Page 43 of What Happens This Christmas
I caught up to her. “Hmm. Orange and sharing, not two of my favorite things. So, I suppose I won’t be tangoing with the law tonight.”
She gave me a sideways glance. “Are we still talking about the restaurant’s signature drink?”
“What else would we be talking about?”
* * *
I regretted this wholeheartedly.
Frozen hot chocolate.Maybe I should send my hospital bill to the establishment. Frostbite was a very real thing. Between my tongue growing icicles on it and the loss of feeling in my damn fingers from merely holding it, I had no doubt I’d be missing my own bed tonight.
Fussing with the straw, I cursed under my breath. “Who was the idiot who decided that this would be a good idea? They’re screwing with the seasons, and no one is upset about this?” Cold shit was for summers, and Lord knew the ones in New York could be scorching hot. I was a big proponent of the law against public indecency, but wearing anything besides boxers in our August summers especially was a form of torture.
I stared down at the drink like it was a poisonous snake about to bite me. It wasn’t too much of an exaggeration, considering if I didn’t take it slow, it might just land me in an early grave. The only papers Candy would be signing were ones to collect my life insurance and other assets.
Froze to death at the hands of a holiday treat.That was what my tombstone would read, making it the most pathetic way to die besides the story I’d heard of some dude getting crushed by a tree.
Candy hummed her approval of the drink as her lips closed around the straw, her cheeks hollowing as she took in more of the beverage as it started melting. I couldn’t even call it an iced beverage from hell because that felt like an oxymoron. Maybe there was a freezer or frozen lake where the worst, most sinful people went to perish in the underworld, like in the ninth circle of hell.
“It’s a classic,” she responded, her tongue darting out in a slow, steady way to lick any sweet remnants of the whipped cream she’d enjoyed from her lips.
There wasn’t anything there that I could see, but she was clearly not willing to leave a hint of it behind, needing to haveher fill. It wasn’t that different from how I felt about her. I needed her the way I needed to take my very next breath to survive. “Only because people like you made it one.”
“Can you blame us? It’s iconic.”
“First it’s a classic, and now it’s iconic.”
“Both fit.” She dragged her finger through the condensation on the glass, her gaze following her movement, and her long, fake, red nails had my head spinning. I would wear the scars from those scraping down my back with pride.
My pulse jumped in my wrist and so did my cock. I shifted in my seat and forced my gaze to swivel across the room, scanning the establishment. Just because I didn’t come here often didn’t mean I didn’t know how important this restaurant was to the city. Honestly, the decor wasn’t exactly my style, reminding me of someplace I would have come to when I had been a child. Which was probably why so many people found it to be a comforting spot, considering the holidays were the time to feel idyllic.
It had an art deco theme, odd, colorful paintings hanging on the walls. Loud, three-dimensional art pieces jumping out at you on other walls. A part of me was actually surprised that Candy wanted to come here. It felt contrary to the demeanor she embodied like a second skin.
“You know, when I was younger, my friends and I would go to this retro diner and place bets on who we thought would pick the worst song to play on the jukebox.”
Candy’s eyes widened, and she nearly choked on the sip she had taken. “I can’t believe that. Why have I never heard this before?”
Because even married couples didn’t know everything about each other. I always thought one day we would, but we wouldn’t be one of the lucky ones, married long enough to swap all thestories. “We haven’t reached the point where we’re repeating stories.”
Her face fell before attempting a forced grin. “I suppose not.”
I pushed my glass and what was left of my drink and unwanted whipped cream away from me. “The diner closed up a while ago, so it doesn’t matter anyway.”
She nodded, pulling her straw up and down a few times before she finally stopped fidgeting and placed her hands on the table, her diamond tennis bracelet hitting it with a clank. “What did Nick, the kid, order from this diner?”
“Peanut butter and banana milkshakes.”
Her face scrunched up, her nose twitching slightly as she obviously held in a laugh.
“What?” I sat back, my heart racing at the sight of her…loosening up. She was happy, and it was written all over her face, once you looked past the scrunch.
Glancing up, she held up a finger. “Hold on. I’m trying to picture you drinking that with change on the table for your next jukebox pick.”
Who knew Candy had a screwed-up sense of humor? “Are you done now?”
She laughed, her eyes settling on me as tears prickled in them. Tears of joy, I hoped. Meanwhile, it felt like someone wouldn’t stop pounding on my chest, seeing how much I could take before I succumbed and finally gave in.
“Yes, I am. Thank you for that,” she said.
