“Here you go,” she says, handing me two cones. “Napkins are just over there. Have a nice day!”
I smile and thank her, then walk over to the mint green side table with napkins, spoons, and garbage pails. I pull napkins from the dispenser between my pinky and ring fingers. When I turn to the exit, I nearly smash face first into a man’s Hawaiian-shirted chest.
“Oh, Addie,” Simon, Tabitha’s husband, says. He takes a step back, to-go pints of ice cream clutched in his arms. “Sorry. Almost wiped you out there.”
“My bad. It’s packed in here.”
“Summer nights.” He places his ice cream down on the counter. He grabs a brown paper bag from the slot next to the napkins and starts piling them in, then turns to me and smiles. Sometimes I wonder how appearance-obsessed teenage Tabitha fell for Simon, with his spindly limbs, crooked nose, thick glasses, and slightly greasy spiky black hair, but then he smiles and I get it. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” I say and lick my ice cream, which has just started to drip.
“You were with someone outside, right? With the dog. He looks familiar.”
“Yeah I’m with him.” I eye Zander through the window. He’s bent down next to Lucy as she patiently lets a child pet her. “Maybe you know him from school?”
“Like high school?” Simon clucks his tongue. “What’s his name?”
“Zander,” I say hesitantly.
“Oh, I knew a Zander. He—” Simon trails off with a hiss. He turns toward the front of the shop, just as Zander straightens. Simon’s features are drawn tight when he meets my gaze. A hand worries the back of his neck. “We were friends.” His voice has changed completely. No enthusiasm. “Do you, um, know him well?”
Despite the nerves I sense, a laugh escapes me. I make a joke of it because that’s what I do.
“What? Did he, like, murder your family or something?”
Simon cringes. “No. No, notmyfamily.”
I stand and stare at him. I don’t know what to make of that. So, according to Simon he murdered someone else’s family? Strawberry ice cream drips down the back of my hand, but I don’t do anything about it. I raise my eyebrows, willing Simon togo on.
“He was my friend, yeah. He got into some kind of shady things, you know? But that was, what? Fifteen years ago or something? Don’t pay me much attention, just, you know, be careful.”
“Okay,” I say, a bit warily. “Yeah, thanks. I gotta go before I make more of a mess. See you around.”
Simon waves me off and I walk away.Shady things.Be careful. What does that mean? I stare at Zander’s back as Imake my way to him. His muscles are tensed under his black T-shirt. He must be melting in this heat, just like the ice cream. I try to school my features; pretend like I’m not working Simon’s warning over in my mind. Simon is not a dramatic guy. He works a boring office job two towns over. He wouldn’t fabricate a story about someone he doesn’t know. The only problem is I don’t know what the storyis.
I take a deep breath of summer air and decide I have to let it go for now. I can ask Tabitha next time I see her, because I know Simon is going to spill the beans.
“Hey,” I say once I’ve reached the space next to Zander’s elbow. “It’s hot. Got a little melty.”
“That’s okay. No better way to eat ice cream in the summer.”
He takes his ice cream from me. I don’t know if it’s me or him who lingers a second too long on the cone, his index finger against my pinky. My fingers tingle as I pull away. Though, jury’s out on whether I’m frozen or in some form of lusty shock. He makes quick work of the mess, running his tongue around the edges of the cone. It feels obscene watching this, especially as I question who this man really is.
“So, is black your favourite colour?”
He chokes on his ice cream as he laughs. “Yellow.”
“Really? I’ve never seen you wear any colour. And I stalked your Instagram.”
“Bold of you to admit.”
I shrug. “I bet you stalked mine.”
“I did,” he says, and I catch the brief moment his cheek dimples. “Both of them.”
“We’re even then. You need a yellow shirt.”
“I’m good.”
