Page 155 of Dating Goals
The teenage girl behind the counter smiles at our banter. "First time here?"
"For her," I say. "I'm a regular."
"He brings all his women here," Anika stage-whispers to the girl.
"Only the special ones who I save from supervillains," I counter.
The girl's eyes volley back and forth between us almost comically.
"I need to use the restroom before we order," Anika announces suddenly. "Where is it?"
The girl points toward the back. "Through that hallway on the left."
Before Anika turns to go, I can't help myself. "Hey, the acoustics are great in there if you want to belt out some Blondie!"
She pats my cheek. "You tell this joke every time I use a public restroom."
"Because it's hilarious."
"It's really not." She kisses me quickly. "But you're cute when you think you're funny."
As she walks away, I call after her. "What flavor would you like? Or are you neutral since you're Swiss?"
Anika spins around, walking backward. "Griffin! I am Swiss. Nothing but chocolate will do."
The counter girl stares at me. "Is she really going to sing in our bathroom?"
"Probably not," I laugh. "It's an inside joke."
As Anika disappears around the corner, I can't wipe the stupid grin off my face, still marveling at how lucky I am.
I order two waffle cones and wait for Anika to return, anticipating her reaction. Scoops & Dreams is famous for their enormous portions. Even the smallest scoop they offer is bigger than my face and I’m here for it.
When Anika emerges and sees the giant waffle cone, she drops her jaw and laughs.
"This is ridiculous," Anika says, accepting her chocolate monstrosity with both hands. "Nobody needs this much ice cream. We should have split one."
"Speak for yourself." I pull my waffle cone protectively closer to my chest. “Remember what I told you in St. Moritz? I don't share."
We step outside into the warm afternoon. The summer sun beats down on Toronto's waterfront, perfect ice cream weather. Children squeal on nearby swings, tourists snap photos of the harbor, and a street performer plays saxophone that floats on the breeze.
"You should see your face right now," I chuckle, watching Anika concentrate on keeping her chocolate tower from toppling. "You're looking at that cone like it's as big as the Matterhorn.
“Very close,” she says, laughing, and my heart swells at the sound of it.
A drip of ice cream slides down the side of Anika’s cone, and she catches it with her tongue. My brain short-circuits momentarily at the sight.
"Verdict?" I ask, watching her expression carefully.
She considers the ice cream with the seriousness of a wine sommelier. "Mmm. Good. Creamy."
"But?"
"But gelato in Florence still wins." She shrugs apologetically.
"Impossible standards," I groan.
We stroll along Queen Quay, navigating the afternoon crowd. Anika loops her arm through mine, careful not to bump our ice creams together. After months in Toronto, she still marvels at the city's vastness compared to Grächen.
