Dangerously Dark Read Free Page B

London, ordinary baubles have a tough time competing.
    I couldn’t think of much to say about it. Sometimes my globe-trotting upbringing leaves gaps. “Pretty!” I gushed.
    Carissa sighed, then hugged her ring finger, obviously disappointed . . . but willing to wait for me to rally. I sensed a long weekend ahead of me. What else was I supposed to say?
    â€œIt’s so big!” I tried. Hey, it worked on men, didn’t it?
    My friend brightened with pleasure. “I know, right? Declan is so generous with me. He’s a sweetheart. Really, he is.”
    I couldn’t help thinking that, generally, people who temper their statements with “really” or “honestly” or “actually” (or similar qualifiers) are hiding something. Which only made me wonder . . .
    â€œDo you think he’s ‘the one,’ Carissa?” I asked. “This has all happened so fast. You haven’t been dating all that long—”
    â€œDeclan is totally the one,” Carissa interrupted with certainty, literally waving away my question. “He’s sweet and caring and super handsome! And, okay, so sometimes when I text him an ‘I love you’ and he texts back ‘U2,’ I get a little stabby”—here she broke into a wider grin—“but overall, Declan is fantastic!” Carissa inhaled. “What about you? Seeing anyone?”
    Ugh. It was the question dreaded by singles everywhere.
    I’d been seeing several people, actually, across a couple of continents. But that made me sound flighty at best and promiscuous at worst—neither of which was accurate (and that’s before you add in my three ex-fiancés). It’s just that I’m a people person. That tends to lead to a lot of dates.
    â€œWe can get to that later.” It was my turn to wave off a query. I gazed around at Cartorama. “So, what’s your surprise?”
    â€œYou’ll never guess.”
    That’s what people said when they wanted you to guess. It was a tendency that traveled to the far corners. So I did my best. “You’re doing interior decorating at one of the carts?”
    Carissa gawked at me, disappointed again. “ That’s what you think of me? That I’m good for nothing but decorating?”
    Hastily, I backpedaled. “You’re writing a blog?”
    Wisely, I omitted “gossip” blog. I learn quickly.
    â€œI’m running a cart!” Carissa shook her head, then grabbed my arm. Again, I was reminded of her surprising strength. “An ice-cream cart. It’s called Churn PDX. It’s a budding chain. You know, as in Churn PDX, Churn LA, Churn Las Vegas, Churn Tokyo. . . .”
    I bumped along in her wake, letting myself be towed toward the vintage Airstream trailer I’d noticed earlier, while Carissa described the food cart she’d founded and hoped to expand to the aforementioned cities. She was dreaming big. But why not?
    I’ve known other food entrepreneurs who’ve succeeded fantastically, even with admittedly niche products. Ice cream sounded like a slam dunk to me. Who doesn’t like ice cream?
    â€œWho doesn’t like ice cream?” Carissa echoed my thoughts as she set up an awning at the business side of the trailer, then pushed out a locked rolling service counter. “My ice cream is even better than most, though. It’s scientifically better.”
    The sorority girl I’d known at university had joked about “paying a nerd” to take Chemistry 101 for her while she pursued a degree in design. “Tell me another one, Einstein,” I joked.
    To my surprise, she did. “My ice cream is frozen with liquid nitrogen,” Carissa explained as she went on setting up.
    Her cart had all sorts of cleverly designed features crafted to be stowed away for the night, then set up the next morning. In no time flat, she’d established a work space without even