Chocolate meant an all-American type of guy at heart, but one who never yearned for excitement or adventure.

Men who ate strawberry were as sweet as the fruit, but forever little boys.

Scooter leans into the case, his breath fogging the window. His eyes scan the tubs and then the labels on the case. He looks at Teresa, who is waiting patiently, holding her ice cream scoop in the air. I turn again to Scooter. He opens his mouth, and I hold my breath.

“Rocky road,” he says. “Two scoops in a waffle cone, please.”

He’s a keeper, Adie Lou, I can hear my grandma say. Adventurous, curious. Has led an up-and-down life but is an optimist who wears his heart on his sleeve.

“Good choice!” I blurt.

Scooter turns, a laugh escaping when he sees my face. “You get excited about ice cream, I can see,” he says.

I nod.

“Still a Blue Moon girl?” Teresa asks me. “In a waffle?”

I nod again.

After she makes our cones and scoops in the ice cream, Scooter and I pay and head outside. We stroll toward the river until we find an open bench. It is a surprisingly warm evening for early April, and I take a deep breath.

Spring is coming, I think. There is still a nip in the air, but for Michiganders, this is downright balmy.

“This weather makes me want to start planting my window boxes and annuals,” I say, watching the town’s lights reflect in the water.

“You remember where you live now, right?” Scooter asks. “It can snow in early May. In fact, it usually snows for the Tulip Time Festival.” Scooter licks his cone and continues. “You can’t start planting until Mother’s Day. Right before you open for the season.”

My heart jumps. “That’s six weeks,” I say, my voice high. “Until I open.”

“You sound surprised,” he says. “Are you ready?”

“That’s like asking Marie Antoinette if she were ready for a haircut.”

“So, you’re not ready?” Scooter asks.

I stare into the water. “Can you ever be ready?” I ask. “Were you ready when you took over for your father?”

Scooter licks his cone as he considers my question. “No,” he says. “I don’t think you’re ever ready.” He stops and looks at me. “Being an entrepreneur is a bit like playing football. It requires endless preparation—exercise, drills, knowing the playbook, trusting your teammates and coaches, mental toughness and endless hours watching tape. But, eventually, you just have to strap on your helmet and go play the game.”

“I knew I should’ve watched more football,” I say with a chuckle. “But that’s good advice.” I lick my cone and look over at Scooter. “I’m already fully booked for Memorial Day weekend.”