“I’ll think about it,” I say, but we both know I’m not going. I hate parties. The small talk with strangers, and not knowing what to wear with a bunch of people I don’t know. And one thing I’ve learned over the years is that everything in Riverton happens just a little differently than I expect it to. I hate being unprepared, and whileoneparty would remedy that, I just can’t seem to rip off that bandage.
“I’ll text you the address,” she says.
“Miss?” Graham Cracker Guy has more patience than I would have expected. It must be the beginning of his vacation—I’ve seen other tourists have total meltdowns for a lot less than being ignored for three whole minutes.
Kara’s head snaps to her right as if she just noticed someone was there, and a smile lights up her face. She’s all white teeth, blond hair, and sparkle. I notice the tiny pink stone that glitters in her nose, new from the last time I saw her. “Is this going to be all?” she asks the man as I walk out a side door and onto the deck that stretches out toward the river. I stop at one of two windows cut into the wooden wall to my left,THE GRILLpainted in white above them. Arriving at the lake is the official start of summer, and nothing says summer like ice cream.
“What can I get you?” a friendly voice says, pulling my attention away from the river and to a pair of brown eyes housed in a very pretty face. An almosttoopretty face. The kind with cheekbones I could trace with my finger, and a jaw as sharp as the awkwardness stabbing me in the chest right now.
“Ice cream?” I say, suddenly unsure why I even stepped up to the window. Ice cream. It was definitely ice cream I came here for.
“Any particular flavor,” he asks with a smile, “or should I surprise you?”
“I like surprises.” I hate that I said it. That somehow my filter has been disabled by his brown eyes, and everything is just falling out of my mouth unchecked now. I said it nervously, but it sounded flirty. I give myself a mental pep talk.You can do this, Sidney. Just keep it up. You’re on vacation now; the mysterious, worldly girl from somewhere else. He doesn’t know you paint rocks for fun, or that you can’t ski for your life. You can be anyone this summer.
But who I actually am is a girl staring like a weirdo at a guy who is clearing his throat and asking—maybe not for the first time—if she wants a cup or a cone. “Waffle cone.” I smile. “Sorry, big decision. Not college-decision big or anything, but, you know… big…ish.” Oh good, the nervous rambling has started.
He laughs. I’m not sure if he’s laughing at me or with me, but I laugh, too, just to convince myself it’s the latter. “Done,” he says, taking a step away from the counter, toward a long white freezer that runs along the opposite wall.
I give myself a mental pat on the back for being wild and letting some random hot guy pick out my ice cream.You’re a regular summer wild-child, Sidney Kristine Walters.When he comes back he has a massive cone topped with three different colors.
“Wow,” I say. “That may be more ice cream than I’ve eaten in my whole life combined.”
He points to the scoops one at a time. “Superman.” He looks from the colorful swirl of ice cream to me, and I nod my approval. “Strawberry.” I give another approving nod. “And brown butter bacon.” My face scrunches up without even thinking, because I’m one of the only people in the entire world who doesn’t like bacon-flavored things. “Yeah.” He shakes his head. “Took a risk with that one.”
“It’s fine,” I say, reaching for the cone with a smile. But before I can grab it, he has a spoon in one hand and knocks the offending scoop into a container.
“I’ll give that to Ellis later; he’ll eat anything. Let me take another shot at it.” He walks back to the freezer and reaches down into it. I’m not sure if he’s flirting with me, or he just really loves his job.
“I like anything chocolate,” I offer.
He comes back to the window with a swirl of brown and white topping my colorful cone. “S’more,” he says, giving me a skeptical look. “Chocolate, marshmallow, and candied graham cracker bits.”
I smile. “Perfect.”
He smiles at me like he just aced a test.
“I’m Sidney,” I say. It bursts out of me almost beyond my control. “I have a friend who works here—” I nod back toward where I can see Kara at the desk, her eyes fixed on us. “So you’llprobably see me around. I’m on vacation. I have no life,” I offer as an excuse.Shut up, Sidney.
“I’m Caleb.” He hands me the ice-cream cone as I pass a ten-dollar bill—my mom’s grocery store change from yesterday—across the counter. “So I guess I’ll see you around, Sidney.”
I take my change with a nod and a smile, and head back toward Kara, licking at the dribble of blue ice cream that’s now escaping down my cone. Holy hell, this is going to be a giant puddle by the time I make it to my car.
“Yummy, huh?” Kara says as I approach the counter.
I have a feeling she’s referring to more than the ice cream, and I have to agree. “Very.”
“What if I told you the party was athishouse?”
“Is it?”
“No.” She smiles and I smack her shoulder. “But he’ll be there.”
“I’ll think about it.” And as I walk out to my car, I am definitely thinking about it. Because seeing Caleb at the party seems like a better option than making daily ice-cream trips.
Asher
Sometimes I think our parents are in on this whole Ash-and-Sid-prank-each-other-into-fiery-oblivion thing. Or that they have their own game, where they see how long they can go without acknowledging the tension between us. Like, they each get a point for not smiling at something snarky we say to each other. Two points if they keep talking right through it. Money could be passing under the dinner table for all we know. I wonder if they pick a winner each summer, or if the longevity of their game is only surpassed by ours. Sure, we do our best to plaster smiles onto our faces in front of them, and keep our mouths shut, but you’d have to be completely oblivious to not notice the twisted game we’ve had going on for years.
