“What are people saying?”
I check again. The numbers are already way up. “Really nice things.” I scroll and hardly know what to read aloud, because the sheer volume of comments is overwhelming. I read, “‘I’ve always wanted to do something like this. Good for them. Hope they rock it out.’ Lots like that. Someone wants to know the name of the store and when they’ll be opening. Another person says . . .” I squint and then giggle. “She says that the milk-shake dude is crazy hot, and she’s single, in case his wife ends up hating milk-shake life and runs off to Barbados with the ice-cream delivery boy.”
“Well, that would be a sad ending to an otherwise inspiring story.”
“How did you start doing all this? I mean, again, who are you?”
He laughs and pops on a pair of sunglasses. “This? This wasn’t a big deal. But it’s an interesting world, with interesting people. You just have to keep your eyes open.” Suddenly, he pulls the car into the far right lane and takes an exit. “Speaking of ice cream, I totally forgot. There’s a stand here that’s insane.”
“How do you know about all these places?”
“I like driving around, checking out little towns. Maine’s got some quirky places. Campus can get a little claustrophobic.”
I think about how much I love sequestering myself in my room. I may have to give that up.
Esben takes us to another window-service-only place, and we get in line. “Good. I was worried they’d already closed for the season.” His arm goes over my shoulder again. “It’s soft-serve ice cream, and they only have seven flavors or something, but it’s so good. Trust me.”
“I do trust you. And not just about the ice cream.”
“I’m glad to hear that. And get the blueberry.”
So, I do. And it’s freaking outstanding, with bits of fresh berries swirled through the creamy blue ice cream. We sit under an umbrella at a small table, with our giant cones, and I can’t resist checking his comments again. It’s daunting. Then I stumble on more than one that makes me sit bolt upright.
Esben frowns. “What is it? God, did some jackass say something stupid? I’ll block or ban or delete him. I don’t put up with that stuff. Thank God it doesn’t happen often.”
“Um, no, actually. But you know how sometimes people comment on one thing but they’re talking about another?”
“Yeah . . . I hate those. Like, I could put up a post of a chicken, and some dude will be all, ‘Chickens are fine, but I once had a ferret who liked wearing knit hats,’ and then forty-five people pipe in with their own ferret stories—”
“Esben.” I wish I had a pair of sunglasses to hide behind. “It seems that people are still wondering what happened with us.”
“Ahhh. Yes. That’s been going on all week.” He leans back. “Do you want to answer them?”
“Answer them? What do you mean?”
“You’re not on Twitter or Facebook or anything, right?” he asks.
I shake my head, and he thinks for a minute.
“I could introduce you.” His smile takes over.
“What do you mean?” It turns out that neither of us like eating the cone, so I take both and toss them. “How?”
“Come here.” He scoots back his chair and pats his lap. “Sit.”
I go to him and sit with my legs crossing his and my arm draped over his back. “Yes?”
“First,” he says slowly, “first, though, there should be this.”
For the second time today, he kisses me on the mouth. This one, though, lasts for way more than a few heartbeats. His mouth is cold, and he tastes like fresh blueberries, but the kiss is definitely hot. How anyone can be so sweet and tender, and also make me want to rip off his shirt right here at this ice-cream place, is beyond me. He’s ignited my virtually forgotten thirst for romance and lust so easily.
I come up for air before I really do start tearing off his clothes. “I’m pretty sure that your second thing won’t be as good.”
He kisses me again, just for a few moments. “Probably not.” He holds his phone in front of us, and I see our image reflected back. “What do you think?”
“We take a selfie?” I ask hesitantly. “And you post it?”
He nods and lifts his sunglasses. “Only if you want.”
I lose myself in the amber of his eyes and think. The idea of taking this step is a bit intimidating, but it also feels exciting. I look down at the ground and keep thinking. And then I catch sight of something that makes me smile. Esben has on one blue sock and one white sock. I don’t have to think anymore. “Yes, let’s post a picture.”
“You do know,” he warns, “that we’ll get some not-so-nice comments.”
“From girls especially. I know.” I don’t say anything; I simply turn, touch the side of my face to his, and look to the lens.
Esben posts our picture.
Allison, meet everyone. Everyone, meet Allison. #thiskissthiskiss #allison #180
I don’t care about the comments, the reactions. Not right now. All I care about is that I was able to let him—let us—put this out there.
It’s a damn milestone for me, and I will never forget this day. Or him.
CHAPTER 16
GRUDGE
A few weeks later, Esben, his sister, Kerry, and I are outside the bustling student union. It’s the week before Halloween, and the chilly breeze is making us all shiver under the bleak gray sky. While we all have on thick sweaters or jackets, it feels like this might be the last tolerable day before true bitter temps set in. Northern Maine is not known for its easy winters. Steffi has been texting me sunshine pics for days, which maybe should annoy me, but the plethora of sunglass and cocktail emojis she attaches makes me giggle. I have been trying to get her on the phone for days and keep missing her, but the wacky texts are holding me over okay.
Esben is busy on his phone, and I’m holding Kerry’s camera while she retrieves a small whiteboard and a bag of dry-erase markers from a bag. “Is this the first one you’ve done with him?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I’m trying hard not to look like a nervous, insecure wreck. I’m not sure if it’s going all that well.
Esben and Kerry are out here to ask students to share about their best friends, and I only somewhat reluctantly agreed to tag along. Part of me is dying to watch him in action again, and part of me is dying to cover my eyes and block this all out.
I want to run. I want to stay. I want to do both.
But I stay.
Kerry has as warm a smile as her brother. “You seem nervous. Don’t be.” She stands and trades the whiteboard for the camera in my hand. “I’m glad you came. I haven’t seen you since that day.” She doesn’t have to spell it out any more than that. We both know which day she’s talking about. “And you kind of left quickly.”