The Ice Cream Shop Boy #3 (Erotic Romance)

by Mimi Strong

  We went into Zach's townhouse first, with Duke running ahead excitedly to check the dog food dish. Princess was hot on his heels. Duke found a couple of three-month old kibbles, wolfing them down so he didn't have to share with my dog. He liked her, fine, but sharing food was quite another matter.

  Zach and I stamped our feet on the front mat, though there was only a light dusting of snow on some green areas nearby. I could hear birds, overhead in the trees, which made New York seem manageable to me. I'd made the jump from my small hometown to Columbus, and now I was simply sizing up again. There were birds, and I had Zach, and I could do it! Such was my attitude on that first day, before the constant noise and chaos wore me down.

  But I'm getting ahead of myself.

  We walked into Zach's place and I instantly felt at home. It was that kind of place, with thick wood moldings framing out modest-sized rooms, and an inviting kitchen with brand new, sexy, red-lacquered doors on the cabinets, and fancy appliances that didn't look like appliances. I hunted around for the refrigerator while Zach opened some canned food for the dogs.

  After feeding the pooches, he ran around turning up all the thermostats in the chilly place.

  When I finally found the fridge—behind a tall, red-lacquered door—I laughed at how many condiments he had. The guy seemed to own every type of mustard on the market, and a half-dozen types of mayonnaise as well.

  “This fridge is already full, and there's no food,” I said.

  He opened a cupboard and pulled out some fancy-looking crackers. “I guess I eat out a lot, but when I'm at the grocery store … I can't pass up a flavor.”

  I sidled up to him and wrapped my arms around his muscular shoulders. He looked so sexy in his black leather jacket, his cheeks pink from the cold outside. “You certainly are the flavor guy, Mr. CEO.”

  He raised his eyebrows and licked his lips. “You won't find any half-eaten bags of orange salt or Marshmallow Peeps here.”

  I poked him in the chest. “I'll have you know I've quit junk food.” I couldn't keep a straight face, not with those all-knowing blue eyes boring into me. “Okay, I had some gummy worms on the plane when you were sleeping.”

  “I knew I smelled high-fructose corn syrup on your breath.” He sniffed my mouth and kissed me. “Yup. I knew it.”

  As we kissed, I forgot all about how hungry I'd been for a snack. My body became hot and heavy with lust. He rushed through the rest of the tour and took me into his bedroom. The red theme from the kitchen continued in there, with dark wood accents. He pulled back the bedspread and we made love on the red sheets, both of us seemingly in a rush, though we had nowhere to go.

  That was the dream part, where everything was magical and wonderful, red sheets and all.

  Reality sunk in when we walked over to my apartment, three doors over and one down. Way down.

  The best thing about the apartment was its affordability and proximity to Zach. The worst thing was … everything else.

  It was small, smelled like poison, and the ceiling over the shower was so low, even I would bump my head if I stood in there, and I am not that tall.

  Zach trailed along slowly behind me, nodding grimly. He offered to hire a painting crew for me, again, but the suite had been recently painted. This was as good as it was going to get.

  We opened the blinds on the limited number of windows and cracked them open to get some fresh air, then lit some scented candles. The movers had already brought in my things ahead of me, though they'd left the plastic wrap on all the furniture.

  I grabbed a kitchen knife and started removing the plastic from the sofa and coffee table.

  “Good idea,” Zach said. “This'll make it seem less like a crime scene.”

  “It really is an awful apartment, isn't it?”

  “It's pretty bad,” he said.

  I started to laugh, because both of us acknowledging how awful the place was took away some of the sting and made it less wretched. The little apartment wasn't really that bad, not by New York standards. With the fresh air coming in, and the plastic getting removed, I felt confident that with a few house plants and more lamps, it would be workable.

  That night, we slept over at Zach's house.

  My job was better than the apartment, but not by much.

  I thought I'd be assisting Delphinia, doing basically the same job as before. Instead, I was to be “shared” by three bosses, Delphinia and two guys, whom I'll refer to as Tweedledum and Tweedledummer. One was sweet, but incompetent, the other was nasty, but somewhat on the ball. I bought a self-help book about Boundaries in the Workplace, and by the time we closed the office for the Christmas holiday, I had the situation pretty much under control.

  Christmas in New York is magical, or maybe it's anywhere at any time while falling in love that's magical. I had both, and I could hardly wipe the smug look off my face.

  Christmas Day, the spell was broken, courtesy of our first big fight.

  Zach had been busy most of the month with Butter Spoons, organizing all the new franchise locations. They were expanding faster than he wanted, but his father, the senior Mr. Mikhelson, didn't want to waste time.

  Like his father, Zach was also against wasting time. In fact, he'd gotten his Christmas shopping done in a matter of minutes. He gave everyone gift cards, including me.

  I tried to cheer myself up that at least it was a decent-sized gift card, a good ten times as much as I'd spent on him. Still, it wasn't very personal. Gift cards are good for fussy people, or for people who have everything, or for people you don't know. I didn't think I was any of those things, not to Zach anyway.

  I met Zach's parents on Christmas day. They lived on the Upper East Side, and I was nervous about meeting them, changing outfits four times. I was sure they'd see me as a country bumpkin, but they warmly welcomed me into their to-die-for apartment. Zach and I had barely been together a month, and I thought they'd treat me like the flavor-of-the-week, but they were actually perfect—neither too eager about plans for weddings and babies nor completely ignoring the possibility. They seemed kind and generous.

  Mr. Mikelson, Zach's father, insisted we all drink vodka at dinner. Mrs. Mikhelson accused him of playing up the Russian stereotypes, saying he was putting on the accent just for my benefit.

  Zach got me to do my “How much for dog?” fake-Russian-accent routine, and Mr. Mikhelson laughed heartily.

  We were joined by many people, some who were introduced as friends, but seemed as close as family.

  The fancy blonde I'd seen with Zach at the ice rink, Sascha, was there with her fiance. I didn't feel overly friendly toward her, because my first impression had been so strong, but over the evening, I warmed up. I was surprised by how insecure she was, going on and on about how I had perfect skin and hers was so terrible. (She had maybe one tiny little acne scar, but was otherwise gorgeous.)

  Two dozen of us, from every generation imaginable, enjoyed a delightful Christmas dinner. A tiny woman with snow-white hair sat next to me and told me all about Grandfather Frost, the Russian Santa, who delivers gifts with the help of his grand-daughter, the Snowmaiden. The woman explained that New Year's Eve was the big day, not the twenty-fifth of December.

  Most of the food was familiar and western, though along with the turkey and stuffing, we had additional dishes of sauerkraut soup and baked fish.

  The white-haired woman, Galina, had a lot of wine at dinner, and told me all about Svyatki, celebrated between the Orthodox Christmas and the Epiphany, the nineteenth of January. She described a celebration from her village, when people dressed in animal skins and masks.

  “Like Halloween?” I said.

  She laughed and clutched my wrist with her wrinkled hand. “Yes and no. No. Svyatki is joyful time. The angels visit, tell us future. You, you look in mirror with candles after midnight, you see husband.”

  Zach, sitting on the other side of me, gave me a sly smile. “Or you throw your boot in the air, and it points to your future husband.”
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br />   The other conversations at the long table had paused, and all were listening to us.

  “New York is not a village,” I said. “So, I guess I'll do the candle thing.”

  Galina clapped her hands and laughed, and everyone else joined in.

  I forgot all about the folklore and symbols, thanks to the food and the vodka. I fell asleep in the taxi home, and Zach half-carried me up to his door, where he fumbled for his keys.

  I rapped my knuckles on the door and said, “This door is green. My door is gray. I live in the gray door. Take me home.”

  “Come on, Laura, you don't actually live over there. It's where you get your mail. You live here, with me.”

  His tone was curt, almost patronizing, and hit me the wrong way.

  “I don't live here,” I said, standing back and refusing to go inside. “This is your house. You never asked me to move in. You're fine with me living next door, where I belong.”

  “What are you talking about? Get in here.”

  I crossed my arms. “No. I want to sleep in my bed. It's bigger, and it's a better bed than yours. Why don't we sleep in my bed ever?”

  He gave me a cold look. “That king-sized bed is too big for your little place. It barely fits inside the bedroom, and I bang my knees on the furniture getting in and out of the room.”

  Drunk enough to erroneously believe I wasn't that drunk at all, I said, “You should be more careful, Mr. Mikhelson. Then you won't bang your knees, and you won't get hurt.”

  “Laura, what's going on?”

  “I got you so many nice presents for Christmas, and you gave me a gift card.”

  “I've been busy. I'm meeting with franchisees, I'm getting calls non-stop about fires I need to put out, and you want me to drop everything and go shopping for you?”

  “Yes.” I turned around and started walking in the direction of my place.

  He called after me, “You forgot your dog!”

  I turned back and said, “You really are cold! Delphinia warned me that you were cold, but I didn't see it. I didn't see it until now. Stupid me.”

  “Who said I'm cold? Laura, don't be crazy.”

  I shook my finger at him. “Do not dismiss my feelings just because I had some drinks tonight. My feelings are real, and I am not crazy.”

  “Who said I'm cold? I am not cold.”

  I stood my ground and glared at him. “Send out my dog.”

  He did. He pushed Princess out onto his front step, and he stepped inside and slammed shut the door.

  “Merry Christmas!” I said in the direction of his door, and then I stumbled down the steps and went into my place. Princess hung back, looking longingly next door. I ordered her to come home, and she obeyed, her little head hanging low.

  Yelling at the dog made me feel like shit.

  Yelling at Zach, however, felt good. How dare he give me a gift card!

  Back inside my apartment, I banged my shins getting around my small bedroom and into my too-big bed, which only fanned the flames of my rage.

  I woke up the next morning, Boxing Day, to one heck of a headache. Word to the wise: don't mix vodka, wine, and a box of liqueur-filled chocolates.

  What was that banging? I thought my headache was causing auditory hallucinations, but the hanging pendant light in my bedroom was swinging; the banging was from Delphinia and her husband upstairs, having way too much activity for so early in the morning.

  Why was I alone in my bed? Where was Zach?

  The argument from the night before came back to me in waves, each one worse than the last.

  In the sober light of day, all my anger had dissipated. I'd ruined everything with my big, stupid, insecure mouth.

  Now someone was banging on my door.

  I reached for a robe, but that was unnecessary, as I was still wearing my clothes from the day before—a demure blouse and gray wool pants, suitable for meeting a boyfriend's parents on the tony Upper East Side.

  I opened the door and found Delphinia, breathing heavily.

  “The baby's coming,” she said.

  I made little fists and jumped up and down excitedly. “Yay!”

  “And guess who's across town, stuck in traffic.”

  “Oh, shit,” I said. “You want me to go with you to the hospital?”

  “If you wouldn't mind,” she said politely, though her eyes were desperately pleading.

  Princess had already ducked out between my legs and gone pee on the grassy front lawn, so I called her back inside, grabbed my jacket, and got into the waiting cab with Delphinia.

  She seemed calm enough, but as we started to drive toward the hospital, she began to cry.

  “Stupid men,” she sobbed. “Never there when you need them.”

  I agreed with her and held her hand. “And they buy you thoughtless Christmas presents.”

  She rubbed her stomach and grimaced for a moment, then said, “He bought me a hot water bottle.”

  “That's better than a gift certificate.”

  She turned and gave me her no-bullshit look. “Is it?”

  I shrugged and shook my head. I knew I was angry about something, but with a tiny little baby on the way, it didn't seem important.

  Little Edgar came into the world a terrifyingly fast fifty-nine minutes later. I saw him at the same time Delphinia did, and oh was he beautiful. He let out his first little wail, and he sounded so much like a goat, I started sobbing and giggling at the same time. They placed him on Delphinia's bare chest, and his cries became more lusty.

  I looked away out of modesty, and when I looked back, he was sucking on her nipple.

  “Just like a man!” I said.

  “My little man,” Delphinia said, and then her husband showed up, completely out of breath and talking non-stop about having gone to the wrong hospital and getting lost, and whose idea was it to move to New York anyway?

  I grabbed my jacket and left them to their privacy.

  I walked out of the hospital feeling like I'd accomplished something wonderful, because I'd been a part of something so much bigger than myself. I'd started my friendship with Delphinia by getting her coffee and helping her figure out spreadsheets, and now I'd stood at her side, holding her hand as she'd pushed a brand-new baby out into the world.

  I looked up at the cloudy winter sky and wondered what it all meant.

  People jostled me and stared at me like I was an idiot, standing in the middle of the sidewalk.

  “I'm not a tourist,” I said to nobody in particular.

  When I got back to my place, Zach was waiting by my front door with Duke and looking at his cell phone. It reminded me of when we'd first met, when he'd waited out front of my building for me.

  “Hey stranger,” I said.

  When he looked up, his face went through contortions, like a thousand different emotions were running through him.

  He grabbed me and hugged me tight, squeezing the breath out of me.

  I explained that I'd been at the hospital with Delphinia, had left the cell phone at home, but that everything was fine with the baby.

  “I thought you'd gone back to Ohio,” he said.

  “Really? Just like that? After just one fight?”

  “I never want to fight with you again.” He pulled back, his blue eyes wet with emotion. “Promise you won't walk away angry.”

  “Oh, you want me to stick around and scream at you?”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “Yes, anything but walk away. I promise I'll listen. Now tell me what's bothering you.”

  I reviewed the facts and the things I'd been unhappy about. I didn't like that he criticized my taste in furniture and clothing, and that he hadn't asked me to move in with him. I was still paying rent on the crappy apartment, yet rarely sleeping there. We'd barely been dating a month, and of course I knew it was too soon for us to move in, but I would have appreciated him at least asking.

  “The move has been stressful,” I said. “New job, new coworkers, new everything. New York. It just goes on fore
ver, and you can't even imagine the end of it.”

  He shook his head and gazed up at the cloudy winter sky, the tip of his nose red from the cold. “I guess I could have put more effort into getting you a gift. It is our first Christmas together. I'm just not good at those things.”

  I held his cold fingers between my hands, which were still warm from the taxi ride. “Honestly, it's not a big deal. I was drunk. Your father is incorrigible.”

  “What did you mean when you said I was cold?”

  Never before had I wanted so desperately to take back words said while angry or drunk, but I'd said it, and now I had to explain.

  “Delphinia told me, her impression of you was that you're cold. But it's not true. You're very warm, and you're cuddly, and you're amazing.”

  He frowned and looked around, though nobody was in earshot. “I was engaged once, many years ago. I don't see her anymore, but she was acquainted with Del and her husband. When we broke up, she accused me of being cold.” He shrugged his shoulders up to his ears, as though trying to block the words from coming into his head. “Since then, I've always worried that I am. Cold.” He looked away.

  “Well, it's just someone else's opinion, don-cha-know?” I gave him a big smile and kissed him on the lips. “My ex-fiance said I was frigid. He went around telling all my friends.”

  “Hah!” He cracked a smile. “That's not true at all.”

  “I know. Other people. They don't know shit, do they?”

  He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me tighter. “No, they don't. Other people do not know shit from shit.”

  We both turned and stared at the green door to his place, probably thinking the same thing: make up sex. As tempting as it was, I broke the mood, saying, “I am starving.”

  “Good!” he said. “Because I think there are one or two places in Greenwich Village we haven't eaten lunch at yet. Or a hundred.”