- Landon -
I knew I’d have to say goodbye to Margot at some point, but I kept shoving the thought to the back of my mind. Fortunately, there was a famous ice cream place down the street, and as soon as I mentioned it, she lit up like a girl who’d just seen glitter for the first time.
“I think I’m suffering from information overload,” she said as we approached the front of the line.
I watched her eyes study the colorful chalkboard overhead, scanning every detail of the special sundaes on offer.
“What do you usually get?” she asked.
“I don’t usually come here. I’m more of a 99 cent McDonald’s soft serve kind of guy.”
She turned towards me. “Then why didn’t we just go there? I’d know what I wanted if we did that.”
“Because I’m trying to impress my new girlfriend.”
“By spending fifteen bucks on an ice-cream cone?!”
“A designer ice-cream cone.”
She rolled her eyes, but a smile escaped her lips.
“You don’t have to overcomplicate it.”
“Do you know me at all?” she asked, gazing back up at the chalkboard.
“Margot.”
“What?”
“How about I surprise you?”
Her whole body relaxed as she turned towards me. “I would love that. I have the worst analysis paralysis right now. The only solution I can think of is to order everything on the menu, and my checking account won’t allow it.”
“Not to worry,” I said, touching her lower back as we stepped up to the counter. “I got this. Why don’t you grab a table, and I’ll follow you over.”
“Can we share something?” she asked, pointing to the heaping mound of ice cream the guy ahead of us was leaving with. “I don’t think I can eat a whole one of those myself.”
“Sure.”
She smiled gratefully before making a beeline for the round table by the window. Meanwhile, I placed an order for us.
A few minutes later, I lifted our cold concoction with two hands and weaved my way through the tables. Across the white tiled room, Margot was waiting patiently with a pile of napkins and two free cups of water she’d sourced in my absence.
“Well?” She straightened up in her chair when I set the bowl down and feasted her eyes on the large scoops of ice cream, each of which was lovingly accessorized with a rolled waffle cone cookie. “What kinds did you get?”
“Wouldn’t you rather guess?” I asked, taking a seat in the metal chair across from her.
“Yeah, that sounds like fun.” She grabbed her spoon and circled it over the bowl before diving into the white scoop filled with colored sprinkles.
I let my spoon follow so my taste buds could go on the same trip.
“I think I know this one,” she said, helping herself to another bite.
I watched the way her lips dragged over her spoon and struggled to keep my mind from straying into the gutter.
“Is it cake?” she asked.
I nodded. “Cake batter, yeah. Good job. Try another.”
She went for the scoop right beside it, which was a light tan color.
I dug in afterwards, finding myself pleasantly surprised by the sweet taste.
“That’s not at all what I expected,” she said. “I thought it would be some sort of coffee flavor, but it tastes more like a donut.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“It is donut flavored, isn’t it?” she asked, taking a quick second bite. “Krispy Kreme maybe?”
“Bingo,” I said. “Two for two.”
“Good choices so far,” she said, reaching over to my side of the bowl to try the darker brown scoop.
She closed her eyes as the ice cream melted on her tongue, and it reminded me of the way she looked sleeping in my bed that morning. My chest swelled at the memory, and I wondered when I’d be lucky enough to wake up beside her again.
“I’m getting cookie—no—graham cracker,” she said, her eyes still closed. “And chocolate.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But there’s something else.” Her eyes popped open. “S’mores.”
“I’m impressed. For someone who swears they don’t spend much time in the kitchen, you seem to have a pretty refined palate.”
She cocked her head, her blonde hair falling to one side. “Yeah, for junk food.”
I shrugged. “A person has to start somewhere.”
“You used to make the best s’mores when we were kids,” she said. “Matt always messed them up because he liked watching his marshmallow go up in flames and mine—”
“Always fell into the fire pit, I remember.”
“Only because you guys always gave me a bogus stick.”
I shook my head. “Just bogus marshmallows.”
Her mouth fell open.
“I’m kidding.”
She scowled at me before hovering her spoon over the last scoop. “What do I get if I go four for four?”
“If you go four for four, I won’t sexually harass you at work every day next week.”
She stuck out her bottom lip, pulling her whole face into a frown.
“You’re not going to get this one, though, so don’t worry.”
“How can you be so sure?” she asked.
“Because I know you.”
She cast her attention down to the last scoop, which was a faint shade of yellow. “And if I don’t get it right?”
“You might as well leave your panties at home.”
Her eyes bounced between me and the mystery flavor. “I’m still going to try to guess it. You know that, right?”
“Of course. Your competitive nature is one of the things I love most about you.”
She froze when I said the “L” word, and I berated myself for letting it slip. Not only had I cut it from my vocabulary long ago, but I hated that stupid, cursed word more than I hated anything.
Margot broke our eye contact and took an ambitious bite of the last flavor, her mouth puckering when the sour taste teased her tongue.
I tried it myself, preferring the citrusy sweetness to the richer flavors.
“It’s good,” she said a few bites later. “But I admit I’m a little stumped.”
My mind reeled with places I might steal her away during work hours…the copy room, the supply closet, the emergency exit stairwell…
“I’m getting some sort of citrus,” she said. “But I don’t think it’s lemon or lime.”
“Correct.”
Three bites later, she looked more confused than ever. “Ugh. Just tell me.”
“It’s calamansi.”
She furrowed her brow. “What?”
“It’s a citrus fruit from Southeast Asia.”
“You’re making that up.”
“I swear I’m not,” I said. “It’s a little smaller than a ping-pong ball and looks like a round lime.”
The corners of her mouth twitched towards a frown. “Never heard of it.”
“I figured.”
“Guess I’ll be leaving my panties at home, then.”
I smiled.
“Even though we have a ton of work to do this week,” she said. “Assuming I don’t get fired first thing Monday morning.”
“I already told you, you’re not going to get fired.”
She leaned forward. “How can you be so sure? At the theatre, Dick looked at me like he never wanted to see my face again.”
“He’s just touchy because of the scandal with the last intern. I’ll set his mind at ease. I promise.”
“I can’t tell if you’re genuinely not concerned or if you’re so worried you’re trying to fake me out so I don’t freak.”
“Does it matter?”
She leaned an elbow on the table. “I don’t want to lose this job.”
I slid an upturned palm across the table.
She laid her hand on it and brought her eyes to mine.
“Let me handle things with Dick,” I said, squeezing her hand.
“Okay.”
“Good.”
“What about Matt?” she asked. “We have to tell him.”
“If you want to tell him right away, I’ll back you up, but I’d rather spend some time being us without his input for a while. Just until we find our feet in this whole new world.”
She craned her neck forward. “Was that a Disney reference?”
“Do you still sing those songs in the shower?”
She leaned forward and dipped her spoon in the cake flavor. “Maybe if you’re lucky, you’ll find out.”
I laughed. “So what do you say? Can we keep our secret a while longer?”
“Sure,” she said, bringing her bite towards my lips. “I’d like that.”