[Perspective: Aryan Spencer]
The drive back from the photographer's studio was quiet, it was the silence of a library, or a bedroom at dawn… filled with things that didn't need to be said because they were already felt.
I drove slowly. My hands were at the ten and two positions, mostly because I was trying to be a responsible citizen, but also because I didn't want the drive to end.
The streetlights of Westview flickered past us rhythmically, casting intermittent bars of amber light across Wanda's profile. She was looking out the window, watching the suburban world roll by, a soft smile playing on her lips.
I tapped the steering wheel, humming along to the low volume of the radio.
Then, I saw on the right side of the road, a neon sign buzzed with an electric hum that sounded like a temptation.
Scoops & Sweets.
It was a retro style ice cream parlor with a giant plastic cone on the roof that looked like it had survived the 80s by sheer force of will.
I checked the rearview mirror.
No tailgaters.
I flicked the turn signal.
The car slowed, turning off the main road and gliding into the small parking lot of the shop.
Wanda turned her head, blinking as the neon light washed over the dashboard.
"Aryan?" she asked, her voice soft. "What happened? Is the car okay?"
"The car is fine," I said, putting it into park but keeping the engine running. "The car is a marvel of engineering. The driver, however, has identified a critical deficiency in our evening."
She raised an eyebrow. "A deficiency?"
"We celebrated," I said, unbuckling my seatbelt. "We took photos. We looked magnificent. But we forgot the most important part of any celebration."
I pointed at the neon sign.
"Dessert," I declared.
Wanda looked at the sign, then back at me. "Ice cream?"
"Give me a moment," I said, winking at her. "Stay here. Guard the vehicle. If anyone asks, you're a secret agent and I'm your handler buying intel."
She laughed, shaking her head. "Go, Handler. Get the intel."
I stepped out of the car. The night air was cool, a stark contrast to the climate controlled interior of the vehicle. I walked toward the shop, conscious of her eyes on my back.
I glanced at the side mirror of the shop window as I approached the door. I could see her reflection in the car's windshield. She was watching me, her chin resting on her hand, a smile softening her features.
She's watching me like I'm the best show on television, I thought, pushing the glass door open. And frankly, I'm going to give her a season finale worth watching.
The shop smelled of waffle cones and artificial vanilla. The teenager behind the counter looked up from his phone, clearly not expecting a man in a charcoal suit to walk in at 9 PM.
"Help you?" he asked, cracking his gum.
"Chocolate," I said immediately. "The richest chocolate you have. One scoop. No, make it two. In a cup."
"Just one?" the kid asked, reaching for a cup.
"Just one," I confirmed.
I paid with twenty again, reality warped cash, because why carry cash? And told him to keep the change. I grabbed a single plastic spoon.
I walked back to the car, holding the cup like a trophy.
I opened the driver's door and slid back in. The warmth of the car enveloped me instantly.
"Mission accomplished," I announced, handing her the small paper cup.
Wanda took it. She looked at the dark mound of chocolate fudge ice cream. Then she looked at my empty hands.
"Only one?" she asked, peeling the lid off.
"Yeah," I sighed, putting my seatbelt back on. "I realized halfway to the counter... I'm full. That lunch? I think I reached my limit. I just bought it for you."
I looked at the invisible camera mounted on the dashboard. "I am lying. I could eat three pizzas right now. But you see, if I buy two ice creams, we eat separately. We sit in our own seats, isolated by the center console, eating our own sugar. But one ice cream? One ice cream forces collaboration. It forces proximity."
Wanda looked at me. She knew. She absolutely knew I was full of it.
But she smiled.
"You are full," she repeated, dipping the pink plastic spoon into the chocolate.
"Bursting," I lied, shifting the car into drive. "I couldn't eat another bite."
She took a small bite. She closed her eyes for a second, savoring the cold sweetness.
"It is... very tasty," she said, opening her eyes and looking at me sideways.
"Is it?" I asked, keeping my eyes fixed on the road as I pulled out of the lot. "Rich?"
"Very rich," she said. "You are missing out, Aryan."
"I'll survive," I said bravely. "I live to serve."
I focused on the road. Or, I pretended to. In my peripheral vision, I was watching her every move.
She took another bite. Then she swirled the spoon in the cup, gathering a generous amount of chocolate.
She turned in her seat, angling her body toward me.
"Aryan," she said softly.
"Yeah?" I glanced over.
She was holding the spoon out. It was hovering inches from my face.
"You should try it," she said. "Just a taste. Because... I cannot finish this alone. It is too much for one person."
I fought back a grin that threatened to split my face in two.
"Well," I said, my voice grave. "I suppose I can help. I hate food waste. It's a global issue."
She laughed, moving the spoon closer. "Open."
I opened my mouth.
She fed me. The ice cream was sweet and tasted like victory.
I swallowed.
"Okay," I admitted. "That is good. Suddenly, my stomach has found some room. It's a miracle."
"A medical marvel," she teased.
She pulled the spoon back.
She dipped it back into the cup, took a bite for herself and swallowed.
Then she gathered another spoonful and held it out to me again.
"Another?" she offered.
"Please," I said.
I took the bite.
We drove through the quiet streets of Westview, passing the spoon back and forth.
One for her.
One for me.
One for her.
One for me.
It was the kind of casual sharing that screams 'we are a couple'.
"Are you guys seeing this?" I looked at the readers as I turned onto our street. "This is romance. It's sharing saliva via a plastic spoon while listening to soft rock. Not that you'd understand the intimate brilliance of a shared spoon, anyway… you're clearly single and far too busy following my life to actually bother starting one of your own."
I pulled into the driveway. The ice cream was half gone.
I killed the engine.
I got out and walked around to her side. I opened the door.
She stepped out, still holding the cup in one hand and the spoon in the other.
"Allow me," I said, reaching for her free hand.
I laced my fingers through hers. We walked up the driveway, past the sleeping hydrangeas (Sir Drinks a Lot looked content), to the front porch
PS: I think this is the last chapter for this week, since the Power Stone count will reset in a few hours. Let's see if you can squeeze in one more chapter before the timer runs out, haha.