I watched the door until she walked in, curls bouncing, eyes scanning for me. That jolt in my chest is hitting me again. She wore jeans, a soft sweater, nothing flashy, just her, a little reserved but with warmth underneath. When she smiled, I knew I’d wait as long as it took to see all of her.
“Hi, Beautiful,” I said, standing.
She smiled, shy but genuine, eyes on the floor. Quiet, “Hi, Hunter.”
We ordered. She didn’t hesitate, “Vanilla cone with rainbow sprinkles,” like she’d been craving it all week. I went for mint chocolate chip, my usual, and caught the wrinkle of her nose when she heard it.
“That’s toothpaste with chocolate chips,” she teased.
“Wild,” I said, deadpan. “This is top-tier ice cream.” She laughed, and it hit me square in the chest.
Ice cream in hand, we returned to the table, except that she didn’t take a bite of the vanilla. She went straight for the sprinkles, licking them off with deliberate focus, ignoring the melting scoop beneath. She had mentioned enjoying vanilla ice cream mainly for the sprinkles, but it was even funnier in person.
I stared, then shook my head with a laugh. “You weren’t joking. You’re seriously just eating the sprinkles?”
“Obviously,” she said, eyes twinkling. “That’s the best part. Everything else is just… there.”
I leaned back, grinning. “Full disclosure? That’s thequirkiest thing I’ve ever seen on a date.”
“And?” she asked, daring me.
“And I kind of love it.”
Her cheeks flushed, but her grin widened, and for a moment the noise of the shop faded out.
We talked, easy and light. She told me more about her kids: Zeke and his mismatched socks, the twins trying to outdo each other for attention. She described their little habits with so much affection, I caught myself imagining them sitting at this table, sprinkles smeared on their faces, chattering at her side.
When she asked about me, I kept it simple. “Contracting on base. Same base as my last duty station, different role. Fewer sandstorms, steadier hours.”
So I smirked, shifting the spotlight back to her cone. “You’ve got about three sprinkles left. What’s your strategy when they’re gone?”
She laughed, caught mid-bite. “Panic, obviously.”
“Good to know. I’ll keep the refills coming,” I said.
She rolled her eyes, but her laugh stuck with me. Her gaze lingered, like she knew I was holding back. She didn’t push. That restraint, that grace, meant more than she knew.
I leaned forward, deciding to nudge the banter back. “Alright, your turn. Tell me something I don’t know. No pressure.”
Her brow arched. “That’s how you start a second date? With an interrogation?”
“Not interrogation. Curiosity. Big difference.”
She pretended to think, then smirked. “When I was ten, I broke my mom’s favorite vase, blamed it on the dog, and never confessed. Fifteen years later, she still doesn’t know.”
I barked out a laugh. “Fifteen years? You know you just confessed on record.”
“Good thing you’re not a cop,” she shot back.
Her eyes sparkled as the banter flowed easily. I sipped my cone. “Most people try to impress on a date. You came out swinging with childhood crimes.”
“Better you know now,” she said with a shrug. “Full disclosure.”
That word,disclosure, hit me harder than it should have. Because she’d already given me more honesty than most people ever had. She told me about her kids up front. She didn’t pretend her life was simple. And sitting across from her now, I realized how much I respected that.
The more honest she was, the harder it got to hide every fracture I’d learned to disguise. The nightmares, the triggers, the war that never fully left my head.
So instead, I forced a grin. “Well, in the spirit of disclosure, I should tell you something too.”
