Page 64 of The Disasters of Dating
“Thanks,” I say as I walk in. I wrap my arms around myself, wardingoff the cold. With how hot it is outside, it makes it feel that much colder inside—if that makes any sense.
“Wow.” He looks up at the menu board. “How do you decide what to get? There are so many options.”
I step toward the counter and the waiting server. “I’ll get the cookie craze in a waffle cone, please.”
“What size?” The teenage girl asks as she pulls a waffle cone from the stack.
“Small, please.”
She nods and moves back to the freezers to scoop.
I look over at Keaton. He’s still staring at the board, while the guy behind the counter gives him a ‘any time now’ look.
“I can’t decide.” There is a hint of panic in his voice.
I put my hand on his arm. “It’s okay. The only time limit you have is the store closing, and you still have a few hours before that happens.”
He relaxes a little.
The girl behind the counter hands me my cone—a heaping mass of vanilla ice cream with bits of cookie dough and Oreo cookie mixed throughout. It’s pure bliss in a sugary sweet cone.
Keaton looks at me. “That looks good. Maybe I’ll get that.”
I run my tongue up the side, and he watches me for a minute. He swallows. “Yeah, I think I’ll get that.”
“Good choice,” I say as I grab a spoon to eat in a more civilized manner.
He places his order, and we move to the register. I tell the guy my order.
“Are you two together?”
“No,” I say at the same time Keaton says, “Yes.”
I look back at him. “I can pay for my own cone.”
His eyes crinkle and squint slightly. But then he smiles. “Really, it’s okay. You are saving me from an evening of boredom. Think of it as your entertainment fee.”
My inner voice is telling me not to accept his offer. I’m already dipping my toe in the rule breaking pond. I don’t need to dive in headfirst. But another voice inside—one that I don’t even recognize—says it’s just ice cream. Let him pay.
“Are you sure?” I ask. “Because you already paid for that first dinner. And it was so expensive.”
He grins. “Yeah, but that was my own fault. I purposely ordered the most expensive things on the menu.”
I stare at him. He did what?
He tells the cashier his order and pulls out his credit card. Before I can protest any further, he taps his card and finishes the transaction. Putting his hand on the small of my back—I close my eyes to ward off the shiver—he moves us to the side to wait for his cone.
To get my mind off his hand on my back, I go back to the last point of conversation. “What do you mean you purposely ordered the most expensive thing?”
He grimaces. “I figured you probably were thinking of buying me a burger or something. But you’d just tried to have me arrested,” he lifts a shoulder. “And I wanted to spend more time with you than a quick burger. That is why I recommended that restaurant. I know you didn’t believe me when I told you I was planning all along to pay for the meal, but that is true. I may have wanted to watch you squirm a little when I ordered. I felt I deserved that much. But then everything went so terribly wrong.” He lets out a regretful sigh. “I realized my little joke was not very funny.”
“So you didn’t even want the crab-stuffed halibut?”
He reaches for the cone the server is holding over the counter and lifts his chin. “Thanks,” he says. “Do you want to sit inside or out?” He glances at my goose-bumped arms—or what is visible below my three-quarter sleeves. “Outside?”
I nod. “Yes, please.”
He pushes the door open and waits for me to walk out in front of him. Motioning to a table, we settle into the hard, metal chairs. I guess it’s one way to keep people from staying too long.
