"I think that's a great idea. Cal's is open until ten on Saturday nights."
She stands and reaches out her hand to help me up."Buy me a scoop?"
"I'll buy youtwentyif you want,"I say with agrin.
Wewalkacross the street hand-in-hand. It's busy, so we wait in line, not saying anything, just holding hands. Marnie clocks our hands and slides me a sly smile."What can I getcha, hon?"
I raise my eyebrows atPalmer. She taps herlipwith her finger as she evaluates the coolers."How about a scoop of the double-double chocolate fudge on a sugar cone?"
"Just one scoop?"I ask.
Her nose crinkles."Mystomachisn't so settled. One scoop is plentytonight."
I squeeze her hand and order my usual, twist cone, but add rainbow sprinkles. Marnie serves our order, and we head outside. Cal's outdoor patio is full, so we cross the street and sit on my stoop.
"What time are youleavingtomorrow?"I ask, licking the soft serve before it can melt in my hands. It's particularly humidtonight, and there's no breeze to move the stagnant air.
"First thing,"she says. She licks the sides of her scoop, smoothing out the edges."My motherwantsme there before guests arrive, so around nine, I guess. Thepartystarts at eleven."
"I can go with you,"I offer, biting off thetopof my cone.
Shestaresat hericecream, which isstartingto drip. I retrieve a napkin I'd stuck in my pocket and hand it to her."Thanks. Andthankyou for offering, but I need to do thisalone."
"Why?"My brows pinch together."You don't have to do any of thisalone,Palmer."
She nibbles at her cone."I appreciate the gesture,Charlie. But I don't want to subject you to my family drama. That's going above and beyond."
"It's what friends do for each other,"I reply, choking down the words I really want to say. We're more than friends, and she knows it.
"You don't have to?—"
"I want to. I'llpickyou up at eight. Just tell me what to wear."
"No,"she says on an exasperated breath. She stands up and walks to the curb to toss her half-eaten treat into the garbage can. She turns to face me with an unreadable expression."You're not coming with me,Charlie."
"Why not?"Iwalkover and toss my cone away, too, so my hands are free to wrap around hershoulders.
"Because I don't want you to,Charlie."She rolls hershoulders, knocking my hands free. My arms dangle while I try to figure out what the hell is going on with her, why she's refusing my help. Refusing me. Then she takes ashotright at my heart.
"This isn't a relationship. It's a fling. You don't take the guy you're sleeping with to be yourdateto your cousin's engagement lunch, especially when she's engaged to your ex-boyfriend. My mother would know thiswasn'treal in a minute, and the last thing I need is to look even more pathetic."
I stumble back, the wind whipped right out of me. Slack-jawed, all I can do is stare at her. Her back is to me and she doesn't even realize she's just plunged afuckingstake through my heart. I grind my teeth, torn between scooping her up and taking her inside toshowherexactlyhow real this is to me, and respecting her space.
"Why?"I croak, clearing my throat.
"Why what?"sheasks, still not turning around.
"Why would your mother know in a minute Iwasn'tyourboyfriend?"The words scrape my throat on the way out. I think I understand, but I need to hear it fromPalmer.
She turns, hergazesliding by me. Herchestflushes, tiny spots of rose bloom on cheeks visible by the streetlight."She would just... know."
"Because I'm not like your previous boyfriends."I clench my jaw, every muscle in my body tensing."I'm not rich or polished. I don't come from money or privilege. I'm not your type, right? I'm just afundistraction."
"It's not—,"she blows out a breath and casts a glance to the sky, setting her hands on herhips."I'm notexactlyyour type, either, right?"
"What type is that?"I match her stance.
"Uh, let's see."She starts ticking things off with her fingers."No more than five-foot-nothing in stocking feet, tiny ass, delicate bone structure, boobs you could fit in a wine glass."
