Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Adelaide
“Hey,” I call when I spot Zander and the sweetest shaking ball of fluff across the street. “Do you want to get ice cream?”
His face remains impassive for a moment, eyes shifting left to right. Is he making sure no one heard me? What if I misread his texts and he didn’t want to hang out with me? I probably misread this whole thing and he was just being nice about the book.
Through my doubt spiral, I notice the lazy grin take shape on his face.
His ball cap shades his eyes, but I know from the deep dimples in his cheeks that the smile reaches them.
I check for any unusual traffic before jogging across the street.
Zander holds out a hand and pulls me up from the curb.
And though it’s unnecessary, I take it. I don’t let go.
“Hey,” he says. “Ice cream?”
“Up at Scoopers. I’m sure you’ve been before.”
“It’s been years, but yeah, I have.”
“Perfect,” I say then immediately plop down on the ground and let Lucy attack me with kisses. “Oh my goodness, I am so happy to finally meet you, princess.”
Zander laughs. “You’re technically right about that. She is royalty. I named her after Lucy Pevensie.”
Who is this man and why is he something I dreamed up in a journal when I was ten?
“I wanted to be Lucy when we read Narnia in grade four.” I rub Lucy’s golden ears and kiss her between the eyes. In return, she licks up and down my jawline. “I hear you’re a queen, aren’t you?”
I let Lucy cover me in kisses until she’s fully satisfied and sits in my lap. Zander stares down at us, a slightly dazed look in his eyes. My cheeks heat. I clear my throat and attempt to push Lucy away.
“Luce, c’mere, girl,” Zander says, smacking his lips together to get her full attention.
Lucy huffs out one of those hilarious little dog sighs, as if she’s in a horrible life crisis.
She pads over to him, dejectedly looking back at me as she goes.
I laugh and push up off the ground. I smooth my dress as I stand and shoulder my tote bag.
A silent conversation passes between me and Zander, where we look into each other’s eyes and start walking together as one.
It makes me feel a little crazy, and maybe a little dumb, because it has never been that easy with anyone.
“So,” I say once I’ve regained the ability to speak, “what brings you to Beaver Creek today?”
“Gran needed my help. Oh, uh, you might know her. She used to work at Beverly’s Blooms. Retired a few years back.”
“Maybe…”
I mentally scan through all the older ladies I know who could be related to Zander. Would they have the same last name? Is Browning a penname? Is Zander a penname?
“Peggy,” he adds. “Her name’s Peggy. Peggy Browning.”
“Oh, that’s so funny,” I say and follow Zander as he turns left up Maple Street. There’s a few ways you can get to the ice cream shop. I also would have picked this route. “She’s in the embroidery club at the library.”
“Embroidery club?” There’s a smirk on his lips, a spark in his eye, a chuckle just waiting to form.
I playfully nudge his shoulder. He doesn’t stumble, just continues walking like I didn’t almost shove him into traffic. Or, more accurately, a sleepy street. Lucy barks, licks my leg, then sniffs Zander’s palm.
“Okay, yeah, I deserved that.”
“I know it’s an old lady hobby,” I say. “Hence, all the old ladies in the club. Would you believe I’m the only person under thirty there?”
“You’re under thirty?”
“Barely. I’ll be thirty later this year. Don’t worry, you’re not cradle robbing.”
His cheeks flush. “I wasn’t worried…until now, I guess.”
“You should be. I’m actually three beavers in a trench coat.”
“Concerning I didn’t pick up on that.”
“It’s why Lucy likes me so much.”
“Lucy likes ducks.” His eyes slide over to mine, then rove over my body, lingering on the patchwork of my dress. “You look like a silly goose.”
I can’t hold back the ugly cackle that leaves my lips. “Of all the things you could have said. Silly goose?”
“You know,” he says, biting into his lower lip to hold back his own laugh. His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Those geese some people have in their kitchens. Or a porch goose. They have those ridiculous aprons.”
“Okay, well, those are country geese. It’s, like, a weird 80s trend. A silly goose is like a goose with a knife.”
“Do you identify with knife wielding geese?”
I roll my eyes and stop in front of a pale pink umbrella. The patio tables outside Scoopers are nearly full, with the interior bustling as well. I eye Zander, who is doing the same scanning of the area.
“Do you know what you want?” I ask. I can just barely see the menu through the large, slanted open windows at the front of the shop. “I can go in and get the ice cream. You wait outside with Lucy? I think they’re still not keen on dogs.”
He shrugs. “I could fudge it and say she’s a therapy dog. More or less the truth, even without an official designation. But I’ll wait outside.”
“What do you want?”
“Strawberry,” he says, then on an inhale, “in a chocolate dipped cone.”
“Got it.”
He digs into the front pocket of his shorts and fishes around for his wallet. I reach out and still his arm.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll pay.”
“Adelaide, come on,” he says, but he doesn’t move away from my grasp. “Gran would be disappointed to know I didn’t pay.”
I relinquish my grip and slide my hand up to his cheek. It’s bold. Perhaps bolder than I’ve been with a man before. I tap his cheek.
“Gran doesn’t have to know,” I whisper.
We both lean in. I let out a soft breath, then scurry away. Okay, so I guess I have feelings for this man and it goes beyond the text flirting I’ve been doing and it feels very natural and like he’s pulling me to him. But I’ve known him for five days. So what am I supposed to make of that?
I push away all thoughts of potentially falling for Zander Browning as I enter Scoopers.
Their white walls covered in speckles that resemble rainbow sprinkles and wooden latticing that borders the bottom like an ice cream cone always take me back to my childhood.
I get in line and stop next to the wall that reads, What’s the scoop?
The line moves quickly. Soon, I’m at the counter, deciding between thirty colourful flavours while children scream in the background. A teenager with a pink visor and a braid down her back asks me what I’d like.
I scan the tubs of ice cream and, not knowing the intimate details of a person’s life like what they might be allergic to, decide to play it safe with some chocolate.
Not that I should be thinking about potentially kissing him and causing an unknown allergic reaction.
The worker scoops my ice cream into a chocolate dipped, sprinkle rimmed cone, then dives back in to get Zander’s order.
I scooch down to the cash desk, pay, and drop some change into the ice cream-shaped tip jar.
“Here you go,” she says, handing me two cones. “Napkins are just over there. Have a nice day!”
I smile and thank her, then walk over to the mint green side table with napkins, spoons, and garbage pails. I pull napkins from the dispenser between my pinky and ring fingers. When I turn to the exit, I nearly smash face first into a man’s Hawaiian-shirted chest.
“Oh, Addie,” Simon, Tabitha’s husband, says. He takes a step back, to-go pints of ice cream clutched in his arms. “Sorry. Almost wiped you out there.”
“My bad. It’s packed in here.”
“Summer nights.” He places his ice cream down on the counter.
He grabs a brown paper bag from the slot next to the napkins and starts piling them in, then turns to me and smiles.
Sometimes I wonder how appearance-obsessed teenage Tabitha fell for Simon, with his spindly limbs, crooked nose, thick glasses, and slightly greasy spiky black hair, but then he smiles and I get it. “Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” I say and lick my ice cream, which has just started to drip.
“You were with someone outside, right? With the dog. He looks familiar.”
“Yeah I’m with him.” I eye Zander through the window. He’s bent down next to Lucy as she patiently lets a child pet her. “Maybe you know him from school?”
“Like high school?” Simon clucks his tongue. “What’s his name?”
“Zander,” I say hesitantly.
“Oh, I knew a Zander. He—” Simon trails off with a hiss.
He turns toward the front of the shop, just as Zander straightens.
Simon’s features are drawn tight when he meets my gaze.
A hand worries the back of his neck. “We were friends.” His voice has changed completely.
No enthusiasm. “Do you, um, know him well?”
Despite the nerves I sense, a laugh escapes me. I make a joke of it because that’s what I do.
“What? Did he, like, murder your family or something?”
Simon cringes. “No. No, not my family.”
I stand and stare at him. I don’t know what to make of that. So, according to Simon he murdered someone else’s family? Strawberry ice cream drips down the back of my hand, but I don’t do anything about it. I raise my eyebrows, willing Simon to go on.
“He was my friend, yeah. He got into some kind of shady things, you know? But that was, what? Fifteen years ago or something? Don’t pay me much attention, just, you know, be careful.”
“Okay,” I say, a bit warily. “Yeah, thanks. I gotta go before I make more of a mess. See you around.”
Simon waves me off and I walk away. Shady things.
Be careful. What does that mean? I stare at Zander’s back as I make my way to him.
His muscles are tensed under his black T-shirt.
He must be melting in this heat, just like the ice cream.
I try to school my features; pretend like I’m not working Simon’s warning over in my mind.
Simon is not a dramatic guy. He works a boring office job two towns over.
He wouldn’t fabricate a story about someone he doesn’t know.
The only problem is I don’t know what the story is.
I take a deep breath of summer air and decide I have to let it go for now. I can ask Tabitha next time I see her, because I know Simon is going to spill the beans.
“Hey,” I say once I’ve reached the space next to Zander’s elbow. “It’s hot. Got a little melty.”
“That’s okay. No better way to eat ice cream in the summer.”
He takes his ice cream from me. I don’t know if it’s me or him who lingers a second too long on the cone, his index finger against my pinky.
My fingers tingle as I pull away. Though, jury’s out on whether I’m frozen or in some form of lusty shock.
He makes quick work of the mess, running his tongue around the edges of the cone.
It feels obscene watching this, especially as I question who this man really is.
“So, is black your favourite colour?”
He chokes on his ice cream as he laughs. “Yellow.”
“Really? I’ve never seen you wear any colour. And I stalked your Instagram.”
“Bold of you to admit.”
I shrug. “I bet you stalked mine.”
“I did,” he says, and I catch the brief moment his cheek dimples. “Both of them.”
“We’re even then. You need a yellow shirt.”
“I’m good.”
“No, you’re not.” I don’t know why I’m dying on this hill, but I am. “Match my energy. Yellow shirt.”
“Unfortunately, there can only be one silly goose in town.”
“I’ve created a monster. You’re never going to call me anything other than silly goose.”
Zander licks ice cream from his upper lip, then grins. My heart flutters. “Let’s go, silly goose.”