“Pralines ’n Cream.”
“Carvel?”
“Nope. Hate soft serve,” I declared.
“What? Why?”
“Not my jam. Keep going.”
“Ben & Jerry’s?”
“AmeriCone Dream.”
“What’s in that?” he asked.
“Vanilla ice cream, caramel swirl, chocolate covered waffle cone pieces. Next?”
“What else is there?”
“Seriously? There’s Kilwin’s, Gifford’s, Friendly’s, Breyer’s, Turkey Hill, Edy’s—”
“Jeez!” Beckett exclaimed. “I’ve never even heard of half of those brands.”
“Some are in-store only. Kilwin’s is my favorite.”
“What’s the flavor of choice there?”
“Cake batter. But it has to be in a waffle cone.”
He opened the door to the Häagen-Dazs for me. “How come?”
“They make ’em fresh in the store.”
Beckett grinned. “That sounds good,” he said.
We approached the glass counter. “What can I get you two?” a tall, thin, freckled girl asked. Her accent was unplaceable—some interesting mix of Dutch and Caribbean, uniquely Aruba.
Beckett looked at me. “You choose for me.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Allergies?”
“None,” he proclaimed.
“And you like chocolate?” I checked.
He nodded.
“Okay. Can I please have two scoops of dulce de leche in a cup with hot fudge and whipped cream? And can he have two scoops of the double Belgian chocolate chip in a sugar cone? And then, on the side, can we get a kid sized scoop of the Rum Tres Leches?”
“Two spoons?” she asked.
“Yes, please.”
“Coming right up.”
Beckett looked at me. “We’re gettingthreeice creams? For the two of us?”
“The Rum Tres Leches is like the appetizer ice cream,” I explained.
