17
SEVENTEEN
Ididn’t want to leave Wesley at the hospital. I kept looking over my shoulder, my chest tight, as Galen dragged me away. He stopped for ice cream at one of the tourist shops on our way home. I wasn’t much in the mood for ice cream when he handed me a container in our living room.
“I’m not hungry,” I said dully.
“Do you want me to take you back to the hospital to have you checked out?” he challenged.
I perked up. “We’re going back to the hospital?”
“No, but I’m worried that you of all people don’t have an appetite.”
I scowled. “There’s an insult buried in there.”
“You always want ice cream.” He tapped the side of my container. “Eat it. For me.”
“That’s playing dirty.”
“Just eat it.”
I pulled off the top, assuming Galen had gotten Superman ice cream. The island didn’t have my favorite — apparently it wasregional — so I’d switched to Superman because it was the closest thing. It was blue.
“What … ?” I stared at the ice cream as if it were an alien.
“That’s your favorite, right?” Galen suddenly looked concerned. “Blue Moon. I didn’t get it wrong, did I?”
Tears pricked my eyes. Sure, it had been an emotionally exhausting day — several days actually — but I wasn’t a crier by nature. Before I knew it, tears were sliding down my face.
“No!” Galen started to panic. He put down his ice cream, chocolate chip cookie dough. It was always chocolate chip cookie dough. “I’ll go back and get you something else. I thought you would be happy when you found out I asked Marcia to order Blue Moon just for you.”
He hopped to his feet. “I’ll go get the Superman.”
I grabbed his arm. “I want the Blue Moon,” I assured him. “I just … I’m not sure anyone has ever done anything this nice for me before.”
That did not assuage Galen’s anxiety. “This had better not be the nicest thing that anyone has ever done for you. You deserve the world. This was just supposed to be fun.” He sent me a rueful smile. “I was saving it so you would feel so grateful things would inevitably turn romantic.”
I laughed. It wasn’t hard to picture him hatching the plan. “Thank you.” I spooned up some of the ice cream and tasted it under his watchful eye. Then I sighed. “Just as I remembered.”
“That’s good, right?”
I filled the spoon again and extended it to him. “Want to try it?”
“Another night.”
I didn’t miss the way he eyed the ice cream as if it were going to kill him. “It’s good,” I insisted. “Baby, I’ll be honest with you.” He tilted his head, as if debating. “That looks like somebody found a bunch of Smurfs, threw them in a blender, and called it ice cream.”
I looked at him in dumbfounded disbelief. “That is a really dark thought.”
“That’s not ice cream to me.” He gestured to his container. “This is ice cream.”
“That’s the only ice cream you eat,” I said. “Have you ever tried another?” I tried not to take his refusal to taste my ice cream personally. Blue Moon you either loved or hated. He had to at least try it before he declared he hated it.
“I’m sure I have,” he replied. “I eat vanilla ice cream with pie and birthday cake.”
“But when you go to get ice cream, it’s always chocolate chip cookie dough?”
He shrugged. “It’s always been my thing.”
