“That just means you haven’t been listening,” she says. “Seriously? I just focus on the important things—a great product and great customer service. What sets us apart from all the other ice cream shops around the region? We make the best ice cream in small batches. Our waffle cones are handmade in front of customers. These are recipes passed from my parents and grandparents, ones I found in an old recipe box. I believe in consistency and honesty. I work long hours, but this little business has helped put my kids through college and allowed me to work only six months a year. I think that’s a pretty good trade-off.”

I listen intently. “Thank you,” I say. “I think I just need a little encouragement. It’s been a long few months of renovation and work.” I stop. “And spending money.” I hesitate and continue, my voice suddenly quaking with emotion. “I just want to do right by my parents. I just want to do right by our cottage.”

Teresa reaches her hand across the counter. I take it, and she squeezes my hand. “Are you following your heart?” I nod. “Are you doing what you love?” I nod. “Then you’ll never work a day in your life. You will be successful.”

I can feel a lump in my throat. “I needed to hear that. Thank you again.”

“What else is going on?” Teresa asks out of the blue. “I can tell something else is on your mind.”

Without hesitation, I spill my guts about Iris Dragoon.

“The Dragoon Lady?” Teresa asks. “You have my sympathies.”

“You call her that, too?” I ask, my eyes wide.

“She’s been a thorn in my side for years,” she says. “First year in business, Iris and her brood brought me a ‘welcome basket.’”

“I think I got the same one this year!” I say with a laugh.

“I bet your ‘welcome’ was under false pretenses, too,” Teresa says, nodding, her hat seeming to make an emphatic exclamation point. “Iris claimed my mannequin, its bikini and its waffle cone legs were, quote unquote, ‘too racy’ for a family-friendly resort town. When I refused to take it down, she forced me to appear in front of the city council, alleging that the mannequin and its legs were dangerous to pedestrians, that it might fall and injure someone.”

“What did you do?”

“I fought her,” she says. “I spent a lot of money I didn’t have my first year in business hiring an attorney to respond to her claims and then on an engineer to ensure the mannequin was ‘secure.’ What’s she hammering you about?”

I fill her in about the history of and renovation to the fish house as well as the plan that Evan has hatched, although my heart pings at the realization I didn’t have the courage to follow up with her about Sadie Collins.