Sara tapped her shimmery pink nails on the counter and studied them as she did. "It was just a little surprising to see you come in here with this guy who was, like, wow."
I had to turn around again to hide the smile that was forming. "Yeah, he is pretty nice to look at, huh?"
"Are you kidding?" Sara burst out. "He is out-of this-world hot!"
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I couldn't keep from laughing this time. "Yeah, he is, isn't he?" Which world was he from, I wondered?
The bell dinged as the door admitted two men, who ordered from Sara as she smiled encouragingly at them. Shaking my head, I told her, "I'll get one of them."
I took the opportunity to move to the other end of the counter and make the sundae. I hadn't lied when I told Luke I liked working here. Really, scooping ice cream was quite satisfying. Every flavor was a different color, and the feeling of the scoop cutting through the perfectly cold ice cream was as appetizing as actually eating the ice cream. I'd tried to explain this to Sara before, but she didn't get it. She just scooped ice cream into bowls and cones. I made ice-cold masterpieces.
"Whoa, that looks so good," said Customer Number One as he watched Customer Number Two take a sundae out of my hands. Of course it does, I thought. Each scoop is perfectly round and I made the syrup and whipped cream perfectly symmetrical. The brownie is square and covered just so by ice cream. The nuts are sprinkled with enough creativity to look random and yet not patchy. It should be on the cover of Ice Cream Today. Most gorgeous sundae ever. Created by yours truly.
Customer Number One accepted a substandard, Sara-made sundae with a slightly disappointed look. His was not symmetrical and would never find its picture on the front of a magazine. Sara had even slimed some chocolate ice cream from the first scoop onto the second scoop, which was vanilla. Quite unsightly.
Customer Number Two smiled warmly at me and stuffed
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the tip jar in front of my register full of ones. He flashed another smile, and his flirtations rolled gently off my back like water off a duck.
"Better hurry," I said. "The brownie will melt your ice cream."
"Your brownie's warm?" Customer Number One asked with dismay. They made their way out of the shop, with Number Two happily extolling the pleasures of his sundae. I returned to my application and Sara returned to my side.
"So, where did you meet?"
But I was staring at my tip jar. Stuffed in with all the ones and change that I'd acquired throughout the day was a leafy green edge that was out of place. I took the jar and tipped it out on the counter.
Sara jumped back as a few pennies bounced in her direction. "What are you doing? Are you mental?"
Sure enough, among the crumpled bills, half-crushed by a quarter, was a four-leaf clover. I picked it up and Sara stared at it, too.
"Whoa, aren't those really rare?"
I frowned. "I thought they were."
The bell dinged again, and both of us looked up. Sara made a soft noise and I grinned, because it was Luke.
He smiled back at me. "Hello, lovely." The smile on his face dimmed when he saw what I was holding. "Another one?"
My expression mirrored his. "It was in my tip jar."
Dropping his eyes to the pile of money on the counter, Luke shook his head. "I don't think you need that kind of luck."
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"Every girl needs luck," Sara offered. "I'll take it if you don't want it." I looked at Luke, and he shrugged, so I gave it to her.
As I scraped the coins back into the tip jar, Luke said, "Rumor has it you're getting off soon. Can I drive you home?"
"Fifteen minutes. Will you wait?"
Sara sighed. "No one else is going to come in, Deirdre. It's about to rain. Just go. I'll close everything up at five thirty."
I was taken aback by her surprising display of selflessness. "Uh--thanks! Are you sure?"
Sara smiled at me, and then at Luke. "Yeah. Get lost. And take your tips."
"Half are yours," I lied politely.
Sara looked at the tip cup in front of her, filled with nickels and dimes. "Yeah, right."
So I stuffed the bills into my pocket and left the coins-- customers tipped better if they saw that there was already money in there--and followed Luke into the oppressive afternoon. From the tightly knit clouds overhead, it was obvious that rain was coming, but until it did, the air would only get more smothering. I was glad for the ride home; when I'd walked here this morning, the day had been bright and clear.
We stood for a moment, staring up at that churning sky, and then my nose caught the now familiar herbal scent. I thought Luke must smell it too, because he was frozen beside me, looking at the edge of the parking lot.
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"Come on, let's go." Tugging my hand, he led me to the car. Inside, he turned on the air-conditioning, but the scent of thyme blasted through the vents--stronger than it should have been from just one freaky guy. I didn't know what was going on, but the smell reminded me of the feeling the freckled guy had given me, circling around me.
"Let's go," I said urgently.
Luke didn't need any more encouragement. He reversed so fast that the tires scrubbed pavement when he stopped and shoved the car into first gear. With a wail from the engine, we tore out of the parking lot, clipping down the road at well above the speed limit. A mile away, the thyme began to fade. After three miles--past the turn for my house--it was nearly gone. Ten miles from Dave's, there was nothing left in the car but the faint clean odor that was Luke's.
I wanted to say something about it, but it would
