counter and taking her down to the ground. Wrapping my fingers around her neck and choking her out, Blake cheering me on. I glance over at him, see the lust and adoration in his gaze as he stares at Em, and I know he’s a lost cause.
“Funny, I heard you were passed around the locker room after the last home game. But maybe that was the truth?” I raise my brows just like she did.
The flicker of hurt on her face, in her eyes, is there and then gone in a flash. She swipes her yogurt from the counter and stomps out of Yo Town, leaving her change behind on the counter.
“Put it in the tip jar,” Blake suggests, completely unfazed. Did he not just hear the awful things we said to each other?
A heavy sigh escapes me. I should’ve never said that to Em. It was mean and ugly and I sort of lost myself in the moment. Now I feel guilty as crap. “Go ahead. Do you mind if I take a break?”
“Sure. You get fifteen minutes.”
That’s just enough time to drown my sorrows in a giant cup of watermelon sorbet.