Reuben's Hot and Cold (Clover Hill Romance Book 9) by M. Arbon

Author:M. Arbon [Arbon, M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Thirteen Flowers Press
Published: 2023-05-29T16:00:00+00:00

nine

Gaye slid out from behind the freezer with the grave expression that repair professionals used when they were gearing up to deliver a death blow. “Sorry, Reuben, but your evaporator motor’s toast.”

Reuben, who had been contentedly ignorant of the existence of evaporator motors before now, braced himself. “Can it be fixed today?”

“No, I’d have to order a part. The thing is…” She seesawed her head back and forth.

He held up his hands in surrender. “You can be candid.”

Gaye swung open one of the doors. “See that frost buildup on the back? Your compressor’s probably on its way out too. How old is this, twenty years or so?”

It had been at least ten when he’d bought it reconditioned. “About that.”

“I don’t say this often, but you’d be better off putting your money into a new high-efficiency unit. Lower power bills in the long run, and less chance of another catastrophic failure. Just stay away from any bells and whistles.”

Reuben looked around the workroom at the cardboard ice cream tubs sagging gently under the weight of premium product thawing back into unsaleable-under-Health-Department-regulations sweet cream soup. Business ownership was an endless opportunity to spend money learning things one hadn’t particularly itched to know. “That’s probably wisest. Thank you for coming out. How much do I owe you for the call?”

She named an amount. “But as it happens, I’m doing a discount promotion this month. Ten percent off for anyone sponsoring Nat Belanger—you know, from Belanger Bikes?—in the Feed Fairview bike ride. The money goes to the Clover Hill Food Bank, which is a great cause, but Nat’s crap at asking people to sponsor her, so she’s having a hard time reaching the minimum fundraising goal. Uh, don’t tell her I asked.”

“Self-promotion is a standard business skill,” Reuben said, because he couldn’t help himself. Gaye shrugged in a what-can-you-do? way. He paid her bill, and used the website link she forwarded to him to make a donation significantly larger than the discount.

“Oh, boss,” Una said, taking in the devastation from the doorway as Gaye left. “What happened?”

“Late last night or early this morning, something called an evaporator motor went to its eternal reward,” Reuben said.

“All the chocolate I made yesterday! And the vanilla! And the strawberry! And—”

She closed her mouth with a snap as the realization of which flavours had survived in the second, still-operating freezer hit them both at the same time.

“I’ll get right on today’s batches,” Una said brightly.

Reuben stepped to the second freezer and opened the door. The frigid air was mercifully numbing. The shelves were only half full, since each day’s output was kept together, a weak link in the process that he’d have to address. Half a tub of chocolate chip made three days ago and served yesterday, one and a fraction of vanilla, two full of spumoni, and a smattering of his other standard flavours. And, at the bottom, a plethora of smaller containers, apparently still available in the stock room after his brief foray into carry-home tubs, labelled with unreasonably long titles in Una’s exuberant handwriting.

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