fun.”
“I didn’t. I planned my life. Right down to the second. I planned for everything. Except I didn’t plan to lose the lady in my life.” Sam stood up abruptly and fought the urge to blurt out that he hadn’t planned on being so busy that his father, already devastated by his wife’s death, killed himself from loneliness. The guilt of not making time for his father was suddenly very near the surface, and he knew this wasn’t the time or place to talk about the skeletons rattling in his conscience.
“Come on,” Sam said, and motioned toward the front of the house. “Let’s get out of here and find some ice cream. I’ll tell you all about my blighted love life and how just mentioning William scares most women away.”
Clare popped the last bite in her mouth and took a swig of tea. “Shouldn’t we tell William we’re going?”
Taking her elbow and guiding her away from the kitchen door, Sam said, “No need. I’m sure he heard everything we said.”
Beyond the door, a metal pot clanged loudly into a counter, and Clare heard a disgrunted “Hmmph.”
“Well, what’ll it be?”
Clare looked around and decided Sam had a screw loose if he thought she was going to eat anything prepared inside the shack in front of her. Yellow lights beneaththe awnings glowed in the twilight, and the menu was a bulletin board crowded with a patchwork of faded paper. Prices had been written on the paper, scratched through, and written again. Bright neon starbursts were tacked on every available surface, and bold Magic-Marker printing promised new taste sensations like Passion Sundaes and Raspberry Fudge Rhapsody.
Overwhelmed, Clare simply stared at the large concrete drainage ditch that flanked the ice cream joint. People seated in the al fresco area of cinder-block benches were oblivious of their surroundings, unbothered by the exhaust fumes from the busy intersection that invaded the air. The redneck honky-tonk across the street began to rock and roll as four-wheel-drive truck doors slammed in a predictable rhythm.
“You gotta be kidding me,” she finally said.
“I never joke about ice cream.”
Clare lowered her voice. “Sam, do you see a posted health certificate? I don’t.”
“Inside on the wall.”
“You can’t see through the grime on the windows!”
“Relax, Clare. This isn’t going to kill you.”
“Probably not,” she snapped. “I’ll die of carbon monoxide poisoning first.”
Sam laughed and reached for her. “You’d have to relax enough to breathe before the fumes could get you. Come on. My treat. What’ll you have?”
Instead of backing away, Clare found herself leaning into the strength of Sam’s body. He squeezed her shoulder and winked at her as he pulled her toward the small sliding glass window to place an order. When his hand slid lower to cup the curve of her waist, warning bells began to clang in Clare’s head again. Almost nonchalantly,his fingers drifted beneath her jersey and rested against bare skin, his thumb casually rubbing tiny circles against her side.
The window slid open, and an orange-haired woman plopped a small green order pad on the counter. “Yeah?”
“I’ll have the Super Split,” Sam said. “With walnuts. And she’ll have—”
“The … Raspberry Fudge Rhapsody,” Clare said, and admitted to herself she had wanted one from the moment she read the neon starburst. She wet her lips in anticipation.
“You sure, honey? The Super Split’s our Spring Fever Special this week,” the woman explained tonelessly. “Buy one, get one free.”
“Oh,” murmured Clare. “In that case, give me one of those instead.”
“No,” Sam said immediately. The terse correction was a knee-jerk reaction, but all he could see in his mind was a picture of a quiet little orphan sitting in a restaurant, trying not to be a burden.
No, thank you. I don’t want dessert. Really.
The tone of voice was the same one that he’d heard Clare use—so polite, so
“I didn’t. I planned my life. Right down to the second. I planned for everything. Except I didn’t plan to lose the lady in my life.” Sam stood up abruptly and fought the urge to blurt out that he hadn’t planned on being so busy that his father, already devastated by his wife’s death, killed himself from loneliness. The guilt of not making time for his father was suddenly very near the surface, and he knew this wasn’t the time or place to talk about the skeletons rattling in his conscience.
“Come on,” Sam said, and motioned toward the front of the house. “Let’s get out of here and find some ice cream. I’ll tell you all about my blighted love life and how just mentioning William scares most women away.”
Clare popped the last bite in her mouth and took a swig of tea. “Shouldn’t we tell William we’re going?”
Taking her elbow and guiding her away from the kitchen door, Sam said, “No need. I’m sure he heard everything we said.”
Beyond the door, a metal pot clanged loudly into a counter, and Clare heard a disgrunted “Hmmph.”
“Well, what’ll it be?”
Clare looked around and decided Sam had a screw loose if he thought she was going to eat anything prepared inside the shack in front of her. Yellow lights beneaththe awnings glowed in the twilight, and the menu was a bulletin board crowded with a patchwork of faded paper. Prices had been written on the paper, scratched through, and written again. Bright neon starbursts were tacked on every available surface, and bold Magic-Marker printing promised new taste sensations like Passion Sundaes and Raspberry Fudge Rhapsody.
Overwhelmed, Clare simply stared at the large concrete drainage ditch that flanked the ice cream joint. People seated in the al fresco area of cinder-block benches were oblivious of their surroundings, unbothered by the exhaust fumes from the busy intersection that invaded the air. The redneck honky-tonk across the street began to rock and roll as four-wheel-drive truck doors slammed in a predictable rhythm.
“You gotta be kidding me,” she finally said.
“I never joke about ice cream.”
Clare lowered her voice. “Sam, do you see a posted health certificate? I don’t.”
“Inside on the wall.”
“You can’t see through the grime on the windows!”
“Relax, Clare. This isn’t going to kill you.”
“Probably not,” she snapped. “I’ll die of carbon monoxide poisoning first.”
Sam laughed and reached for her. “You’d have to relax enough to breathe before the fumes could get you. Come on. My treat. What’ll you have?”
Instead of backing away, Clare found herself leaning into the strength of Sam’s body. He squeezed her shoulder and winked at her as he pulled her toward the small sliding glass window to place an order. When his hand slid lower to cup the curve of her waist, warning bells began to clang in Clare’s head again. Almost nonchalantly,his fingers drifted beneath her jersey and rested against bare skin, his thumb casually rubbing tiny circles against her side.
The window slid open, and an orange-haired woman plopped a small green order pad on the counter. “Yeah?”
“I’ll have the Super Split,” Sam said. “With walnuts. And she’ll have—”
“The … Raspberry Fudge Rhapsody,” Clare said, and admitted to herself she had wanted one from the moment she read the neon starburst. She wet her lips in anticipation.
“You sure, honey? The Super Split’s our Spring Fever Special this week,” the woman explained tonelessly. “Buy one, get one free.”
“Oh,” murmured Clare. “In that case, give me one of those instead.”
“No,” Sam said immediately. The terse correction was a knee-jerk reaction, but all he could see in his mind was a picture of a quiet little orphan sitting in a restaurant, trying not to be a burden.
No, thank you. I don’t want dessert. Really.
The tone of voice was the same one that he’d heard Clare use—so polite, so
Similar Books
