I go next and get another great score. I do a little victory dance, rubbing it in.
“You’re such a little show-off,” Blake says.
I smirk and stick out my tongue at him. “I’m not a show-off. I’m just good.”
The game is done, and the final scores are in. I’m first, followed by Maddie, then Jake, and finally, Blake, with an embarrassingly high score.
He huffs and puffs as we walk out of the mini-golf and make our way to the ice cream place around the corner. It’s the perfect spot to hang out, right next to the park.
As we order our treats, Blake chats up the guy at the counter. “Closing up shop soon?”
“Yep, right after the weekend,” he tells him.
“Makes sense. Kind of getting chilly for ice cream.”
There’s no line-up today. In the summer months, this place is packed and it can sometimes take up to ten minutes to get your ice cream, but it’s so good here, it’s worth it. My favorite flavor is Tiger Tail.
It’s quiet today. Usually the downtown is filled with people, kids, dogs, strollers, laughter and chatter. Westbrooke is a great town to raise a family.
We settle down at a nearby picnic table with our treats. Tiger Tail for me, Chocolate Mint for Blake, and Bubble Gum for Maddie and Jake.
We chat about the game, and all try to go easy on Blake. We praise his many other skills; fishing, construction, pie baking, fire building, storytelling, and according to Maddie, he’s a great Barbie dresser… who knew?
We all savor our ice cream down to the last lick. I think about Peter – he wouldn’t be caught dead eating this stuff. God forbid, he ever gains an extra pound.
The kids run off to the park, and we watch them play for the longest time. They’re still so sweet. It won’t be long before they lose that childlike innocence, before they won’t want to play tag and hang out in playparks.
Maddie is hanging from the jungle gym, and Jake is at the top of the slide, helping a toddler go down safely – such a sweet boy. The toddler’s mother smiles up at him. Marilyn would be proud.
Maddie falls but she recovers quickly. She’s a tough cookie, just like her mom.
“I’m sorry,” Blake says, his words soft.
I turn to him. “Why? For acting like a child on the course?”
He smirks. “No. It’s a stupid game. That was completely justified behavior.”
I laugh. “Remind me to never go mini-golfing with you again.”
His smile fades. “No… I’m sorry for the way I acted last night,” he tells me. “On the swing. When I pushed you off me.”
“You were upset.”
“It’s nagged at me all night,” he goes on. “I shouldn’t have done that. It was just my old temper acting up again.”
“It’s okay, Blake.”
“I was just so pissed off,” he continues. “I thought I’d be cool with it, but turns out I don’t like being your play-toy. I don’t like being used.”
He’s rendered me speechless. Yes, I’m using him. I can’t deny it. I thought he was using me too.
“I wanted to kiss you,” he says. “God, did I want to kiss you.”
His words wash me with warmth and make me want to reach out and kiss him.
I wanted to kiss you too.
He runs a hand through his hair and rubs at his beard. “I don’t want to be your rebound fuck, Maeve.”
Rebound fuck. Is that really what he is?
“I usually don’t have a problem with being a rebound fuck,” he tells me. “Been there more than once. But with you… it’s different, with you...”
I swallow. “How is it different?” I really want to know. How am I different from all the other women he’s been with?
He shakes his head and darts up from the bench. “I don’t know… it’s just different.”
Then he’s gone, heading toward the kids, leaving me to ponder his words, to wonder what exactly I am to him, and what he is to me.
