And once again, it alters something in me.
The breath in my lungs seizes, my body melts just a hint, and I loop my arms around his neck as one hand moves from where he was holding my chin, sliding up into my hair, his other hand going to my hip.
We kiss like that for an eternity, nothing more, but surely nothing less.
And it brings me immense, all-consuming joy.
Finally, Zander breaks the kiss, his forehead moving to mine and a smile crossing his lips. “Okay. Now let’s get you some ice cream, pip.”
The ice cream shop is tiny, with just a few two-top tables and a giant glass case with a variety of options inside. On the back wall is a huge chalkboard menu, dozens of flavors written in meticulous, neat handwriting.
I stand, staring up at the selections, when Zander walks up behind me, a single tan arm looping my belly and pulling me back against him.
“You two are just too cute!” the older woman behind the counter says, watching us standing before the case.
I should push him away.
I should step away.
I should do anything.
Instead, I lean back into him, and his arm tightens.
It feels too freaking good to fight.
So, I don’t.
“Saw you two outside canoodling, too stinking cute. Not from around here, right?” she asks, and Zee shakes his head from behind me.
“No, ma’am. We’re from Jersey.”
“New Jersey! What’s the occasion?” she asks, wiping down a counter but smiling at us.
“None, just decided to go on a road trip, escape some of the cold up North.”
I know his face is split with his handsome smile.
“Can’t blame you. The few times I’ve been up North, nearly froze my behind off. Never again, I say.” I smile at her, eyeing the toppings chart.
Zee steps forward, making me move with him until I can look down through the glass case at the ice cream options.
But that hand on my belly stays.
“Whatcha thinkin’, pip?” he asks, his voice low in my ear.
I take in all of my options, reading each tiny little sign and biting my lip.
Then I look up at the sign and read the size options.
Then back down at the ice cream.
Then back up at the toppings, trying to decide what I want.
I really want to get the biggest thing they have, to get every chocolate ice cream flavor I can fit in there and try a scoop of each.
Would I finish that, especially knowing we ate breakfast barely an hour ago?
No way.
Would it be amazing?
Definitely.
But I also know Zander is going to be paying, just like he insisted he do for breakfast, and I don’t want the man to foot a twenty-dollar ice cream I’ll only eat a third of.
“A small, half chocolate Reese’s and half coffee coconut.”
“A small?”
“With whipped cream,” I say impulsively, seeing the sign that says, Fresh whipped cream with real cream!
I cannot say no to whipped cream, ever.
His chuckle vibrates on my back, and I refuse to address how that vibration travels south.
“You two know what you’re getting?” the woman asks, smiling wide at us.
I blush a bit at how close we’re standing, how intimate, but Zee tightens his hand on my belly, somehow knowing my thoughts and refusing to let me go.
This man.
“She’ll get a small with chocolate Reese’s and coffee coconut with extra whipped cream, and I’ll have the large chocolate taster.” My brow furrows when he orders the specialty item, which is every single chocolate ice cream in a big tasting bowl.
“On it!” she says and grabs a scoop to start dishing out our order.
My head turns to Zee.
“Why wouldn’t you get strawberry? Or they have cherry?” I ask, tipping my chin toward the pinkish flavor.
“Because you got a small.”
“What?” I say, craning my neck to look behind me at him. His lips press my temple.
“You got a small, so you only get two flavors.”
“I don’t—”
“You overthought what it would look like to get a large so you could try a bunch, which is what you want. Probably knew I’d pay so didn’t want to be a burden there, either.”
“Zander—”
“And you think it’s criminal to have fruit in ice cream.”
I can’t stop myself from speaking, even though I should be arguing with him.
“Well, if I wanted one of the healthy food groups, I’d have ordered Italian ice. Ice cream and fruit don’t belong together unless it’s a topping, like a cherry, or a banana spli—” I stop myself and shut my mouth, realizing I’m rambling.
Zander’s head tips back with a laugh, the sound filling the ice cream shop before it simmers, and he presses his lips to my temple.
“Exactly. You hate fruit ice cream. You’re gonna try all of mine.”
So he got what he knew I’d like.
“How do you know what kind of ice cream I like?” I ask, looking back at the case, not wanting to look at his face.
I’m afraid of what I’ll see there.
His lips are still in my hair when he answers quietly.
“I’ve spent my entire life categorizing your likes and dislikes, waiting for the moment you’d let me in.”
Ice cream lands on the counter, the older woman smiling at us with hearts in her eyes.
“You two remind me of my George and me when we were young. Always together, couldn’t keep our hands off each other.” I feel my face turn red at her words, and Zee tips his head back in a laugh again.
“Haven’t seen love like that in years. Wish my grandkids would settle, but these days it’s all online dates and booty calls.” My eyes go wide and Zander snorts a laugh in his throat behind me.
“No one wants to find their person and settle, you know? But life doesn’t wait. It keeps moving, even if you stop.”
I sit with that.
Life keeps moving, even if you stop.
For the first time, I wonder if that’s what I did all those years ago—did I stop moving, expecting life to stop with me?
“Anyway, ignore an old woman reminiscing. I’m just saying, don’t let that one go, young man,” she says, tipping her head to Zander.
“Honestly, I’m still working on convincing her she’s meant to be mine.”
My entire body stills, blood rushing and making me overheated.
He’s just saying that.
We’re playing pretend.
“Oh, the look she has? You’ve had her for a while. Keep on working at it, though,” she says as if I’m not right here. “And even when she argues, you keep pushing, you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Zee says. I turn my head to glare at him, expecting him to be smiling at her. But he’s not looking at the woman.
He’s looking at me.
And not for the first time, I can’t help but wonder what his plan is in all of this.
TWENTY-ONE
DELICATE
-ZOE-
We eat way too much ice cream (the chocolate ganache was to die for) before saying goodbye to Marjorie, the owner, and then wandering around the quaint town. We stop in a third shop, at some place where Zee buys me a tee shirt for the town's local peewee team because it makes me smile, and he buys something (“A gift for Luna,” he says when he’s checking out) before we walk down to the water, spending nearly the entire afternoon walking and talking, enjoying the not-absolutely-freezing weather.