Page 49 of The Woman in 3B
“You’re real cute, Alice.” Anissa kissed me firmly on the cheek and her hands dropped from my waist. I instantly missed her embrace.
I let out a shaky breath and stared up at the clear, blue sky.What are you doing, Alice?
The day was warm, but a cool breeze coming off Lake Huron kept the mounting heat at bay. Anissa and I meandered down the island’s main street at a leisurely pace, our mouths busy with making sure the ice cream piled on top of our respective waffle cones didn’t end up dripping down our elbows. I’d chosen mint chip while she had selected the eponymous Mackinac Island fudge ice cream.
The major defining feature of the island was its total absence of cars. When horseless carriages were first introduced at the turn of the century, the island’s residents made the decision to ban all motor vehicles. Most people got around the island by foot, bicycle, or horse taxi. These weren’t the kitschy horse-drawn carriages from New York’s Central Park, however. These were massive, working horses.
Tourists flocked to the Upper Peninsula’s island from all over the world, drawn to the area for its unspoiled natural beauty, its history, and of course—Mackinac Island fudge. The confectionary shops downtown pumped the scent of freshly-made chocolate treats into the street, making it nearly impossible to leave without at least indulging in a free sample or two.
We stopped in front of one of the many candy shops that lined the main street to watch a worker making fudge. A uniformed employee poured a steady stream of liquid chocolate from what appeared to be an oversized copper caldron onto a marble slab the size of a modest kitchen table. His hands worked quickly and deftly as he used a paddled stick to push the cooling chocolate liquid across the marble slab.
“That would be quite the job,” Anissa remarked.
“I’d gain 100 pounds if I worked here,” I laughed.
“Do you want some fudge?” she offered. “We came all this way.”
“No thanks,” I refused. “This ice cream is all the sweet I need today.”
Anissa stuck out her full, lower lip. “Not even room for me?” she faux pouted.
I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t deny how much I liked seeing this sillier side of her. She was definitely different—lighter, more carefree—away from the airport. But then again, I probably was, too.
“How’s your ice cream?” she asked as we continued to walk down the concrete sidewalk.
“Dreamy,” I hummed my approval. “Yours?”
“Amazing. You should have a bite,” she urged. “You can’t come to Mackinac Island and not have any fudge.”
“I suppose I can’t fault that logic,” I relented.
She held out her cone toward me and I leaned closer. My tongue darted out to quickly lick at the ribbon of fudge closest to my mouth.
“Oh yeah, baby,” she growled throatily. “Get in there.”
I half laughed, half choked on the ice cream and jerked my head back. I hadn’t gotten any fudge, but I had succeeded in smashing the end of my nose into her ice cream cone. My hand moved to wipe away the vanilla ice cream that had gotten on my nose, but she stopped me.
“Don’t worry; I’ve got you.”
I stood still, expecting her to wipe away the errant ice cream with her napkin. Instead, her own tongue darted out to collect the small dab of vanilla ice cream.
My initial response was to laugh and maybe to be a little grossed out that she’d licked the end of my nose, but self-consciousness quickly set in. We were in Northern Michigan, no longer the Greater Detroit area, which meant that people tended to be more conservative. I quickly scanned the immediate area to gauge other peoples’ reactions, but no one appeared to be paying us any attention. No one seemed concerned about two girls and their ice cream cones.
Anissa and I continued on our walk. When we came to the end of the downtown stretch, we kept walking. We strolled past a city park and the city marina, filled with expensive boats. Normally I would have wondered what kind of person was rich enough to have a giant boat moored at Mackinac Island, but the woman with whom I was spending the day had her own airplane.
Away from the bustling downtown area, the crowds thinned out and our surroundings became more peaceful. I felt my blood pressure lower without the constant din of traffic, the squeal of tires, the revving of engines, and general road rage. I was so relaxed, I apparently hadn’t noticed that some of my mint chip ice cream had dripped down the side of my waffle cone and had crept onto my knuckles.
“God, I’m a mess,” I laughed at myself.
“Let me help you.”
Before I could insist that I didn’t need her kind of help, Anissa grabbed the hand that held my ice cream cone and licked across my knuckles and up my cone to clean up the dripping, sticky residue. The lick to the tip of my nose had been playful; this was different. Her tongue was wide and warm and efficient, and I felt its reverberations everywhere.
“Delicious,” she slyly grinned. She knew exactly what she was doing to me.
I let out a shuddered breath. “You’re evil.”
“I’m helpful!” she protested, voice raising.
