“It’s right there,” she told him, pointing to one side of the garage.
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. Let’s go check it out.”
Ronan climbed out of the car, following behind her as she sauntered up to where a man was standing just inside the open garage door, re-emerging with him just as he caught up to her.
“Does that come off?” she asked, pointing to the top.
“Of course, it’s just a lightweight plastic piece. I can strip it off before you take it if you decide to buy it. I didn’t know if someone was planning on putting it back in service or altering it for something else.”
He stood, just listening and looking at the monstrosity before his eyes. It was white with rusty patches and had hot pink letters. Atop the cab sat a large clown’s head. It was an old ice cream truck, but Maeve seemed completely unbothered by this little fact.
“Is it mechanically sound?” she asked.
“Oh, yeah. It’s only three years old. The rust is just from the sludge and salt on the roads in winter,” he told her, starting it up so she could hear it run.
“People buy ice cream in the winter?” Ronan asked, surprised.
“You’d be shocked at how many,” he replied, some tinny music box type sound playing behind him as he stepped back out of the truck.
“I trust that the jingle can be shut off?” Ronan asked.
“Of course. It’s the same van people use for laundry trucks and deliveries. He added all the ice cream stuff, so easy to take them away. If you aren’t going to sell ice cream, I’ll be happy to knock some off the price and remove the freezers from it. I can sell them elsewhere.”
“What do you think?” she asked.
Ronan laughed. It was hard to get past the fact that she was buying an ice cream van with a giant clown head on it as a serious food truck
“Wouldn’t you be happier with a new van without all this to deal with?” he asked, waving a hand around in the van’s general direction.
“No. I can’t afford it. This is what I can afford.”
“Isn’t it going to cost you a fortune just having it redone?”
“No. Becky has a friend with a garage. He’s going to do it for me on the cheap.”
“All right. Well, it’s your money and your business. Your decision.”
“Want to take her for a spin?” the guy asked.
A few minutes later, they were tooling down the highway in an ice cream truck playing its creepy little tune. It might have been the most surreal moment in his life, but he had to say that it did run like a charm. When they returned to the garage, they sat there for a moment, discussing it before she decided to buy it.
Thirty minutes later, Maeve was rolling back toward Becky’s farm without the freezers or the clown head, and the jingle muted. Ronan followed behind, laughing his ass off periodically at the sight of the travesty traveling in front of him.
They stopped off at the garage she’d mentioned and left it for servicing and painting. Once they were done with it, it would be just a plain white transit van, ready for a logo and outfitting as a food truck. By the time all was said and done, she would be finished with her classes and ready to get started with her new business.
“I have to go back to Ireland for a few weeks. Do you want to go?” he asked on the way back to the farm.
“Back to Ireland? Why?”
“I just need to touch base with the council and make some arrangements for the new build on our land.”
“You’re still planning on building there?” she asked.
Ronan realized they hadn’t really talked about anything that had happened there. Why he hadn’t told her, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps he’d been afraid of how she might react to the news about Martin. As for the other, it was family business. They’d had to think long and hard about it and finally had decided it was in their best interest to rebuild there and maintain a presence.
“It’s what Fergus wants,” he told her.
“Fergus? I thought you were the Alpha of your family now?” she said.
“I am, technically. In reality, we are all equal and as the oldest, Fergus tends to call a lot of the shots.”
“And you’re happy with this decision?”
“I am. I thought you’d be happy about it too. It’ll give us a place there to go if you get homesick.”
“Homesick? Why would I get homesick? My real family is dead and I never really fit in with most of the Omegas there. Plus, in case you’ve forgotten, Martin is still lurking about. He’s the last person I want to cross paths with.”
“You won’t cross paths with him,” Ronan said as they pulled back in at the farm.