Honestly, I’m a little inclined to believe her on the hopeless thing. London has been holding out on me, clearly.
“Never in my life.”
“I thought I heard your voice.” A young woman, no older than thirty, comes bustling out from behind a beaded curtain, and beams at Abbi. An apron is tied around her waist, and she wipes her hands on it, her brown eyes the same shade as her hair flitting between the two of us. “Oh dear,” she mutters, her eyes settling on Abbi. “He’s a newbie, isn’t he?”
Abbi nods. “Yep.”
“I thought so. He looks as lost as a penguin in the desert, that one. What shall we give him, Abbi?”
“I was thinking the chocolate sundae. The double one. With extra brownies.” She pauses, then nods. “Yep. That one.”
The woman – who I’m guessing is Holly – grins. “I agree. It’s always a good startin’ place. And you’ll have the Rainbow Splash?”
“You bet.” Abbi turns to me, smiling.
“I’d love the chocolate sundae, thanks.” I try for annoyed, but completely fail.
“See? I knew you would.” She dances across the parlor and sits on one of the high stools at a small round table, spinning to face me. “Everyone loves chocolate sundaes.”
I follow her over and sit opposite her. “So why didn’t you get the chocolate one?”
Holly brings over two glasses full of ice cream and sets them in front of us. One is layered with vanilla and chocolate ice cream, chocolate brownies, chocolate sauce and topped with a bit of cream and colorful sprinkles. The other is a mix of what looks like every color ice cream Holly has in the freezers, layered with strawberry and toffee sauce and topped with biscuit pieces, chocolate chips, and a whole pot of sprinkles.
“That was quick,” I say.
“I’ve been doing this since I was fifteen,” Holly replies. “No one in this city can whip up an ice cream faster than I can.”
“Or better,” Abbi interjects, licking her spoon.
Holly winks. “Enjoy.” She turns, strolling back away to the back of the shop.
“And to answer your question…” Abbi’s feet kick mine under the table. “If I ordered the chocolate sundae, I wouldn’t get to do this.”
She leans forward and sticks her spoon in my dish, taking a mound of ice cream and brownie. She closes her mouth around my ice cream before I can say anything, crinkles forming around her eyes.
“Just as well you didn’t, then,” I reply, twirling my spoon between my fingers. “Because that’s a great idea.” I dip my spoon into her ice cream but come away with a pile of sprinkles and barely a slither of ice cream.
Abbi laughs loudly, clapping her hand over her mouth to stifle it. I run my tongue across my teeth, staring hopelessly at my spoon, and try not to smile at the sound of her laughter. For all the sadness she has locked away in her body, she has the lightest, happiest laugh I’ve ever heard, and it’s almost impossible to not want to laugh along with her.
I look at her, and her eyes are closed as her giggles peter out. She opens her eyes, showing me their brilliantly blue hue. I stab my spoon childishly into my ice cream, take a big scoop, and shove it into my mouth.
And I completely and utterly underestimated how f**king cold this ice cream is.
My eyes widen as I swallow the lump of frozen cream, and Abbi purses her lips, her shoulders shaking yet again with laughter.
“You seem to have a habit of making a bit of a twat of yourself,” she observes.
I wipe some cream from the corner of my mouth. “I think you bring it out in me.”
“Is that a good thing?”
I tilt my head to the side and watch her lick her spoon clean. “As long as you don’t do it when we dance.”
She smiles. “I think I can manage that.”
“By the way…” I point my spoon at her. “…You have ice cream all around your mouth.”
She wipes at her lips with her fingers and looks at them, then at me. “No I don’t.” She narrows her eyes.
I grin and stick my spoon in her ice cream again. This time I get a spoonful of ice cream, and I poke my tongue out at Abbi. She half-smirks, staring at me. My eyes flit between her and the spoon, and I slowly move the spoon in her direction. She opens her mouth and closes her lips around the spoon, sweeping the ice cream from it.
“The stealing was utterly pointless,” I say, observing the smeared spoon.
“Oh. Hang on.” She reaches forward and snatches my spoon. She beams at me, and her tongue flicks out. It licks across my spoon, removing every last trace of ice cream, and I can’t focus on anything but that pink tongue sliding back behind even pinker lips. She puts the spoon back into my hand. “Missed a bit.”
My fingers close around the spoon. “Uh huh.”
Chapter Eleven – Abbi
I finger the material of the red knee-length dress, holding onto the long lace sleeve. My eyes comb over the boat neckline and the lace body, down to the black belt at the waist and the plain skater style skirt. I want this dress – I want it badly. But the sleeves get me.
For so long I haven’t worn anything other than long, solid sleeves that hide the scars that cover the underside of my arms. The white lines stay hidden, my secret from the world. And the problem with the sleeves on this dress is it has holes. Tiny holes, not big enough to see the blemishes marring my pale skin, but they’re still holes.
“Try it on,” Mom urges from behind me. “It’s a lovely dress, Abbi. Very you. Very new you. That color will look lovely with your hair.”
“I don’t know,” I reply, still staring at the sleeve in my hand. “I don’t really have anywhere to wear it. There’s not much point in buying something that will just sit in my closet forever.”
Mom rifles through the racks behind me. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my too many years of life, it’s that a woman always needs a secret weapon. Sometimes it’s a little black dress, but there’s nothing like a good red number to knock a man off their feet and keep them on their ass.”
“Why would I want to keep any man on his ass?”
“So he can see your shoes, darling.”
“No man will ever care about my shoes, Mom.”
“He doesn’t need to care about your shoes. It’ll just make his life easier if he can see what’s going to be walking all over him for the entirety of your relationship.”