“It wasn’t hard,” Amelia says. “It’s actually just like a pot on the stove. Except you have more control over the temperature, and you can obviously put more in it.”
He appears to be glancing at the album cover, but Amelia has the sense that he’s watching her. She grabs one of the cardboard ice cream drums and opens the ice cream maker’s latch to check on the consistency of the ice cream. Immediately, Grady is behind her, peering over her shoulder, wanting to see every step.
When the consistency seems right, Amelia opens the latch full throttle and the ice cream comes pouring out of the spout. She works quickly, turning the cardboard tub every few seconds so the ice cream pours in evenly, tapping it against the table to make sure there are no air bubbles inside. Molly’s measurements are perfectly precise. There’s barely any overrun.
Grady is grinning. “You make it look easy.”
She’s barely listening, up on her toes, peering into the drum. Her heart is beating faster than it ever has for any boy. “The color’s good. And it has the right smell.”
Grady rubs his hands together. “Can we try it?”
Amelia reaches for a spoon