33. The Perfect Sundae
The Perfect Sundae
“ S eriously, I’m not hungry,” Charlotte says as she joins me in the kitchen. She’s been dragging herself around since I told her about my meeting with Ian, even though it’s not her fault I got fired.
I take out a few bowls then open the fridge and grab heavy cream, whole milk, sugar, and vanilla extract, setting everything on the counter with a clink. “That’s okay. The point is not eating—it’s cooking.”
“Cooking?”
“Baking, I guess.” Scale, spoons, and spatulas are set on the counter too. “You know what’s the one thing I don’t do while cooking?”
“Based on the last few weeks...” She looks up, humming. “Exerting self-control?”
“ Thinking ,” I correct, pleased that she’s feeling better enough to joke. “I could use a break from that right now, and you could too.”
When I gesture at her to step closer, she drags herself to me. “I never asked how you got into it.”
“I started back in high school with Mom. When Logan started dating Josie. Mom knew I liked her, and she wanted to keep me busy. Keep me from thinking about it too much.”
Charlotte watches me closely. “Did it help?”
“Not at first, no. I was pissed off all the time, distracted.” I weigh our ingredients.
“It showed. But then, one night, she made me knead dough for what felt like hours. And, I don’t know.
..something about the repetition, the way my hands moved through it—it calmed me down.
I didn’t stop being angry, but I wasn’t up to my neck in it anymore. ”
Charlotte runs her fingers over the counter, tracing an invisible pattern.
“After that, I kept going. It became...safe.” I glance at her. “A place where I didn’t have to think about anything but the next step.”
She’s quiet for a long moment before she nods, just once. “Okay. Teach me.”
“We’re making ice cream.”
Charlotte blinks. “From scratch?”
“Well, yes. You thought I was going to pull a pint out of the freezer and call it cooking?” She rolls her eyes as I push a bowl toward her. “First step—egg yolks and sugar. Whisk them together until they’re pale and thick.”
She picks up the whisk, glancing at me warily. The moment she starts whisking, I watch the tension in her shoulders ease just a little, her focus narrowing to the simple motion of her wrist. I step behind her, reaching around to cover her hand with mine.
“Like this,” I murmur, guiding her movements. “You want it smooth, not grainy.”
Charlotte melts into my chest and follows my lead.
“Perfect,” I press my lips to the side of her neck. “Keep going.”
I move to the stove, heating the cream and vanilla in a saucepan. “Once this is warm, we temper the eggs—gently, so they don’t scramble.”
She watches me intently, arm brushing mine as she whisks. “You’re good at this.”
“Cooking?”
She traces the veins on my hand with her finger. “Taking care of people.”
“It’s easy when it’s you,” I say, enveloping her hand with mine.
Her cheeks turn pink as she stares down at the bowl. There’s something different about her now—something softer. The weight of the night isn’t gone, but at least it’s not crushing her anymore.
I reach for the saucepan, pouring a thin stream of warm cream into the yolks as she stirs. “Careful,” I say, watching her movements. “Slow and steady.”
“Not my specialty.”
“No kidding.”
She glares at me, but there’s no bite behind it.
Once the mixture is combined, I guide her back to the stove. “Now, we cook it until it thickens.”
She watches the custard begin to swirl in the pot. “How long?”
“A few minutes.”
She leans against the counter, tapping the whisk against the rim of the pot. Though she’s not saying it, she’s miserable. Hopeless. I can see it in her eyes.
“Are you in your fictional small town?”
Meeting my gaze, she smirks. “You bet.”
Though I was the one who asked, knowing that she’s picturing a reality where I’m not part of her life hurts. Even though none of this is about me.
“What would you be doing there at...” I check the time. “8 p.m., on a Saturday night?”
Without a second thought, says, “I’d be waiting for the custard to thicken so I can make ice cream with my boyfriend. Then saving some to eat with his daughter tomorrow.”
I swear my heart stops beating. Just for a second.
She doesn’t seem to realize what she’s said. She just keeps stirring, watching the custard as if it holds all the answers.
Boyfriend.
It was probably an accident. A slip of the tongue, something she didn’t mean to say out loud. But she doesn’t take it back. Doesn’t even hesitate.
I wet my lips. “Yeah?”
She hums. “Yeah.” Then she glances at me, like she’s only just realizing I’ve gone completely still. “What?”
I run my thumb over my bottom lip. “Nothing. Just . . . I thought you didn’t do . . . boyfriends . Commitment.”
She snorts. “I didn’t.” Then, quieter, “I do now.”
When I step closer, she stops stirring.
I want to know if she meant it. If, in that alternate life she was imagining, the one where she sells flowers by the beach, I’d be there too. I stroke my thumb over her pulse. “I should ask, right? Officially?”
“You want to ask me to be your girlfriend?”
I think so. She deserves to have it spelled out, to know that this isn’t just something casual or assumed. “Yeah,” I say, shifting her towards me. “I do.”
“Okay. Ask me.”
My heart does something weird—too fast, too full—but I just lift her hand, press my lips to her knuckles, still slightly bruised, and look straight into her eyes. “Charlotte, can I be your boyfriend?”
I wonder for a moment if she’s going to make me sweat, but she exhales and says, “Yes, Chef.”
I swear, my whole body exhales with her.
She tugs me down, pressing her mouth to mine, and it’s the perfect antidote for what happened today. For the grief, loss, and humiliation. It’s so good that I forget where we are, what we’re doing. So consuming that I don’t even care.
When she pulls back, blinking, she mumbles a breathy “Burned.”
My tongue swipes against her bottom lip. “Hmm?”
She gasps when my lips trail along her jaw. “Smells burned.”
I look at the custard, smoking and bubbling in a way it definitely shouldn’t be. “Shit.” I turn the burner off as her giggle melts against my ear. “Well, the next step was to let it cool down.”
“The custard or us?”
Good point.
“Sorry. I ruined our ice cream.”
“That’s fine. Actually, we were going to have to let it cool down for a few hours, so...” I walk to the freezer and take out a tub of homemade ice cream. “I’m prepared.”
Her smile is bright enough it might just melt the whole tub.
“Vanilla?”
“Of course,” I say, scooping some into one of Sadie’s novelty ice cream bowls.
She settles on the stool next to me, watching me take out the toppings. Chocolate sauce, a long drizzle. Sprinkles, for a little color. Whipped cream, high and fluffy.
When I’m done, I slide the sundae across the island, setting it between us, and tap on the bowl. “Go on. Try it.”
Charlotte grabs the spoon and scoops up a bit of everything—the ice cream, the whipped cream, the chocolate and sprinkles. She pops it into her mouth, her lashes fluttering as she hums in pleasure.
I watch her, my heart a steady thrum. “Good?”
“So good.” She swallows, licking a bit of chocolate from her lip.
“Only the best for my girlfriend.”
She meets my eyes for a beat, but the warmth fades almost instantly. “I don’t think I can do this, Aaron.”
I pause mid-squeeze on the chocolate bottle. “Us?” My heart begins pounding. “You can’t do us?”
“No, not us,” she quickly corrects. “But everything else. I can’t move out, can’t apply for that job, can’t pay bills and cook dinner. I just...” Her voice catches, and she swallows hard. “I can’t.”
I set the bottle down.
“If you want to be with me,” she continues, “then you’ll have to just...take me with all my mess. Living at home with Beatrice, modeling and making clothes in my spare time.”
I can’t help but notice she hasn’t mentioned TOP.
She said once that if she ever had a boyfriend, she’d stop camming, and the question burns on my tongue, but I save it for some other time, because it looks like she’s waiting for me to disagree.
To tell her that she has to change, to be better, to fit into some version of a life she doesn’t have the strength for.
Instead, I nod. “I’d take you in any form. With whatever mess comes attached.”
“Yeah?” she asks, picking at her nail.
I hate that she’s still nervous about this. About me. “Charlotte, you feel like home in a world of strangers. So, yes. I’ll take your mess. Any mess.”
She smiles briefly. “Then forget about everything else. Amelie, and moving out, and the new job. Just let it go.”
I hesitate, wanting to tell her she’s more than this fear, more than the exhaustion weighing her down. But I also know she’s too raw for that right now. “All right.”
She dips her spoon into the sundae but just stirs absentmindedly, watching the ice cream mix into swirls of chocolate and vanilla.
“You know, I didn’t suggest it before because, well...it’s still early, and you’re so young, but...we could find a place together.”
She freezes with her spoon mid-air. “What?”
“I mean, this whole arrangement with Josie...it’s temporary. At some point, one of us will have to find another place, and I guess it’ll be me. So we could...find something together. I could help, you know. With whatever you need.”
She brings a spoonful of ice cream to her lips. “That’s...really sweet, Aaron. But I want you to be my boyfriend, not my babysitter.”
“No, it wouldn’t be like that. I?—”
“Would Sadie live with us?”
I shake my head, though it’s more of a “I don’t know” than a no. Nobody gives you parenting guidelines, but if they did, I’m pretty sure there wouldn’t be a how-to for this situation.
“She needs you, Aaron. Sadie and Josie need you to help them through this new situation.”
“We could?—”
“Just let it go,” she insists, voice sure. “Please?”