Chapter Five
Millie
“I’ve been dying to try this place since it opened,” Mom says as she pulls the car into the parking space in front of Cherry On Top, a new ice cream parlor on the square.
“I heard everything’s homemade,” I reply. Some of the ladies I’ve been working with on the jobsite have been raving about how good this place is. My mouth waters just thinking about all the yummy treats waiting on the other side of the door.
“I know! Your father is going to be so jealous that he missed this.”
I giggle, “It’s not like he had a choice, Mom.” Dad had to fly out this morning for another work conference in Vegas. It’s something he does every year.
“He’s always sending me pictures of all these delicious foods at his fancy work dinners. It’s about time we had our own fun.”
She has a point. He does do that, and every time, Mom and I practically salivate with jealousy that we aren’t there to try it all with him.
I reach my arm out for her to loop hers through mine as we make our way inside.
As soon as the door opens, we’re hit with so many different smells, all of them equally tantalizing.
My eyes widen at the full display case of all kinds of sweet treats to top your hand-turned ice cream with, it seems to take up the entire length of the back of the store.
My mom is giddy with excitement as we make our way to the cashier to order.
“What are you going to get?” she asks.
“I have no idea. There are too many choices.”
The guy working the register chuckles. “That’s what everyone says. Is this your first time in?” When we both nod, he says, “May I make some suggestions?”
We say, “Yes, please,” in unison.
He smiles, “Our top three flavors are vanilla bean with caramel swirls, dark chocolate chunks and marshmallows, and orange ice-cream soda.”
Mom looks at me, her eyes twinkling, before she looks back at the guy. “We’ll take all three.”
“Mom!” I laugh as I watch in astonishment as she hands over her card to pay.
“What? They all sound so good! How are we supposed to decide?”
“I don’t know, maybe start with one and the next time get something different?” I suggest, sarcastically.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
The guy, who looks to be about my age, and is rather cute, chuckles at our exchange. “This actually happens more than you’d think.”
“See, we aren’t the only ones with a weakness for sweets,” she says, looking over her shoulder and winking at me.
I roll my eyes but giggle at her antics. Secretly, I’m excited to try a variety because it’s once in a blue moon that Mom decides we can derail the healthy train. But when she does? She goes all out. Case in point: When the cute guy brings out three bowls overflowing with yumminess.
My eyes widen and my mouth waters. Mom takes the vanilla and chocolate bowl, and as soon as I reach for the orange ice-cream soda one, my nose is hit with that perfectly delicious scent you only associate with the famous creamsicle.
Just as I take the ice cream bowl from him, my vision starts to blur. I can feel my pulse pounding in my neck, my heart beating erratically. I feel unsteady, like I might faint, so I close my eyes in an attempt to clear my vision—but as soon as I do, I feel even weirder.
The sounds of the ice cream shop disappear. And where it was kind of chilly in the shop, it suddenly feels warm, almost like I can feel the sun hitting my exposed skin. Instead of smelling the sweet treats, like the orange cream soda, I smell something much more earthy.
Something tingles the back of my neck, the sensation crawling up and down my spine. I hear a loud whooshing sound right before a ringing starts. It's so loud that I feel like I might double over from the pain.
My hands come up to cover my ears, but the ringing and whooshing noises stop right before I can reach them. My heart steadies; the tingling down my spine ceases.
Just as suddenly as the weird sensation appeared, it disappears. I blink my eyes open and closed several times to adjust to the bright lights.
“Millie. Millie.”
I look down and realize the bowl I was just holding is now lying upside down on the floor, ice cream scattered across my feet.
“I’m okay.” The words automatically come out of my mouth before I can even register if they’re true or not. My right hand comes up, my fingers grazing the underside of my chin, searching for the thump, thump, thump that I know will calm my disoriented nerves.
“What happened?” Mom asks as her eyes scan me from head to toe. She places the two ice cream bowls back down on the counter and leans down to pick up the one on the floor.
“My—my grip must have slipped.”
The guy comes rushing around the counter with a rag and mop. “I’ve got this.” He bends down to wipe up as much as he can. “Lydia will make you another one.”
I quickly bend down to try to help him. I’m surprised to find that the sudden motion doesn’t cause any other symptoms—symptoms that have seemed to disappear into thin air. What the hell was that?
His smile is warm and kind. I feel a twinge of happy nervousness when he looks at me, but it’s nothing like the swarm of butterflies that take flight in my stomach the second Rowan Pierce’s magnetic green eyes find mine.
“I’m sorry about this. I’m such a klutz.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He stands back up and goes about mopping the mess I made. I feel like such an idiot. I don’t know what that was or why I felt so freaking weird, but I’ve been subtly counting the beats of my heart through the pulse point on my wrist, and all seems fine and normal.
Mom grabs my forearm. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine. I promise. I just lost my grip.” My cheeks heat when I turn around and notice that we’re drawing the attention of most of the customers in the tiny little shop. How freaking embarrassing.
“Here’s that orange ice-cream soda for ya!” An upbeat girl comes around the counter and hands me the bowl. This must be Lydia.
“Thank you,” I mumble as I take the bowl from her, and Mom grabs the other two. “Can we sit outside?” I ask Mom.
“Of course, honey. Let me just grab some napkins. I’ll meet you out there.”
I hurry toward the exit, ready to sit down and try the delicious-smelling treats without spontaneously combusting from embarrassment.
It isn’t until later that night, when I’m lying in my bed and trying to fall asleep, that I think about the fact that it felt like I was in another place and another time for a brief second, my heart frantically beating in my chest. I spend the rest of the night checking my pulse over and over again until I finally fall asleep.
Whatever it was, I don’t want it to ever happen again.
This week I’ve been assigned to painting the freshly hung drywall. A task that I’ve never really done before, but I’m feeling up for the challenge. I crack open the five-gallon paint bucket and drop the top onto the concrete floor. Then I stand back up and assess my situation.
How am I supposed to get the paint into the tray without spilling it? Maybe I’m doing this wrong because if I lift that thing up and just pour it straight into the tray, I’m going to have paint everywhere.
Just as I squat down to pick it up, I hear a light chuckle coming from the doorway. I look up to find Rowan Pierce watching me casually as I struggle to pick up the dang bucket. He quickly pushes off the doorframe he was leaning on and comes to my rescue.
“What was the plan here, Daredevil?” he asks as he takes the paint bucket from my straining arms.
“I don’t know. I was winging it,” I answer as I watch him put the lid back on the paint bucket.
My eyebrows pull together as I watch him unscrew a smaller lid on the top of the big one.
Then he leans over and grabs a contraption that looks an awful lot like a pouring mechanism and screws that on top of the small hole that’s now there.
“Hmm, that’s what that thing was for,” I say in fascination as he picks up the five-gallon bucket like it weighs less than a loaf of bread and pours the paint into the empty tray without spilling a lick of paint.
He stands up and his hands go out to the side, waving back and forth as he says, “Ta-da!” like he just performed a magic trick.
I laugh, internally grateful that he got here in time to save me from making a fool of myself and spilling paint all over the place. “Thank you for that. If you couldn’t tell, I don’t have the slightest clue what I’m doing here.”
“You’ve never painted before?” he asks, surprised.
I guess it is rather odd that someone my age has never painted anything in her life, but I haven’t had a normal life so far. It’s not like Rowan knows that though. “Nope. This is my first time.”
His right eyebrow jumps up in astonishment as a slow, sexy smirk takes over his handsome face. Man, he’s pretty. Something looks different. “Did you cut your hair?”
He stands up and self-consciously runs his hands through his brown hair, which is substantially shorter than it was the last time I saw him. “Yeah. I needed a change.”
His eyes look sad but determined. A look I unfortunately know all too well. “I like it.”
“You do?” he asks, surprised, like he’s still adjusting to the change.
“Yeah, I think it looks good on you. Don’t get me wrong, I liked your hair before too, but this seems—” I search for the right word, “—more grown up.”
He chuckles, “Great, I’m looking more and more like a Mr. Pierce. Mrs. Chambers is going to have a field day with this one the next time I see her.”
I laugh because I’ve heard Mrs. Chambers is quite the jokester. “What did she give you a hard time about?”
“Said I had gray hairs in my beard!” He actually looks affronted, which only tickles me more.
I walk right up to him to get a closer inspection. I need to see this for myself. He has a light sprinkling of hair all across the bottom half. My right hand goes up to rest on my hip.
As I tilt my head one way then the other. “Yep! Right there!” My right index finger goes up to point toward a cluster of hair on his chin.
His breathy chuckle causes a light flutter in my belly. “I’m not falling for it again. That woman gets too much enjoyment out of making people almost crap their pants.”
I throw my head back, practically howling. “You did not almost shit your pants because of some gray hairs.”
“Yes, ma’am, I did! You can’t play with a man’s virtue like that. It’s sacred.”
I snicker as I turn around to pick up a paint roller. “Well, your virtue is safe for at least a few more years.”
“Thank goodness. Next thing you know, I’ll be in a suit and tie, slaving away behind a desk for the rest of my life. Covered in gray hairs, flabby chest, and balding.” He shivers from the mental image he just created for himself. “Just like my dad.”
“You can always dye it or get a toupee.”
His head whips around so fast I’m worried he might get dizzy. “I will never dye my hair or get a toupee.”
He says it so seriously I can’t help but laugh. Then I shrug my shoulders. “Just a suggestion.”
He picks up another roller and comes to join me. His proximity has my nerve endings on high alert, along with other unmentionable parts of my body.
“Speaking of suggestions, I think I have one for that bucket list of yours.”
“Oh, yeah?” I’ve only ever told my parents about the list. Not because it’s a big secret, but because, well, I just haven’t really had anyone to tell.
The thought of Rowan being the first person outside of my parents to know has those butterflies taking flight in my belly again.
Even more excited to hear his suggestion.
“I’ve always thought it would be cool to go bungee jumping.”
“We should do it!” I say before I have a chance to think about what I’m suggesting. Once my words fully register, I want to literally facepalm my own damn forehead.
To give him credit, he smiles gracefully, like he’s gearing up to let me down gently.
“That sounds fun, Daredevil.”
“What?” I ask, utterly shocked that he’s even entertaining this crazy idea of mine.
He chuckles once again, his eyes crinkling playfully. He reaches out, his elbow gently shoves me in my side when I just stand there dumbstruck and wordless. “I said I’m in.”
I gulp, and my head starts to shake back and forth. “You don’t have to. I didn’t ask you so you would feel obligated. I just— I just—” I stutter for the first time in my entire life. Fuck me.
“I want to.” His eyebrows pull together as he watches me make a complete idiot of myself. “That is, if the invitation still stands.”
“Yes,” I whisper. Pure excitement floods my system at the thought of marking something off my bucket list—and with none other than Rowan Pierce.
Oh, holy shitballs.
This is either going to be the best or the worst idea I’ve ever had.
There’s only one way to find out.