We enter the cool of the parlor with a long counter on one wall and a chalkboard behind a glass display case featuring flavors like Moosetracks, salted caramel pretzel, jalapeño honeycomb, and espresso fudge.
Everly orders a large. Gesturing to me, she adds, “And whatever he wants.”
I give my head a shake.
“Oh, come on. Live a little.”
I grunt.
“Oh, I forgot. You only have two settings. Grump and grouch. Guess that means more ice cream for me.”
“I’m not a robot and have more than two settings.”
“Prove it.”
I snort, but only because it’s the closest I can come to a laugh. It’s been hard to see past the clouds lately, but with Everly, I can almost glimpse them parting in the distance. Blue sky. Green eyes. High on life. Low on gloom. I want to meet her in this sunny clearing, but I am not quite there yet.
When I don’t order ice cream, she does the job for me. “In that case, he’ll have the wasabi Tutti Frutti with a sprinkle of Doritos on top.”
I almost gag. “Actually, I’ll take the cookie dough, please.”
“Ah, good choice. So, you are a kid at heart and the perfect gentleman. Maybe our lessons are paying off.”
I can’t help it, craving Everly’s touch, I bump her with my elbow. I instantly regret it when a surge rushes through me, making my heart race. A shout from the void tells me to maintain my distance, to push her away. Instead, when she gets her ice cream, I steal a bite.
I’m afraid to wonder what of mine she’s already taken.
17
EVERLY
Until today, I never gave much thought to the sight of a man of powerful stature, undeniably good looks, and large hands eating an ice cream cone. The corners of Grey’s lips lift ever so slightly, like he’s enjoying himself, rather than his usual stony expression, as if his meal did something to offend him. He tilts his head to lick a drip.
Even though I stand in the shade, I warm all over.
“Your ice cream is melting,” Grey says, gesturing with a napkin in his hand.
“Oh, right. Forgot.” My laugh is of the high-pitched variety that suggests I was distracted.
His brows pinch slightly because, after all, this was my idea, so forgetting about the frozen treat in my hand seems unlikely.
But then what would’ve captured my attention?
“Oh, look, a bird!” I point over his shoulder.
Grey turns his head slowly, as if expecting a prank or for me to say,Made you look.
“Didn’t want it to swoop in and steal your ice cream.”
“Are mourning doves known to do that?”
“Absolutely. They’re thieves, scoundrels. Make sure you still have your wallet.”
Something rumbles from Grey’s chest and I half expect him to laugh. Instead, he looks at me carefully. My cheeks tint pink in response. But not because I just tried to cover myself by making up something stupid. Rather, his eyes on me make me very aware of his proximity. Of what he might see and whether he likes it.
I go to work eating my ice cream cone, but can’t help but be distracted by Grey—his small movements, the way he watches the passersby, the cloud of sadness that seems to follow him wherever he goes.
While I make quick work of eating my ice cream, he savors his, licking it like he hasn’t had something delicious in a long time. Like he’s not sure when he’ll have ice cream again.
