Page 68 of Sounds Like Love

“I invited you, it’s my bill!”

“Yes, but I invited you first,” he pointed out. “It’d be rude to make you pay.”

“Let him pay, bird. He’s trying to impress you.”

I didn’t quite believe that.He’s being nice.

“No, nice is holding the door for you. Which hediddo. Impressing you is holding the door open and paying.”

“So, cup or cone?” Van asked, probably taking my silence for indecision rather than my secretly communicating with a pop star trying to talk my disastrous ass through an impromptu … what was this? Adate? No, just ice cream. That was all.

“Chocolate cone with two scoops of pistachio,” I replied, and so he repeated the order to the high schooler at the register, and then ordered himself the fabled bacon ice cream, though it surprised me that he took it in a cup. “Not a sprinkle cone?”

“Next time,” he said, and we left the shop. Without asking each other, we both turned toward the pier, because this path was well-worn. We’d walked it as friends in high school and sweethearts during college breaks.

The sun was bright today, not a cloud in the sky. Days like this made it feel impossible that there was a storm on the horizon.

“Okay, moment of truth,” Van said, taking a scoop of ice cream—they’d even sprinkled some actual crumbles of bacon on the top and drizzled it all with a healthy dose of maple syrup—and having a bite. His face lit up. “Oh man, excellent. Are you sure you don’t want to try?”

“I don’t have another spoon—”

“You can just use mine,” he supplied, offering it up.

I opened my mouth, and he fed me a bite. It was sweet and vanilla-y at first, then salty and maple covered and …

“Yeah?” he asked, excited.

“It’s meaty,” I said, not quite sure if I enjoyed it.

He laughed. “What a way with words.”

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” I joked. We gently strolled down the pier. This was strangely nice. A little more comfortable than I thought it’d be. I had forgotten just how tall Van was, especially after being around Sebastian. Tall and clean-cut and handsome. The kind of guy you wanted to take home just to prove to your parents that you did make good decisions sometimes. Even when you really didn’t.

I used to imagine something like this—well, notthis, but meeting him again when I was older and wiser and beautiful—so many times, I’d lost count.

And now Iwashere with him, and I wondered if I was any of those things.

“You are all those things, bird. Older, wiser, and beautiful.”Then, quieter, Sasha said,“I wish you could see yourself the way the rest of us do. The way I do.”There was something rough around the edges of those final words. Something a little too tightly wound.

Surprised, I glanced around, though I don’t know why I thought he’d be close by. When I left the Rev, he’d gone the other way. Said he wanted to find some Italian ice place he’d read about online. He wasn’t here. Not really.

“Is everything all right?” Van asked, glancing over at me.

“Sorry, yes,” I replied, pulling myself out of my thoughts. “It’s just—I’m not used to this.”

“It’s been a while since we’ve talked,” he agreed.

“Not just that. I’ve been working so much that I just haven’t had time for myself. To do anything fun—like go to concerts, or get ice cream, take a vacation … anything, really.”

He gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Well, that makes two of us. This is my first vacation in years—and it’s to help my parents move.”

“Seriously? No world travel? No hiking the Appalachian Mountains? Skiing in Switzerland?”

“I work too much,” he replied with a shrug. “It’s always some sort of crunch time for a video game.”

That surprised me, somehow. And saddened me.

“How about you?” he added, taking another bite of his ice cream. He was almost done with his, and I had barely touched mine.

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