by Amali Rose
“This is what you had to show me?”
I turn and observe the shop in front of me, my mouth already salivating at the thought of what is inside, and shrug. “I’ve been dying to check this place out since it opened, and I figured you’d make an excellent dining companion.”
“Dining companion, huh? I’m not exactly sure ice cream can be classified as a meal, Chicago, but I appreciate your passion.”
My face heats at the use of the name Chicago. Nobody has ever had a pet name for me before, and while Chicago is a long way from baby or any other term of endearment, it somehow feels more personal, which makes it feel more intimate. Or I’m completely reaching, I haven’t decided quite yet.
He takes hold of my hand and pulls me into the small ice creamery, which is full to the brim with people, the line almost stretching out the door. We take our spot at the end and I expect Miles to drop my hand, but he doesn’t. He continues to keep our fingers entwined as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. So, I ignore the insistent thrumming in my chest, follow his lead, and pretend being here with him is nothing out of the ordinary.
“How long has this place been open?” His voice is curious as he looks around and takes it all in.
“Three weeks, I think. I’m surprised you haven’t heard about it, an ice cream connoisseur such as yourself,” I tease.
He ducks his head looking slightly embarrassed. “Yeah, I might have a confession I need to make about that.” His free hand slips into his hair, carelessly mussing it up and he looks at me nervously.
“What? You really prefer frozen yogurt? Because, I’m sorry, that’s a deal breaker right there.”
His eyes widen slightly, and I can’t help but laugh. “I’m kidding, Miles.”
“Thank fuck for that, because I hate ice cream.”
The laughter dies on my lips and I stare at him with what could be something akin to horror. What kind of monster hates ice cream?
“You hate ice cream?”
“I do,” he affirms.
“How… I mean—” I stop, unable to go on, because who is this man in front of me who hates—hates!—ice cream?
“You’re looking at me like I just told you I hate babies.” He laughs.
“Well, I mean, babies I could kind of understand. They’re really too small and they cry a lot and then they can’t talk so they can’t tell you why they’re crying, so I can see how that would be frustrating.” I’m rambling now but I’m helpless to stop. “But what did ice cream ever do to you?”
“It’s too cold.” He shrugs as if that’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for his insanity.
“Next, please.”
We’ve somehow moved to the front of the line and I look at the display of ice cream and candy along the counter sadly. “We should go somewhere else,” I reluctantly say.
“You’re crazy if you think I’m letting you leave this shop.” He gently nudges me forward. “You’re staring at that ice cream the same way I look at your ass, and I refuse to be the guy who stands in the way of a love that strong.”
I step forward, enjoying the flush of heat caused by his comment about my ass and order a large mint choc chip with rainbow sprinkles and gummies.
“And you, sir?” the teenage boy asks Miles in a tone that tells us he’d rather be anywhere but here right now.
“I’ll take a large cup with vanilla ice cream, peanut butter cups, Kit Kats, and Swedish Fish. Minus the ice cream, please,” Miles asks as though this is a perfectly normal request.
“No ice cream?” the boy asks bewildered, and Miles nods. “So, you just want a large cup of candy?”
“Yes.”
He looks at Miles as though he’s crazy, but he makes up both our orders without another word.
“Over there.” Miles points to a small table at the back of the shop that has just become vacant and we race to claim it before someone else has a chance to grab it.
“So, you really like ice cream, huh?” He reaches across the table and snatches one of my gummies, tossing it in his mouth.
“I might have slightly overreacted.” I point my plastic spoon at him. “Slightly. I still think it’s weird that you hate ice cream and I’m questioning your trustworthiness based on this new information.”
“Hmph.” He grunts. “I’ll win you over.” He pops a peanut butter cup in his mouth and smirks at me.
“What were you doing that night at the grocery store? Stalking the dairy section for lonely women?” I raise an eyebrow at him. “If I remember correctly, and I do, you said you were ‘passionate’ about ice cream.” My use of air quotes elicits an eye roll from him.
“It was a tiny white lie!” he defends. “No, seriously I might hate ice cream, but my daughter loves it, and I had promised her some for dessert.”
The spoon freezes halfway to my mouth as I let that news settle over me.
Miles continues talking, oblivious to the bombshell he just dropped. “But in my defense, when you see a beautiful woman, you use whatever excuse you can to talk to her.”
He has a daughter.
Suddenly his aversion to ice cream doesn’t seem like such a big deal.
“You have a daughter?”
He looks across the table, meeting my eye, and nods.
“I do. Her name’s Lulu. Well, it’s Tallulah, but we all call her Lulu. She’s two, almost three.” He’s watching me closely, measuring my response.
“Is she with her mom now?”
“No, my brother is watching her.”
“God, please tell me you’re single and I haven’t just become a homewrecking hussy.”
“Hussy?” He snorts. “Your good reputation is intact. I am single, I promise you. And I don’t want to know what kind of men you’ve been dating that you even felt the need to ask that question.”
“Oh, I don’t date.” I turn my attention back to my melting ice cream.
“You don’t date?” He asks the question slowly, as though rolling the idea on his tongue.
“Nope.” I slip the spoon into my mouth and enjoy the cold slide down my throat. I may also enjoy the way Miles’ eyes linger on my lips.
“Then I’m so confused about what we’re doing right now.”
“I mean I don’t normally date,” I clarify.
“Why?” It’s a blunt question, but he somehow manages not to sound rude.
“I guess my job doesn’t allow much time for a personal life.”
“What do you do?” He bites the head of a Swedish Fish.
“Lawyer. I’m a corporate lawyer.”
“Ah, well, that makes sense. I can see how it could make things hard.”
I swirl my ice cream around the cup and look at him thoughtfully. “I would say the same thing about being a dad. Although I guess you have some time for dating when she’s with her mom?” God, subtle, Charlie. Real subtle.
“Her mom passed away.”
Jesus, I guess Miles has declared today drop-a-bomb-Saturday or something.
“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have even mentioned her, it’s really none of my bus—” I’m flustered so I cut myself off to try and regroup. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“It’s fine, Charlie, really.” He reaches across the table and slips his fingers in between mine. “We weren’t a couple. Renee was one of my best friends, had been since college, but there was never anything romantic between us. One night, we had a bit too much to drink and two months later we were staring at a stick covered in her pee, realizing that our lives were about to change forever.” He shakes his head with a grin. Is he ever not smiling? “At the time, it felt a hell of a lot less clichéd than it sounds.”
“I can’t even imagine.” And I couldn’t. Kids were unapologetically not in my life plan.
“I feel like things have taken a turn into the too-serious-for-a-first-date zone, Chicago. Especially one in a shop with an ice cream wearing a top hat painted on the window.” He nods toward the illustration painted on the large shop front window. “H
ow about if, just for the afternoon, we pretend that our lives are completely uncomplicated, and we spend the next few hours enjoying each other?”
“And when the afternoon is over?” I can’t stop the question from forming on my lips.
“We decide if what this is, is worth facing reality for.” He shrugs and looks at me with an expression so full of hope that all I want to do is agree. Because, despite the complexity of our situations, I am so not ready to walk away from this.
“Okay, explain the rationale behind the ice cream thing, and I want a proper answer this time, my decision might depend on it.”
Two hours later, I’m laughing helplessly as Miles defends his—some might say unhealthy—obsession with Sandra Bullock.
“Okay, you need to calm down.” He glares at me across the table. “It’s not an obsession, and it’s the movies I love. Not her.”
“You just told me you had her posters all over your wall!” I argue, trying desperately to keep a straight face.
“When I was a teenager. And you swore you would never repeat that.” A scowl settles on his face.
I push away the chocolate shake in front of me and hold my arms up. “Sorry, I’m sorry! But in my defense, you really shouldn’t tell anyone that.” I level him with a fierce glare. “Ever.”
“Hmph, I’m secure enough in my masculinity to own it. Come at me, Chicago, I can take anything you throw at me.” He winks at me and takes a huge gulp of his own milkshake. Strawberry. I’m seriously questioning our compatibility right now.
Taking a look around the still busy shop, I glance at a pair of women sitting by the front window. Both beautiful, they are the type of women who intimidate the hell out of me. Long-limbed, perfectly made-up faces, and that air of confidence that comes with knowing wherever you go, you are wanted and welcomed.
They have also been throwing subtle glances our way since they sat down and it’s starting to set my nerves on edge.
“What about you?” Miles’ deep voice interrupts my thoughts. “You must have some embarrassing stories. It’s only fair,” he goads.
“Oh God, not really.” I consider his question. Of course, I have plenty of mortifying teenage stories I could tell him. Doesn’t mean I’m going to. I might not do this whole dating thing often, but I’m not stupid.
“Okay, I will admit to being a bit pop-music obsessed,” I admit. “In high school, my best friend and I used to spend hours trying to recreate the Backstreet Boys’ dance routines. I still say they are musical geniuses and never got the credit they deserve.” He opens his mouth to interrupt, but I quickly cut him off. “Disagreeing with me really doesn’t bode well for you here, so think carefully before you speak.”
Miles leans back in his seat and folds his arms across his chest. His extremely broad chest. Le sigh.
“I couldn’t agree with you more.”
“Good answer, sir. Good answer.” I raise my glass to him.
“So, that’s it?” He shakes his head sadly. “My stories were much more embarrassing than that. I’m kind of disappointed in you.”
I throw a wadded-up napkin at him, but he ducks and I miss, the napkin instead landing by the feet of the girls at the table who have been ogling Miles.
My eyes narrow when I see them still watching, having now lost all pretense of subterfuge.
“What just happened here?”
“Huh?” I drag my attention from blonde one and blonde two, back to him.
“Your face just went all…” He scrunches his nose up, as though he smelled something revolting.
“No, it didn’t,” I counter with the confidence of a lawyer who is used to faking it when needed.
“Saying it didn’t doesn’t make it true, you know. But since it’s only our first date, I’ll let it slide. Now tell me what caused that expression of pure delight.”
“Ugh,” I sigh. “Okay, there’s something you should know about me.”
“Okay.” Miles leans forward, a look of wariness sliding across his features.
“I don’t really people very well.” My shoulders sag, such is my relief at getting this off my chest.
“You don’t people well?” His brow creases. “I’m not sure I know what that means.”
“I’m not good with people. I find most of them irritating and confusing a lot of the time. It’s exhausting, really.”
“Don’t lawyers have to people a lot?” he asks curiously.
“Yep.” I pop the sound of the P. “So much peopling. Which makes my threshold for it even lower on my off time.”
“Is this your polite way of saying you’re sick of me and it’s time to call it a day?”
“No,” I laugh. “Not at all. I’ve just been putting up with those two girls eyeing you like you’re their first coffee of the day for the last two hours.”
He turns and glances behind him just in time to see blonde one wink at him.
Are you kidding me right now?
When he shifts in his seat to look at me, his whole demeanor has changed and a sudden flutter of nerves hits me.
Miles reaches up and begins to play with his empty glass before casting an anxious look my way.
“There’s something you need to know.”
“Hello, Detective.” Adelaide opens the door to her apartment with Lucifer’s trademark greeting, including her—very bad—attempt at an English accent. “I thought you were going to come at five?”
I push past her, my arms full with a container of my homemade choc chunk marshmallow cookies and a bottle of coffee liqueur for the many, many White Russians I plan on drinking tonight. “I’m only a little late.”
Addy grabs the liqueur bottle and heads to her tiny kitchenette, pointing to her laden coffee table.
“Put the cookies with the rest of the food. The next episode is queued up, just give me a sec to get you a drink.”
I flop onto her sofa with a loud grunt and slide my Tupperware container in between a bowl of peanut M&M’s and what looks to be Adelaide’s favorite chocolate peanut butter cupcakes. I use my finger to scoop up a bit of icing and savor the creamy peanut butter deliciousness.
“Hey, where’s the ice cream?” I shout, only to jump when Adelaide appears by my elbow, handing me my drink.
“I forgot to pick it up, you’ll have to make do without tonight. Deal with it.”
Today is really not a good day for ice cream.
“So.” She curls up next to me and points the remote at the television, bringing it to life. “How did today go?”
“It was…” I search for the right words and find myself coming up short.
“That does not sound promising.” Her wide blue eyes fill with sympathy. I hate it.
“It wasn’t bad.” I try to sound more confident than I feel as I stuff a cookie in my mouth.
“But it wasn’t good?”
“No, it was. It was just—He has a kid.”
Addy stops mid-chew. “Oh, shit. You, my love, are not a kid person, you know that, right?”
“Yes, Adelaide, thank you, I am well aware.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.” I take a big gulp of my drink and contemplate how nice it is that there is such a thing as what is essentially an alcoholic coffee. “I really like him. He’s funny and he makes me feel comfortable. It’s like he cuts my awkward in half.”
“Plus, he’s hot, right?”
“God, so hot,” I agree.
A loud bang out in the hallway, followed by laughter, interrupts us and Addy rolls her eyes and mutters under her breath.
“Oh my God, is that him?” I bolt upright. “Is that your friendly neighborhood douchebag?” She pulls the bowl of M&M’s onto her lap and begins shoveling them into her mouth.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I laugh and jump up, racing to the door to peer out the peephole. I’m too late though, and the hallway is empty.
“Get your ass back here and sit down, will ya. We were in the middle of a conversation.”
“You have complained about this guy every day since he moved in four months ago—”
“Six months. It’s been six months.”
I snatch some candy out of the bowl on her lap. “Six months then. When are you going to ask him out?”
“Uh, never. The guy’s an obnoxious ass who thinks he’s God’s gift to women.” She sits up straighter, her eyes lighting up. “Did I tell you he had the nerve to accuse me of stealing his mail as an excuse to talk to him?” Her voice is getting louder and taking on a screechy quality. “I mean, I try to do the right thing when his stupid mail was put in my box and that’s how he thanks me! Such an asshole.” She points a hand full of candy at me. “And don’t change the subject, Charlie. We were talking about Miles. Are you gonna call him Daddy?” She waggles her eyebrows at me.
“That is wrong on so many levels, how broken are you?”
“Ugh, relax. I know you’re not a daddy-kink type of girl. Although you shouldn’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”
“Why am I friends with you?”
“Because I’m the only one who will put up with you.” I keep quiet because she’s probably right. “Now, what is the plan for Miles. Please don’t tell me you’re going to dick out because of the kid? I don’t want to have to smack you.”
“No, I mean, maybe, I don’t kno—Wait, dick out?”
She sighs deeply. “Everyone says don’t pussy out but really, pussies are tough as shit. Dicks are fragile, so saying don’t dick out makes way more sense.” She shrugs as if that makes complete sense and for a moment I wonder if we’ve been friends for too long, because it kind of does.
I shake my head and try to refocus. “I don’t want kids. I never wanted kids. My job is too demanding, too time-consuming. Kids make no sense for me and it’s stupid to even consider going any further with this because it can’t possibly go anywhere now.”
“But?” Addy’s foot nudges me gently.
“It sounds ridiculous, I don’t want to say it out loud.” My hand finds my drink and I take a grateful sip.
“But you will, so you might as well just spit it out.”
“I feel at home with him.” Those words make me feel remarkably helpless. “I had my life figured out. I knew what I needed out of life to make me feel safe.” I bite my lip and the sting distracts me for a moment. “It’s not this.”
