“Embroidery club?” There’s a smirk on his lips, a spark in his eye, a chuckle just waiting to form.
I playfully nudge his shoulder. He doesn’t stumble, just continues walking like I didn’t almost shove him into traffic. Or, more accurately, a sleepy street. Lucy barks, licks my leg, then sniffs Zander’s palm.
“Okay, yeah, I deserved that.”
“I know it’s an old lady hobby,” I say. “Hence, all the old ladies in the club. Would you believe I’m the only person under thirty there?”
“You’re under thirty?”
“Barely. I’ll be thirty later this year. Don’t worry, you’re not cradle robbing.”
His cheeks flush. “I wasn’t worried…until now, I guess.”
“You should be. I’m actually three beavers in a trench coat.”
“Concerning I didn’t pick up on that.”
“It’s why Lucy likes me so much.”
“Lucy likes ducks.” His eyes slide over to mine, then rove over my body, lingering on the patchwork of my dress. “You look like a silly goose.”
I can’t hold back the ugly cackle that leaves my lips. “Of all the things you could have said. Silly goose?”
“You know,” he says, biting into his lower lip to hold back his own laugh. His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Those geese some people have in their kitchens. Or a porch goose. They have those ridiculous aprons.”
“Okay, well, those are country geese. It’s, like, a weird 80s trend. A silly goose is like a goose with a knife.”
“Do you identify with knife wielding geese?”
I roll my eyes and stop in front of a pale pink umbrella. The patio tables outside Scoopers are nearly full, with the interior bustling as well. I eye Zander, who is doing the same scanning of the area.
“Do you know what you want?” I ask. I can just barely see the menu through the large, slanted open windows at the front of the shop. “I can go in and get the ice cream. You wait outside with Lucy? I think they’re still not keen on dogs.”
He shrugs. “I could fudge it and say she’s a therapy dog. More or less the truth, even without an official designation. But I’ll wait outside.”
“What do you want?”
“Strawberry,” he says, then on an inhale, “in a chocolate dipped cone.”
“Got it.”
He digs into the front pocket of his shorts and fishes around for his wallet. I reach out and still his arm.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll pay.”
“Adelaide, come on,” he says, but he doesn’t move away from my grasp. “Gran would be disappointed to know I didn’t pay.”
I relinquish my grip and slide my hand up to his cheek. It’s bold. Perhaps bolder than I’ve been with a man before. I tap his cheek.
“Gran doesn’t have to know,” I whisper.
We both lean in. I let out a soft breath, then scurry away. Okay, so I guess I have feelings for this man and it goes beyond the text flirting I’ve been doing and it feels very natural and like he’s pulling me to him. But I’ve known him for five days. So what am I supposed to make of that?
I push away all thoughts of potentially falling for Zander Browning as I enter Scoopers. Their white walls covered in speckles that resemble rainbow sprinkles and wooden latticingthat borders the bottom like an ice cream cone always take me back to my childhood. I get in line and stop next to the wall that reads,What’s the scoop?
The line moves quickly. Soon, I’m at the counter, deciding between thirty colourful flavours while children scream in the background. A teenager with a pink visor and a braid down her back asks me what I’d like.
I scan the tubs of ice cream and, not knowing the intimate details of a person’s life like what they might be allergic to, decide to play it safe with some chocolate. Not that I should be thinking about potentially kissing him andcausingan unknown allergic reaction. The worker scoops my ice cream into a chocolate dipped, sprinkle rimmed cone, then dives back in to get Zander’s order. I scooch down to the cash desk, pay, and drop some change into the ice cream-shaped tip jar.
