Two dreams, one roof
Carl ran an ice cream cart near the marina for six years — long enough to learn that the secret isn't a machine, it's the butterfat and the patience to make it in small batches. He wanted a freezer of his own and a counter people would walk to after dinner.
Dee had fostered nine cats by then, and knew more about a finicky eater or a nervous rescue than most shelf tags ever could. Neighbors were already calling her for advice. She wanted a real shop where that knowledge lived — not a rack of product by a register.
Two dreams, one lease on Beach Blvd. Rather than choose, they built both into one warm, well-made room — brass fixtures, honey wood, a terrazzo floor — and hung a coral-and-cream awning over the door.
…so they opened one shop.
Sprinkles holds court
The shop's resident cat runs the floor daily — greeting regulars, inspecting new stock, and occupying whichever sunny window perch is on display. She's on the payroll in spirit, and gets a paw-print byline instead of a headshot.
What we stand on
Three promises, said the way we'd say them at the counter.
- Remember peopleby name, every time
- Remember their catsBiscuit, Marmalade, all of them
- Never cut corners on the butterfatsmall batches, always
A room we care about
