Page 110 of Fire and Icing

I laugh. “No. But I’ve got a thirty-two ounce tumbler.”

“I’d better go with my usual cup. I don’t want to be jittery at the finale.”

I grab a large mug out of the cabinet. “How about a happy middle ground?”

“Perfect.” Dustin takes the mug from my hand and reaches for the pot of coffee I brewed. He smells like shampoo and cologne and I want to burrow my head in his neck and snuggle with him all day. At the contest, I fell asleep on him. I kissed him! We never fully talked about what any of that means. Now is definitely not the time. Maybe on the drive home.

I step out of his way.

“I brought home muffins.” I look into his eyes and he looks outright mischievous. “Don’t say it …”

“Muffins?” he winks.

“The food. I brought muffins from the bakery. Would you like one? Of the baked goods?”

“I’d love one.”

I open the box and extend it in his direction. He takes one muffin, but eyes the rest.

“Take another,” I encourage him. “You’re eating for two.”

He cracks up. “Eating for two?”

“Two regular sized guys.”

I blush. He laughs. I want to step in and wrap my arms around him.

I can’t say what’s happening to me, or when the thaw began. But every time Dustin looks at me, I feel something shifting—it came slowly at first, like spring sneaking up on the arctic. The kind of warmth that doesn’t ask permission. The glow just rises on the horizon, lingering, bringing a season of prolonged daylight. The long night I’ve lived in feels like a faint memory. His constant smiles and laughter cracked through my defenses like the sun’s rays breaking glaciers—warm, steady, penetrating. He’s as inevitable as the seasons. And I’m as defenseless as the snow under his gaze.

“Ready to hit the road?” Dustin asks, completely oblivious to my mental tailspin.

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m ready.”

He taps my temple with his pointer finger. “So much going on up here at such an early hour of the day.”

“How do you know? My mind might be completely empty. I’m a zen monk for all you know.”

I keep my face stoic.

Dustin dangles his keys and jingles them. He starts to walk ahead of me out of the kitchen toward the back door. He looks over his shoulder and says, “There’s this look you get—pensive and focused. I can almost see the gears spinning and the smoke getting ready to exit your ears. That’s when I know, she’s overthinking something.”

He smiles nonchalantly as if he didn’t just read my tea leaves, and then he turns to walk out the door.

When we’re in the cab of his truck, backing out of the driveway, I say, “I don’t love that term.”

“What term?”

“Overthinking. Who’s to say it’s overthinking? It could just be that everyone else under-thinks. You don’t see me walking around tapping people’s temples saying, ‘Not much going on up there. Shouldn’t you be thinking a bit more about the serious things in your life?’”

Dustin busts into a full laugh. “Oh man. I never thought of it that way.”

His laughter continues. “Man, Firecracker. You’ve got a point.” He pauses, staring out the windshield. Then he glances over at me. “Just so you know, I’m not criticizing you. I’m simply observing. Maybe I’m just curious. I’m like the kid standing outside the window of my favorite candy shop, watching them drizzle all that caramel and chocolate all over everything while I’m dying to open the door, inhale the sweet aroma and take a bite or two … or seven … or as many as they’ll let me. I don’t do well standing outside. It’s not in my nature.”

“You don’t say,” I tease.

He smiles over at me and I smile back.

He thinks my mind is a candy shop? Hisfavoritecandy shop? And he wants in?

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