“Lennon, don’t put that paintbrush on the carpet …”

I walk into my mom’s house a little afraid to see what’s actually happening. “Hello?”

“Mommy!” I hear a shriek from the living room, and a smocked Lennon comes running at me.

I manage to pick her up before she hugs around my new black work skirt with paint all over her, and smack a kiss on her cheek. “How’s my girl?”

“We’re painting fingers!”

“I believe we are finger painting, but it’s whatever you choose, my dear.” My mom comes up behind her, and I smile a thank you at her. “Now go clean up so we can eat dinner.”

“Oh, Mom, you didn’t have to do that.” I follow her into the kitchen, the smell of meatloaf coming from the oven.

“Hush, I didn’t want you to have to cook after your first day. Tell me, how was it?”

I fill her in on the events of the day as we set the small island together, pulling out the stools and setting up Lennon’s booster chair on one. She pours water and wine for the two of us, and it makes me smile that she knows I need a little red to take the edge off today.

“Did you meet anyone nice? Make a friend?” My mom still talked to me sometimes like I’d just gotten off the bus from middle school.

“Everyone is nice so far, but you know … they all had their day one faces on. Give it a week.” I shrug, not kidding myself that people are on their best behavior when they first meet you.

Mom takes the food from the counter, setting serving dishes full of delicious looking items on the island.

“Lennon, go wash your hands, dinner is ready.”

“Okay, Mimi!” Her tiny feet patter on the floor as she runs for the powder room in my mom’s home.

It was strange being back in my childhood kitchen, the one my family had dined in thousands of times. To see the pictures of my brother, Charlie, as a kid holding a baseball. Now he was in Africa, leaving behind our mom as well to go save lives in the jungle. The especially painful pictures were those of my father, smiling and holding us as if he’d never let us go. A heart attack had taken him when I was just fifteen, and the memory of it still haunted some of this house.

Tinkling music notes snap me out of my reverie, and I look towards the front door. “What is that?”

“Ice cream truck!” Lennon bolts from the bathroom, running to press her nose up against the glass of the screen door.

My mom wipes her hands on a dish towel and goes for her purse. “You may have one scoop before dinner, no more. And only because it’s summer and Mimi can’t get enough of that Lemon Poppy Seed flavor that man sells.”

They both walk out, my mom grabbing my daughter’s hand as they make their way to the curb. I follow, curious and also annoyed that my daughter is going to have sweets before dinner.

Walking out the front door into my mom's Alexandria cul-de-sac, I'm surprised when the same truck that Lennon ran up to two days ago pulls around the circle of pavement.

Cones & Corks is emblazoned on the side of the bright teal truck, with a picture of a delicious looking triple scoop next to a glass of wine sitting next to the words. A couple of other families in the neighborhood run to catch the truck, children yelling and waving a precious dollar in their hands. A few of them get to the truck before Lennon as it stops on a certain part of the sidewalk, and I increase my pace to make sure my daughter has only one scoop.

As I join my mom and Lennon in line, I can't help but stretch my neck to see who is inside the truck. The sun glints in my eyes and I can't make out the body attached to the hand serving melting scoops.

But by the time we get to the front of the line, I see that it’s Jake. The cute guy who gave us free ice cream and knew my name. The one who looked at me with those sparkling green eyes and for a second I forgot where I was.

“Hi!” Lennon looks up at him, and I can’t help but smile.

My daughter may have grown up in a home that was laced with tension, but it doesn’t seem to have affected her. In fact, I often have to stop her from hugging strangers, or mannequins at the mall.

“Well hi again … Lennon, right? I think you liked our cookie flavor last time.” He directs that charming grin on her, and she nods her head emphatically.

“How does Jake know our little girl?” My mom turns to me.

“Hey, Molly!” Jake waves at my mom, and I swear she blushes like a schoolgirl.

“Why does the ice cream guy know your name?” I raise my eyebrow at her.

She goes up to order her Lemon Poppy Seed, and his eyes find me at last. “Do you live in the neighborhood?” As if catching himself, he laughs. “Wow, that wasn’t creepy at all.”

I have to laugh, because it was kind of forward. Mom ushers Lennon back into the driveway, both of them licking at their sweet treats. “Said the grown man riding around in an ice cream truck.”

His smile drops, and I instantly feel bad. “I didn’t mean …”

“No, it’s okay.” He chuckles. “I typically don’t do the night routes, or any of the neighborhoods. I employ some college kids to do the big legwork, but one called out sick today and so it’s this thirty-year-old hanging out the window tonight.”

He employed them? “So the trucks are yours?”

“They better be, with as much money as I pay for the permits and maintenance. What can I get you tonight, Samantha?”

Something about the way he said my name, and the fact that he owned his own business, made my stomach flutter. Oh, the things that turned me on these days … I couldn’t decide whether I was more impressed by his dimple or his job status.

“Oh, I’m okay, we were just about to have dinner. Can’t spoil my appetite.”

Jake leans out of the truck window, his bicep flexing out of his light green T-shirt. “Life is short, eat dessert first.”

I’m so sex-starved these days that I instantly imagine him pushing me up against a freezer in his truck. Shaking my head, because oh my God how embarrassing that I’m having my fantasy right in front of the real life man, I try not to stutter when I open my mouth.

“Okay, what do you recommend?”

He holds up a finger, as in “give me a minute” and disappears into the truck. He comes back with a single scoop in a cup, the ice cream a mint green.

“I just thought this up this morning. Mint chocolate chips with peppermint schnapps mixed in. The chocolate chunks are from this local DC chocolatier I work with, try it.”

He seems so excited about the flavor that I kind of get excited too. Taking the spoon, I ladle a small amount into my mouth. And proceed to die from food orgasm.

“Oh my God, that is heaven.” I think I may close my eyes. And my knees may go weak.

The smile on his face is cocky when I open my eyes. “I’m pretty good at what I do, and that’s just a fact. So how do you know Molly?”

The sun is setting over the back of the truck, and he probably has a route to get back to but it doesn’t seem like he’s leaving anytime soon. And even though Mom and Lennon have gone inside, I don’t have the urge to join them just yet. Maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t gotten real male attention in a long time, but this is nice. Even if Jake isn’t flirting with me, but come on I totally think he is, it’s nice to just banter with a man.

“She’s actually uh … my mom.”

His face goes full of surprise. “No way?! What a small world. I started on this route when I was just starting out, and she has been a loyal customer for three years.”

I nod, not knowing what else to say now. “Well … I should probably head inside and eat dinner. It was uh … good to see you again.”

Raising my hand in a wave, I start to walk back up the sidewalk, cursing myself for being awkward and so off my game from years of not speaking to other men.

“Hey, Samantha?” His voice floats over my ears. I turn, waiting for him to speak. “I know that you don’t really remember me, but we’ve now bumped into each other twice … and I’d be stupid not to ask. Would you want to get dinner with me sometime?”

Now I really do blush, unused to being asked out on a date. Especially by someone who seems to go after whatever he wants, all honesty.

Inside, my heart strings tug. So many things circle in my head. Lennon. Derek. My age. My life right now. Wanting to live a little. Deciding I am still young. Needing something outside of my everyday routine.

“Sure, I’d like that.” I nod, as if making up my own mind in that moment and promising to myself.

For the first time in eight years, I give a man my phone number. And try not to scream like a teenage girl while I walk back inside, thinking about when he might call and what I might wear.