Page 29 of The Confidentiality Clause
“You’re such a jerk,” Ariel mutters as we head for the door.
“I didn’t mean to attack the kid.”
“Mhmm.”
“I didn’t!”
We step out into the balmy evening air. Stars pepper the sky, and the scent of pine is heavy even here on this strip of shops. I haven’t breathed this much fresh air…maybe ever.
“Try not to make the girl running the ice cream shop cry, okay?” A bell jingles as Ariel opens the door to the pastel shop next door. “You may not have plans of coming back, but I do. I don’t want these people to think I’m awful by association.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have brought me.”
“It was probably a mistake.” She shoots me a playful smile. “But shaking up your routine is worth the risk of ruining my reputation.”
“And what reputation is that? A sassy, stubborn woman with more insults than compliments?”
She shoves my chest. I laugh when she can’t even move me.
“I’m only that way with you. Remember what I said in the car about your bringing out the worst in me?”
“I much prefer you this way than any other, so I’m honored that I bring out this side of you.”
“You can spin anything to be in your favor, can’t you?”
I shrug. “It’s a part of the job.”
“Well, this is life, not work.”
She spins around to look at the ice cream flavors. We’re the only ones in here, and the young girl behind the counter is watching us with a smile.
“Can I try the lemon cookie crunch?” Ariel asks.
The worker takes a tiny wooden spoon and scoops a sample before handing it to Ariel.
“I just have to say, you two are such a cute couple.”
My eyes widen. Ariel chokes on the bite of ice cream while violently shaking her head.
“We’re not a couple,” I correct the girl.
“Definitely not,” Ariel wheezes. “No–just no–ew.”
I frown. I may not be dating a lot as of late, but I can’t be so terrible as to warrant thatew.
“Oh, uh, sorry about that,” the worker says with an embarrassed smile.
“It’s no problem. I’ll take a scoop of the lemon in a waffle bowl,” Ariel says after regaining her composure.
“And I’ll take a scoop of the cookies and cream,” I add.
Ariel pays for her ice cream, and I pay for mine. I would have offered to get hers, but that would likely undermine the message she was so adamant about sending the girl. We sit down at a small metal table with our ice cream.
“So, dating me would be gross?” I ask, because I’m a glutton for punishment.
Ariel raises a brow. “You don’t feel the same?”
“I’m not saying I want to date you.” I quickly brush that idea aside. “But I wouldn’t say you’re repulsive, either.”
