Her eyes light up. “Mine too, especially rainbow ones! Come on!” She pulls me into the kitchen, but I break away just for a second to set my bag down by the couch before meeting her at the kitchen counter.
“Is Joanne joining us?” I ask as I climb onto a stool.
Rhonan pulls the tub of ice cream closer to him, digging into it with a metal scoop. “No. She’s turned in for the night.”
“Joanne doesn’t like ice cream,” Ellis says, shaking her head as she hops onto a stool next to me. Her little legs start swinging while she watches her father. “I loooove ice cream.”
“What kind of person doesn’t like ice cream?” I wince as I realize my words may have come off a bit rude. “Sorry…”
Rhonan chuckles. “No need to apologize. I thought the same thing, but it turns out when you’re lactose intolerant, it’s not so much about not liking it as not being able to have it.”
“She has to eat a special kind of ice cream,” Ellis adds solemnly. “It doesn’t taste good.”
I nod in understanding. “I don’t think I could live without ice cream.”
Rhonan slides two bowls across the counter to us. Ellis launches forward, reaching for the jar of sprinkles, but I steady her so she doesn’t fall. “Easy, kiddo. Do you need some help?”
“No, I’ve got it.” With the sprinkles in hand, she sits back down and shakes the container up and down until you can barely see the ice cream underneath.
“That’s enough, Ellis,” Rhonan declares, but Ellis keeps shaking the sprinkles out. “Ellis.”
Her eyes lift to find her dad glaring at her, so she slowly sets the container down. “There’s no such thing as too many sprinkles, Daddy. Auntie Laney said so.”
“Yeah, well, Auntie Laney isn’t the one who has to argue with you about brushing your teeth at night, so her word isn’t gospel.”
“What does that mean?” Ellis asks around a mouthful of ice cream.
I giggle and then begin shaking the sprinkle container over my bowl, opting for far fewer sprinkles than Ellis, but still enough to add some color to the plain treat.
“That’s not a lot of sprinkles,” Ellis mumbles while assessing my bowl.
“I don’t want to overdo it,” I explain. “Then I won’t be able to fully appreciate the ice cream underneath. Sometimes, less is more.” I look up to find Rhonan staring at me. “What?”
“Nothing.” He takes the chocolate syrup and drizzles it over his bowl. “I agree. You don’t want to overpower the ice cream.”
“Wow. Did we just agree on something?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “I don’t think that’s the first time we have, Vienna.”
“It’s Ms. Lewis, Daddy,” Ellis interrupts.
“Sorry. Ms. Lewis,” he repeats my name per his daughter’s correction.
“It’s okay. But Ellis, you were right about the sprinkles.” I take a bite of the ice cream and moan dramatically. “Sprinkles make everything better.”
She nods, fixated on the ice cream in front of her. “Yup.”
Rhonan and I share a laugh and then in a matter of minutes, the ice cream is gone, and Ellis lets out a yawn.
“It’s time for bed, sweetie,” Rhonan says to her.
“But I’m not tired.” Standing there rubbing her eyes sort of contradicts her words, but I’m not getting involved with their father-daughter dynamic.
“Ms. Lewis is going home too, so you’re not going to miss anything.” His eyes lift to mine, seeking help.
“That’s right. I need to get home to Roscoe.”
“Can I play with him tomorrow?” she asks, pleading with the most beautiful blue eyes that match her father’s. Her hair is much darker than his, though, which makes me think she must have gotten that characteristic from her mother.
