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“I don’t know what I would get. So many choices…” He stared wide-eyed out the window, and my heart swelled in my chest with unconditional love for my pint-sized nephew.

And yes, I folded like a house of cards.

“Maybe we should stop by Swensen’s and see what might make for a tasty triple scoop.”

Emmett’s eyes widened, and if he was wiggling in his seat earlier, he was damn near bouncing now. “Yes, yes, yes!”

Swensen’s Ice Cream Parlor was a Wood Hollow gem situated on the corner of Main and Poplar. The red-and-white awning and café tables along the front were a beacon on hot summer months. In fact, it was only open between May and September, and sometimes October, if the weather held or if the owners felt like hanging around town for an extra week or two before heading south for the winter.

The only times I’d ever seen the ice cream parlor quiet was in the wee hours of the morning during a groggy trip into town for a latte at Rise and Grind. Usually, there was a line, and those café tables were never empty.

Like now.

Emmett and I queued up, passing time with a serious debate about which flavor made the best base. The teenagers in line ahead of us joined in and as we neared the register, they’d pretty much sold Em on brownie chunk as scoop number one.

That was the other thing about Emmett. Until he’d arrived for his monthlong visit, I’d been a veritable hermit. I was in Wood Hollow for eight more months to do a job, then heading back to Virginia. This was just business for me.

But it was supposed to be fun for Emmett, and if that meant I had to smile a little more and make nice with the locals, I’d do it for his sake.

We ordered jumbo ice creams that would certainly dampen our dinner appetite, but so what? Em was walking on cloud nine, shuffling toward the exit while balancing his cone like a precious piece of breakable art. Totally worth it.

It must have been our lucky day, ’cause we managed to score a table, too.

We sat under a yellow umbrella and chatted about frogs, tadpoles, Star Wars, meteor showers, and the kid at camp who claimed he could jump five feet.

“Is that even possible?” Em asked, swiping his forearm across the streak of cookies and cream on his nose.

“Could be. Is he tall?”

Em made a goofy face. “He’s shorter than me.”

I chuckled and motioned for Em to put his cone in the cup I’d insisted we might need…in case we couldn’t finish. “Let’s give these a rest. We can stick ’em in the freezer and save them for tomorrow. Probably time to think about something more nutritious.”

He slumped in his chair and patted his stomach. “I’m too full for dinner, Uncle Way.”

I winced.

Note to self: dessert after dinner.

“Okay, champ, let’s⁠—”

“Hey, that’s Mr. La Rue.”

Emmett sat up and pointed at an older man staring at the signage above the ice cream parlor. It was the same man I’d seen with the police chief the other day. He’d been staring at a sign then, too.

A stylish woman with a gray bob hurried toward him, carrying a woven purse with pink flower petals that matched the hue of her lipstick and her Bermuda shorts. The older man jolted in surprise but smiled as the woman neared.

The couple linked arms and continued up the street.

“Mr. La Rue?” I repeated. “How do you know him?”

“He’s my camp counselor’s grandpa and he used to be a policeman, too. Like the one who was gonna give you a ticket.” Emmett leaned forward to take a rogue lick of his ice cream.

I pushed the cup out of reach. “Ah, a family of cops.”

He nodded, then frowned. “Mom doesn’t like cops. She says they’re always blaming you for stuff you didn’t do. She says I should stay away from them. Mr. La Rue is nice, though. And so was the guy⁠—”

“Who almost gave me a ticket,” I finished. “Hey, the police are the good guys here…and in most places. They’re the ones who keep the peace and make sure no one gets hurt. Your mom is just…”