Deceived: Lured from the Truth (Secrets) Read Free Page B

humiliated beyond belief if he’d been close enough to hear my false claim. But I comfort myself that these girls assumed he was my boyfriend first — I simply played along with them. Besides, I decide as I scoop up some pink and blue bubblegum ice cream for the redhead girl, Josiah could be my boyfriend … someday. Miracles might still happen.
    The next hour and a half passes in a blur of tourists of all shapes and sizes with two things in common: (1) they want their ice cream and (2) they want it fast. Even though both fans are running on high and the doors are open, it’s already more than ninety degrees in here. It’s hot and humid … and it smells like a dairy farm. I should’ve had help by now, but Belinda, as usual, is late.
    It’s twelve forty-five by the time Belinda arrives at work. And when she waltzes in, the shop is literally hopping. It’s like someone in the resort started a rumor that there will be a shortage of ice cream today.
    “Sorry I’m a little late,” she says glibly as she ties on one of the silly aprons, taking her time to fluff out the bow. Belinda’s shift was supposed to start at noon, and although I’m used to her lateness, this seems to be a personal record for her. Unfortunately, I don’t feel comfortable complaining since Nadine is her aunt. Instead, I toss a frown her way as I hand a woman a dish of mint chocolate chip ice cream.
    “My alarm clock stopped,” she says in a slightly whiny tone.
    “Can you ring that man up” — I use a damp towel to wipe my sticky hands — “while I dish up the rest of these?” A woman and four little kids are noisily waiting, and I’m eager to get them on their way.
    Belinda nods, taking her place by the register, which I know she would rather be running than dipping into the sticky, drippy ice cream.
    “Shouldn’t Alistair be here by now?” she asks as she hands the man his change. She doesn’t bother to count it out the way her aunt has asked us to do. She simply dumps it in his palm, then closes the till with a bang — something else Nadine frowns upon. However, Nadine is not here right now.
    “I’m sure he’s on his way,” I say over my shoulder as I scoop out some butter brickle for one of the little girls. Alistair might not be the sharpest crayon in the box, but at least he’s not usually late. And he knows how to count out change. I hand over the butter brickle, then wait as this impatient woman urges the preschool-aged boy to hurry and make up his mind. But when he can’t decide, she speaks for him. “Just give him a small scoop of peppermint.”
    “I don’t want peppermint!” He stubbornly folds his arms across his front.
    “What do you want?” I ask him in a friendly tone.
    “Benny likes peppermint,” the little girl next to him insists.
    “Do not!” he yells back at her. “I hate peppermint!”
    “Do you like chocolate?” I ask hopefully.
    His eyes light up and he nods with enthusiasm.
    “No,” the woman firmly tells me. “He cannot have chocolate.”
    Now the boy starts to throw a total fit, claiming he wants chocolate and only chocolate, and I don’t know what to do.
    “See what you’ve gone and done?” the woman snarls at me. “Benny thinks he likes chocolate, but he really doesn’t. If you give it to him, he’ll just end up wearing it all over his shirt. Do you have any idea how hard chocolate stains are to get out?”
    I shake my head, forcing a sympathetic smile. “Maybe I should help the next person in line until you guys decide.” I glance over her shoulder to where two teen girls are glaring at me with sour expressions.
    “No, we were here first,” the woman insists. “Just dish up some peppermint and hurry it up.”
    “Okay.” I rinse the scooper and reach into the peppermint carton, which I personally think is disgusting — it reminds me of Pepto-Bismol and I can understand the boy’s reluctance. Meanwhile I hear the little boy howling that he doesn’t want peppermint. But