I smile. “Cup or cone?”
“Cone.”
“Good girl.” I wink and then pull out my wallet and walk up to the counter, where I put in our order and pay. I hand her the first cone, grab some napkins, and head out toward where we parked the bike.
We both take a seat on a bench, and I loop my arm around her while she takes her first lick.
From the sight of her tongue running against the ice cream, I feel my mouth go dry, envisioning what her tongue did to me last night.
Then she moans, her eyes closing. “Mmmm.”
That moan immediately sends me into a tailspin of desire.
“So good,” she whispers and then licks again, but this time, she moves her tongue over the top, like she’s rimming it.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask as I shift in my seat.
A grin spreads over those delicious lips as she says, “I thought we were supposed to flirt.”
“That is not flirting,” I say seriously. “That is taunting.”
“Are you saying you can’t handle a little ice cream licking?”
“I’m saying I can’t handle you rimming your ice cream like you’re running your tongue over my goddamn piercings.”
She chuckles. “Quite the imagination on you.”
“Oh, you know what you were doing. Should I flick my ice cream like I flicked your clit last night?”
“Have at it. Show me what you’ve got.”
I purse my lips, studying her. “You know what? No, I’m not about to give you a free show.”
“That’s your choice, and I respect it.” She smirks and then starts rimming her ice cream again…while moaning.
“Stop that.”
She laughs and leans deeper into my chest.
“In all seriousness, this is really good.”
“I know,” I say as I take a bite, the flavor bringing me back to summer Fridays when we’d eat ice cream out on the porch and bird-watch with my dad. “God, I haven’t had this in a while. It’s reminding me of my dad.”
“Do you want to talk about him?” she asks. “What kind of guy was he?”
“He was a great guy,” I say, thinking back to when he was around…and mentally present. “He was a jokester, always teasing me and Mika. He was infatuated with our mom, treated her like she was a queen. He would stand up for what was right and never partook in what was wrong. He made sure thatMika and I had the same morals. He loved being outdoors and bird-watching. That’s where I found a love for it.”
“He sounds very familiar,” she says as she leans back and kisses my neck.
I squeeze her tighter. “Yeah, I look like him too. Same eyes. Same hair. Same bone structure. Almost a copy-and-paste situation. But he spent a lot of time with me and Mika. He loved being a dad. Every weekend, we could count on him doing something with us, whether it was hiking, playing in the backyard, or taking us to a movie. There was always something.”
“I love that. You must have the best memories with him.”
“I do,” I say softly. “I think his later days sometimes outweigh those earlier memories, because when he was in a wheelchair, it was really hard. We were all sort of caregivers for him, especially when Mom wasn’t home. Those days were difficult. I remember this one time though, maybe a month or so before he passed, it was a cool summer day, Mom was at work, and Mika was with friends. I took my dad outside and set up a blanket in the backyard with pillows. I took him out of his wheelchair and propped him up so he could see the trees, and then I held binoculars up to his eyes, and we bird-watched. I told him all the birds we were seeing and recited everything he told me growing up. He had vocal cord paralysis as well, so he couldn’t talk with us, but that day, he looked me in the eyes, and he cried.” I shake my head, remembering that moment. “I knew he was telling me he was proud in that moment.”
Scottie lifts up and turns toward me. “God, Wilder.” She presses her hand to her heart. “That…that makes me so sad.”
“Nah, there is no need to be sad. It was a good moment, a moment I needed from him, because there were times when my frustration for the situation sometimes outweighed my patience. But that day, I was able to slow down. I was able to have a moment with him. A moment like we had when I was younger.And I always cherished it. I actually carry a picture of that day in my wallet.”
