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The owners keep it in a vintage style, all black-and-white tiles and bright red accents. Stepping inside it is like traveling back into the sixties, with only the good, nostalgic parts.

"What ice cream do you want? My treat."

"Oh, you’re spoiling me. Dangerous," I say and lean closer to the display window to check out all the flavors. "Cookies and cream," I declare. “And sesame.” Can't say I ever had sesame ice cream, but it’s black and considering Kinstead’s town square, it’s too ironic to pass up on.

Good thing Evan didn't put a limit on how many scoops he’ll buy me. Because there's also one called “Christmas Swirl.” I read the name out loud with a grin. "Hell yes." I tap my finger against the display glass. "Christmas Swirl. Three scoops. Fuck everything else."

There are cookie crumbles on there, what I hope to be a caramel swirl, and pieces of chocolate.

"Coming right up," the nice gentleman with a glorious grey mustache behind the counter says and reaches for his ice-cream scoop.

"Kieran, honestly, are you doing okay?" Evan asks. I tear my eyes away from the gentleman making my ice cream and turn to him, more serious.

"It is what it is.” I take the three scoops in a waffle cone from the kind, older Italian man on the other side of the counter. “Thank you. Is there any chance I could get a cup of simple whipped cream? For my furry son." I point down at Dick.

"Yes, of course." Before I know it, he hands it over and patiently waits for Evan to pick out his ice cream flavors and pay.

"I'm just saying," Evan says over his shoulder, then points toward a booth. "It's okay if Christmas is a difficult time."

I sit down, lick some ice cream off my cone and swallow a moan. “Damn, this is good.” Not quite as good as Caleb's pastries, but it gets close. There’s a hint of caramel cream, marzipan and little pieces of crumble.

“Hey, did I mention I met Brooke when I was Christmas shopping?”

"Stop it, Kieran. You always do this. You keep changing topics when I try to talk about anything remotely serious with you or brush me off."

"What do you want me to say, Evan?" I reach for a paper napkin and roll it up between my fingers. "Yes, it still hurts. Even twelve years later, it’s shitty to know my family hates me because I’m into guys. And what exactly is talking about it supposed to change? It doesn’t make me feel any lighter or come to peace with it."

I rub my temples. “Christmastime is like picking at the stitches of a fresh wound. It's annoying, and some days it stings more than others, but it's manageable. If I keep talking about it, however,” my voice breaks. I quickly lick up some more ice cream to hide it and clear my throat. "It's as if someone tears those stitches out, you know? Literally reopening old wounds. Though I have to admit, having more friends who are not close to their families either has helped take the sting off last year.”

Pain flashes across his face, and I quickly reach over the table to give his arm a reassuring squeeze.

"Don't be hard on yourself, Evan. It's a rough topic, and neither of us has a psychology degree. Thank you for checking in."

"I'm sorry for pushing." He reaches for one of the small plastic spoons at the end of the table and scoops up some of his ice cream. Promptly, his face pulls into a grimace.

"Seriously? Brain freeze from that small portion?" I giggle, retracting my hand. "You're weak."

"It's okay. It makes me a slower ice cream eater, which means I have more time to savor it."

"As long as it doesn't melt away." I point at the side of his cone, where a drop is already running down. "Anyway, how's your family doing?"

"Oh, you know. Same old, same old. Jamie is still bossing everyone on the farm around. Hudson's off to the city, lawyering around and Sam's store got a good bit of smoke damage," he explains, but I tune him out.

The thumping pain behind my temples is getting worse. A cold is the absolute last thing I want to deal with right now. No, I’m not catching a cold. Don’t even think about it, Kieran. If I will I away with enough manifesting, I’m sure it will pass.

The first thing I'll do when I get home is check my medicine cabinet. Maybe I can still stuff the fucking cold back wherever it came from.

"Kieran, are you listening?"

"Huh?" I shake my head and promptly grimace. Wrong move. Because a lightning-like ache shoots through my head and makes the corners of my vision turn black.

"Sorry."

"You are catching a cold." A worried frown appears on his forehead. "Come on, Kieran. Eat your ice cream and drive home. Try to take it slow and sleep it off."

"I still have so much to do," I whine and drop my head on forearm on the table. "For example, filming so I can take the time off until the new year.”

“Yeah, I don’t think filming is going to happen today.”