“Yeah…”
He licks at his ice cream again while I try and calm my raging ovaries. “I wanted to tell you that I’ll do the best I can with the next two dates. I can’t promise anything because I’m honestly not looking for a relationship, but I will at least be nice.”
“So, you’ll do the exact opposite of what happened last night?”
“Yes. That’s what I’m trying to say.”
“Good.” I should be smiling readily, but instead, I find myself forcing it. Now my insides hurt for a totally different reason. It feels a little like they just got stabbed with something pokey and evil. “And when you’re not looking for someone, that’s when you usually find them. Have you ever heard that?”
Cliff groans. I feel like groaning too. For so many different reasons. I don’t usually spout off corny nonsense, and usually, I want my clients to be successful. I want Cliff to have good dates. I seriously do. It’s my job, right? It will also save my job. I seriously do care about that, and I should be happy all around. So why do I feel like I’m about to go into cardiac arrest?
“Yes. Unfortunately,” he responds. “But not in this case. I’ll try and make it clear that I’m very satisfied with the job you’ve done, and I’ll make sure my mom has only good things to say. Would that help?”
I have to glance down. Suddenly, my face is on fire. I concentrate hard on my ice cream, which is not nearly cold enough to cool down the fever raging through me. Maybe I am actually coming down with something. I’ve never felt this strange. Like I’m going to melt. And I’ve sat across from hot guys before. This is nothing overly new. Except my internal organs have never hurt like they’ve jumbled into a combination of fire, stabby knives, and broken glass.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m sorry I said anything. It was really unprofessional. Plus, it’s kind of a dick move by my boss. It isn’t your fault, and you shouldn’t have to deal with it. If you’re satisfied with the service, you and your mom can leave a good review if you want. If not, that’s fine too. You can be honest. I think that’s the best policy.”
“Is it, though? Because this is my mom’s version of brutal honesty.”
“Maybe, in some cases, it’s not.”
“This place is really good,” Cliff says, changing the subject. “It got five stars. I can see why. I read they make all their own ice cream and cones.”
“Seriously?” I have a new respect for the place because he’s right. This is really good. Maybe I can become a new regular.
You know, after I find a new job and have some extra money. Also, it’s a good way to eat your feelings. I’d like to help them get their window fixed. Then again, maybe insurance is going to take care of it.
“Yeah. They really do.”
We settle into what I would call an uncomfortable, comfortable silence. It’s not really one or the other as it’s kind of both all at once.
Pretty soon, Cliff stands. I stand too, jamming the rest of my cone into my mouth and turning away so he can’t see me try and chew it awkwardly and weirdly. Ugly chewing—I guess that’s what I’m doing.
I nearly forget about the cake I paid for until Cliff walks over to the counter. I follow him after I grab my tote and jacket. I’m just in time to hear him say something, in low tones, about the window I was just thinking about. He then passes over a few large denomination bills. I’m far enough back that I know he didn’t mean for me to see or hear him do it. The sweet little lady’s smile would have told me something was off, though, because she’s seriously beaming when Cliff steps aside, and I walk the slowest walk I can possibly manage up to the counter.
On the way out, Cliff holds the door for me. It’s a good thing, because I’m kind of dazzled by what I just saw him do, and my arms are full of the biggest ice cream cake I’ve seen in a while. It looks absolutely amazing. I guess this place just proves you can’t judge anything by what you see. The whole book and cover deal.
“I’ll send over that profile later tonight,” I promise outside. I can’t look at Cliff. I don’t know what is going on with my face or my emotions or my anything, and I’m afraid it will show.
“Sure. Thanks.”
I have to look up. Because if I don’t, I think that would be even weirder. Cliff gives me a salute with his box of ice cream sandwiches.
“Have a good night then. Get gas. Please. For the love of—uh—ice cream.”
“Will do.” He nods at me.
I nod back. I have the insane urge to blurt out something, but I have no idea what it’s going to be, so I clamp down hard on my bottom lip and wait for Cliff to walk away. I’m ashamed to admit that I steal a peek at his ass, which in those faded jeans is hella-amazing. I curse myself after and duck into my car, tucking the ice cream cake on the floor of the passenger side.
I’ve never had a moment where I’ve gotten into the car and needed a bit of time to compose myself, so I can actually concentrate on driving and not on the crazy stampede of everything else that is churning up an epic storm inside of me.
I guess there really is a
