“Daniel wanted me to tell you the ice cream is on the house,” the employee explains, passing me a cone.
“No, no way.” I shake my head.
“I promise.” She waves a hand at me. “Your money’s no good here.”
Sighing, I slip her a hundred-euro note. “For your time,” I explain, gesturing between her and her companion. “Consider it a propina.” A tip.
“Gracias,” she says, graciously accepting the note.
I take a bite of my ice cream and close my eyes, enjoying the rich flavor. I’ll have to call Daniel to thank him. He expanded the ice cream company the summer we dated in Chicago. Now, it’s a booming multinational corporation.
It’s a shame he frequently spoke of himself in the third person.
20
Luca
“You should have seen Sergio’s face,” Carla laughs, filling Alejandro, Marlowe, and me in on the success of her ice cream truck surprise.
“But did he have an ice cream?” Ale wonders.
“Totally!” Carla nods. “His team dragged him over and I could see him glowering at me from the corner of my eye.”
“What did you do?” Marlowe asks.
“Ignored him. Got a scoop of strawberry,” she says.
I chuckle, picturing the scene. “Daniel’s is a huge ice cream company. How did you arrange the truck on short notice?”
Ale snorts. “She dated the owner.”
Another one? I groan and drop my fork and knife. We’re gathered around Ale and Marlowe’s dining table eating takeout. Well, Marlowe’s munching on dry cereal.
“You did? When? You have the best dating stories,” Marlowe says, some color warming her cheeks.
“It’s not that interesting of a story.” Carla waves a hand, her eyes flickering to me and away again. “We dated for one summer. It was when he was starting to focus on international markets. I made a connection for him here in Spain so…”
“He owed you a favor?” Marlowe guesses.
Carla shrugs. “I wouldn’t say that. But it was nice of him to send the truck and help me surprise the girls.”
“Why’d you break up with him?” Marlowe’s eyes glitter.
“He often spoke in the third person,” Ale replies.
Seriously? I whip my head toward my friend. “Do you keep track of all your sister’s reasons for ending a relationship?”
“Only the creative ones,” Ale replies, taking a bite of chicken.
“That’s a good one,” Marlowe comments, plucking a marshmallow out of her cereal bowl and placing it to the side.
“I thought you liked this kind,” Ale says, lowering his voice.
“I do. But the marshmallows…” Marlowe’s skin takes on a haunting hue as if even talking about the marshmallows will cause her to vomit.
“I’m sorry the chef didn’t work out,” I say.
Marlowe looks up, her eyes wide. “Oh no! Don’t be. That was the most thoughtful surprise ever. I cried.”
