“No. I usually get their lava cake, but you’re allergic to chocolate, right?”
“You can still get it.”
“Well, how allergic are you?”
Lance frowns, and then his eyebrows pop up, his eyes moving to my mouth. “Uh, on second thought, I guess it might be better to avoid it if you want me to say a proper good night later.”
“I’d like a proper good night.”
His smile is devilish. “I’d like several proper good nights.”
Lance orders the gummy bear sundae and a strawberry tea—this place doesn’t have a liquor license—and I get the carrot cake and lavender tea. We look around for a table, but the options are limited. Lance spots a tiny two-top in the corner, grabs my hand again, and leads me over. He pulls out my chair, tucking me in. Then he moves his chair so he’s not across from me, but perpendicular, his knee touching mine as it bounces under the table.
“I like this place.”
I shrug out of my jacket. “Me, too. April and I come here sometimes.”
“The girl at the clinic, right? The one you don’t want to touch me.”
“That would be her.”
Lance tugs the end of my ponytail, running his fingers through it. His smile falters, and he sifts through the strands again. “I have this memory from when I first moved here—”
The server brings our drinks and desserts over, interrupting him. My heart stays firmly lodged in my throat, though.
Lance’s sundae is ridiculously huge, and as advertised, it’s covered in gummy bears and some sort of white topping.
“What’s on that?”
“Marshmallow fluff.” Lance digs in, twirling his spoon as it gathers ice cream, fluff, and gummy bears. He shoves the massive spoonful in and makes a contented food-love sound.
“Is it good, then?” I ask.
He makes hand gestures, but he can’t actually respond for the moment. It takes a long time before he’s finished chewing enough to use words.
“The gummy bears are so cold and hard. It’s magically delicious.” He puts on an overdone, fake Irish accent for the last part. “You need to try this.”
He shoves the spoon in and drags it through the ice cream, holding it out to me. It’s heaping. I don’t even think I can open my mouth that wide.
“That’s too much.”
He frowns and looks at the spoon, then sticks it in his mouth, removing about half the contents before he holds it back out to me. “How’s this?”
I make a face. “It’s got your spit all over it now.”
“So? You’ve already had my spit in your mouth. What’s the big deal?”
“Lance!” I look around to see if anyone has overheard, but no one’s paying attention to us.
“It’s true. But fine, I’ll try again.” He flips the spoon over and keeps his eyes on mine while he licks off the contents. When he’s done, he flips it back over, licking the other side clean. He’s incredibly thorough. I have lots of thoughts about how talented he must be with that tongue. And now that he’s not my client, I allow my imagination to run.
Holding the spoon up, he asks, “Is this okay? Or do you need me to get a clean spoon that hasn’t been in my mouth at all?”
I roll my eyes. “It’s fine.”
This time he dips the spoon in, carefully gathering a small amount of ice cream, marshmallow fluff, and a single gummy bear coated in strawberry sauce. He holds out the spoon. “How’s this, precious? Can you handle it?”
I give him a look, but open my mouth. His lips part right along with mine, his tongue peeking out as he watches the spoon disappear between mine.
This feels very much like foreplay.
It also tastes like a sugar bomb has gone off in my mouth. It’s so sweet it’s almost pucker worthy. Lance withdraws the spoon slowly, his eyes on my mouth the entire time, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. When he notices the spoon is by no means clean, he offers it to me again.
I still have a gummy bear in here, so I shake my head.
“You don’t like it?”
I chew a few times before I swallow. He wasn’t kidding about them being hard. They’re practically frozen. I put my hand in front of my mouth. “It’s a little sweet.”
He sticks the spoon back in his mouth and licks it clean. “See? I don’t have a problem with your spit.”
I can feel the heat in my cheeks, and I duck my head. Lance leans in close, forcing me to look up at him. “I want to kiss you again.”
I survey the crowded café.
He must see my panic, because he tugs my ponytail and sits back in his chair. “But I can wait if I have to.”
We eat our desserts in silence for a while. I’m too nervous to enjoy this the way I’d like to. I can feel Lance staring at me.
“Where’d you go to high school?” he asks.
“In Galesburg.”
“Right, because you moved.”
“Mm-hmm. My sister went to Wells for a year, though.”
“Really? Do you look alike?”
“Not much. She has brown hair and brown eyes, and she’s tall and thin.”
“Huh.” He takes a few more bites of his sundae. “Wait. What school did you go to before you moved, then?”
I knew this was going to happen eventually.
“I went to Pulaski.”
“I went there for, like, a month right at the end of the school year when I first moved here.” He sets his spoon down and leans forward. “Shit. I knew I knew you. I used to pull your ponytail in the hall. You were the only other ginger in the school. I noticed you right away. Do you remember that?”
I look down at my carrot cake, which sits mostly uneaten on my plate.
“Poppy?”
“I remember.”
“Was I mean to you? I wasn’t trying to be mean.”
“You weren’t mean.”
“Okay. Good.” His knee is going again. Rubbing against mine. “If you remembered, why didn’t you say anything before now?”
“It didn’t seem important.” Because I didn’t think you remembered me at all.
“That we went to school together? You came to my house. Did you know you knew me then?”
Oh, God. This is happening now? My whole body feels numb and like it’s on fire at the same time. “Maybe we should go.”
“Poppy?” He puts his hand over mine to stop me from grabbing my purse.
“You didn’t even really notice I was there.”
“So you did know?”
“Of course I did. Everyone knows who you are,” I say quietly.
“No one here has recognized me.”
“You’re wearing a baseball cap. It’s not like we were friends or anything. We went to school together for a few weeks, and you were two grades higher than me. I was nobody.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“I think we should go.”
“Not until you tell me whatever it is that’s making you all sketchy.”
“Can we not do this right here, please?” I whisper.
I don’t actually think there’s an ideal location for this anywhere, ever, but a crowded café is definitely low on the list.
“Sure, okay.” Lance pushes away from the table and comes around to help me into my jacket.
My stomach is twisting. I feel stupid already. I’m going to come across as some pining, idiot girl who’s idolized him for years—which is and isn’t the case. I mean, for a long time I romanticized that kiss, and of course, like the hopeless romantic I am, I had those silly girl fantasies about meeting him again and picking up where we’d left off.
But it isn’t like I never dated or had boyfriends. I’ve done both. I’ve had several long-term boyfriends, nice ones who treated me well. But the fire just never seemed to burn bright or long enough to sustain the initial attraction, and eventually those relationships turned into friendships.
What if he thinks I’m a stalker? No matter how sweet he is with me, there’s plenty of evidence floating around out there to prove he’s a partier with lots of willing partners. That coupled with the strangely labeled contact on his phone is enough to remind me how sideways this whole thing could go.
Lance follows me out of the café, the mood having changed from light and flirty to heavy once again.
He grabs my hand when we’re on the sidewalk. “Can you tell me what’s going on? I really fucking hate being manipulated, and that’s exactly what this feels like.”