“Questions?” Blaire repeats.
“Like a date,” Andie says, smiling warmly. “There’re some suggestions on the back of your card to get you started.”
“And if we don’t?” I ask, not really in an asking and answering questions type mood.
“Then I won’t stamp your card.” Andie nods toward the strawberries as another couple rushes inside. “Better get started if you want to win. The chocolate can take up to fifteen minutes to fully set.”
Blaire yanks my hand forward as she reaches for a strawberry, and the little plate topples. Strawberries roll, one falling to the floor. I catch a second before it meets the same fate, quickly putting it back on the table before I can be caught using my free hand.
“Hey,” I say to Blaire, wrapping my hand around hers to pull it away from the ingredients before we knock over the bowl of melted chocolate too. “We won’t win if you try to do this all yourself.”
“But they’ve already dipped two strawberries, and they just got here,” Blaire protests.
With my free hand, I grip her chin and force to her to look at me. It’s a mistake, because those emerald eyes have always had away of making me a little stupid. “If you want to win, we have to work together as a team.”
“We’re not exactly great at that,” she mutters.
“Tell me about it.”
We slow down, and after a few failed attempts that leaves one piece of fruit crushed, manage to successfully dip the two remaining strawberries and place them on the small parchment paper lined tray to harden.
“Why do you hate me?” Blaire asks.
“I don’t think that question’s on the list.”
She narrows her gaze at me, and fuck me if it doesn’t make me want to push her up against the wall and show her exactly how much Idon’thate her. It would be so much easier if Ididhate her. So much fucking easier.
“Fine. What is your favorite…” She flips the card over. “Ice cream flavor.”
“Strawberry.”
“You’re lying,” she says, swatting me with the back of her free hand.
“Fine. I haven’t been able to eat ice cream since I was nine, when I snuck a full carton of rocky road out of the freezer in the middle of the night. That was after Mom wouldn’t let me have any because I refused to eat my broccoli at dinner. I ate it until I threw up—twice.”
When Blaire starts to laugh, I’m not prepared for the absolutely stunning affect her smile has on me. It’s the first time in years I’ve seen her smile like that, and dammit if I don’t want to find ways to keep her smiling. The thought makes being handcuffed to her for the afternoon sound less terrible.
“Your turn,” she says, swiping at a tear.
“To what?”
“Ask me a question.”
I take the card, flipping it over and scanning the list of typical first date questions. “If you could live anywhere, other than where you currently live, where would it be?”
“Oh, that’s easy.” She presses a finger into the chocolate of one of the strawberries, as though testing it. Melted chocolate smears her fingertip, and she brings it to her lips.
I should avert my gaze, but fuck, I don’t want to.
“I’d live here.”
“Really?”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am.”
“Caribou Creek is like a second home to me. Why would that surprise you?”
