Sixteen-year-old Noah Mason sighs wistfully and steals a glance at the beach visible through the panel windows from his position behind the register. He longs desperately to be outdoors on a summer day like this one, but he'd promised his dad he'd lend an extra hand at the ice cream shop this week. Given the upcoming Fourth of July holiday, an increase in customers passing in and out of Happy Harbor in pursuit of refreshments to enjoy as they stroll along the boardwalk seems inevitable. While Noah loves assisting with the family business and is proud of his affiliation with Rhode Island's "finest ice cream parlor", he doesn't love when his responsibilities coincide with plans he'd made with friends, today's being a surfing lesson for beginners they'd managed to snag on Groupon.
That his father overestimated business for the day was a possibility, and if proven true, perhaps Noah could end his shift sooner than expected and learn to surf after all…
That sliver of hope is crushed immediately once Noah sees a family already lined up outside the door, evidently waiting for the shop to open. He never understood why the store's hours of operation began as early as ten, considering ice cream was hardly a breakfast food, but today is the first time he's personally seen customers before eleven.
He supposes his dad was right about patron traffic, and he braces himself for a busy shift ahead.
The clock strikes ten and Noah plasters his best smile on his face as he makes his way over to let the family of four in. After catching a glimpse at the two children of the group however, he finds he doesn't have to force his smile anymore, as they were quite adorable.
"They're coming!" the little girl squeals as she watches him approach, her voice muffled through the glass. Beside her, her presumed brother taps his feet eagerly.
Even before the bell above the hinge chimes, the children race past Noah into the shop. He blinks confusedly, but still grins down at them, figuring they were tiny and quick enough to slip through the slight door opening.
"Hey Sluggers," the father calls out. "We don't push."
"It's alright," Noah assures him, and it really was. Those kids were too cute for him to be bothered. He opens the door further to allow the parents to enter, wondering how they ever reproach their children with faces like that.
"Woah!" The kids press their noses and palms to the glass display, admiring the selection of ice cream tubs beneath.
Noah snickers to himself as he settles behind the counter to take their order. From his vantage point, he figures they must be twins given their nearly identical expressions of wonder.
"Can you believe he talked me into letting them have ice cream for breakfast?" the mother remarks to Noah, jutting her chin toward the father.
Noah laughs in earnest, no longer irritated by their early arrival, and rather enjoying their sweet family dynamic. If he was going to be preoccupied with customers all day, he'd prefer they be friendly.
"I'm just keeping up with tradition," her husband (?) explains. "My parents took me here when I was a kid."
While this isn't an unusual premise for Noah to hear from customers (in fact, the business would celebrate fifty years next April), he never grows tired of hearing it.
"We keep up with tradition too, Sir," he beams at the gentleman. "Old customers are always welcome back."
"Maybe I was a little eager to have my favorite ice cream again," the father admits with a sheepish smile.
"It's like I have three four-year-olds," his wife sighs, though her lips quirk upward. The rings on their fingers confirm to Noah that they're indeed married.
"How much ice creams can we get?" their little girl interrupts, tugging at her mother's jeans.
"Everyone gets two scoops," the mom answers, running an affectionate hand through her daughter's hair. "Even Mommy and Daddy."
"Can I tell you something?" the boy addresses Noah excitedly. "I like chocolate ice cream and my sister likes chocolate and strawberry and nanilla ice cream and-and-and-my mom likes green ice cream," he finishes his recitation proudly.
"What does your dad like?" Noah asks with exaggerated curiosity, indulging the child.
The boy's eyes brighten. "He-he-he-likes…" Just as soon as his face lit up, it scrunches in confusion before he glances up at his father. "Daddy what ice cream do you like?"
"This one, Buddy," his dad points out: "Chocolate-chip cookie dough."
"Okay," the boy nods, facing Noah again with renewed enthusiasm. "My dad said he likes this one!" he repeats, as though Noah had not just heard his dad indicate his favorite flavor, eliciting hearty laughter from the two parents.
The daughter hugs her mother's knees.
"Mommy, I wanna try the rainbow ice cream," she gestures to the tub of multicolored cream in the window display. "With nanilla."
"One at a time, Kiddos," the dad instructs. "Two scoops cookie dough, two scoops of mint chip…" he pauses and points to his wife. "Cone?"
"Not for me," she shakes her head but looks down at her daughter. "You want a Big Girl cone, Sweetie?"
"Yeah!" she exclaims, jumping up and down.
"A cone with one scoop of rainbow and one scoop of vanilla," the dad adds on. "And two chocolate scoops in a bowl for my little guy, he never finishes the cone."
Noah readies their order and brings two ice creams at a time over to where the family's seated at a booth, each child next to a parent. They're still the only customers present twenty minutes after opening, affording him more space to observe them while he waits on them.
"Yummy!" the son raves, devouring his treat.
"This is my favorite ice cream," the daughter proclaims, licking the top of her rainbow cone.
"I thought your taste buds were being nostalgic as they tend to be," the mother comments to her husband, spooning her mint chip into her mouth. "But you're right: this is better than Swirl Station back at home."
"Told ya," he replies satisfactorily. "Mason Cones is the best in the country."
He opens his mouth to accept the bite she offers him from her own spoon. Typically, Noah would scoff at PDA, but it's admittedly refreshing to see it between two parents who might otherwise be too engrossed in their kids to ever engage in it.
The little girl sits up on her knees, her lips and tongue stained red and blue from her colorful ice cream.
"Can I taste yours, Daddy?"
The father wipes her mouth and cups her cheek tenderly, extending a spoon of cookie dough toward her which she swallows eagerly. She appears lost in thought for a moment before-
"Can I have another bite?"
He chuckles and obliges, feeding her more and more of his ice cream until her rainbow cone lay forgotten.
"Daddy, this is my favorite ice cream," she mumbles in between bites.
"Nora Dawn, you said rainbow ice cream was your favorite," her mom teases.
Nora Dawn's ponytail bounces as she shakes her head, melted ice cream dribbling down her little chin. "This is my favorite ice cream."
It seemed her father had been holding back from showering her with affection and could no longer resist, because he scoops her up without warning and kisses her sticky face senseless.
"This is my favorite little girl," he growls into her skin while she giggles and kicks her feet avidly.
Noah's relieved the bell chimes as another customer enters, otherwise he'd look rather creepy watching them with the pleased expression he wears. He shakes himself out of his daze to tend to the new client, though he still inspects the heartwarming family out of the corner of his eye, only mildly letdown when they finish and stand to leave, recognizing that his keen feelings toward practical strangers is peculiar, but truth be told, he's grown up around this ice cream shop his entire life and has never seen a family match their level of endearment.
They clean up after themselves, and make their way to the door, the mother at her little boy's side and Nora Dawn's hand in her father's who drops something in the tip jar before saluting Noah on the way out. Once the coast is clear, Noah peeks into the jar and finds a twenty dollar bill and folded receipt with handwriting sprawled across it: For making my kids smile.