“Yep.” He points to a tub of something violently blue with swirls of pink. “That one tastes like bubblegum, regret, and poor life choices.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Good to know.”
The girl behind the counter steps up, her hands already wrapped in plastic gloves. “What can I get for y’all?”
Gray doesn’t even hesitate. “I’ll do a scoop of the Java Chip and a scoop of Rocky Road in a waffle cone.”
She nods, scooping out the flavors with practiced ease before turning to me.
I glance back up at the board. “Uh…Salted Caramel Pretzel in a cup, please.”
Gray turns to me with mock judgment written all over his face. “A cup? Really?”
“What?” I lift a brow. “Cones are messy.”
He leans in a little, eyes gleaming. “That’s the point. Where’s the fun if you’re not at risk of having ice cream all over your face?”
I smirk. “You say that like it wouldn’t be a total disaster.”
He shrugs, voice low and playful. “Disaster, maybe. But kind of adorable. I mean, I wouldn’t mind helping you clean it up.”
My face goes beet red.
Gray runs a hand through his hair, eyes wide. “Okay—yikes. That was…I didn’t mean—wow. That sounded way less inappropriate in my head.”
I burst out laughing, and he groans, burying his face in his hands. “Can we pretend I said something way cooler than that?”
“Not a chance, that one’s going in the vault.” I say through my giggles. “On second thought, I’ll take a cone.”
The girl nods, hiding a smile as she turns to scoop.
Gray glances at me sideways, clearly trying not to laugh. “Changing your mind, huh?”
I cross my arms. “Just living on the edge.”
Gray grins like he’s just won something. “Knew you’d come around.”
We slide into a booth near the window, the setting sun pouring in like a spotlight on this weirdly perfect little moment.
I take my first bite—sweet and salty with the perfect crunch of pretzel—and let out a small sigh. “Okay, this is actuallyamazing.”
“Told you,” Gray says around a bite of his own cone. “I don’t mess around when it comes to ice cream.”
Time slips by as we eat and laugh and share bites across the table. I’m halfway through my cone when I catch Gray watching me with the biggest smile on his face.
“What?” I ask, self-conscious all of a sudden.
He leans in slightly, voice soft. “You’ve got some right here.” He taps the tip of my nose with his finger, swiping away a smudge of ice cream. Then, before I can process it, he licks his finger, grinning like he’s fully aware he’s messing with my head and enjoying every second.
“Told you I wouldn’t mind helping you clean it up,” he says with a wink.
I practically melt into the vinyl seat.
I’m about to respond when I hear a crash from the front of the shop. We both turn just in time to see a kid, no older than six, staring in horror at his ice cream splattered across the checkered floor. His mouth is open, eyes wide, like he hasn’t quite processed the tragedy yet.
The woman behind the counter looks torn between sympathy and horror. “Oh, honey…” she starts, but the kid’s lower lip is already trembling.
Before I can react, Gray’s already on his feet, heading toward the counter. He leans down, dropping to a squat in front of the kid, his expression softening.
