Page 156 of Dating Goals
I hold out my waffle cone with its towering scoop of maple walnut. "Want a taste?"
She eyes it suspiciously. "You want me to try yours?"
"Why not? Sharing is caring."
"But you don’t share. I remember St. Moritz too, Griffin.”
I shrug, feigning nonchalance while my pulse jackhammers, my thoughts racing to that night in the elevator. "I'm feeling generous today."
Anika takes a small lick. "Mmm. Very good." She offers her cone in return. "Your turn."
"No thanks." I twist away from her chocolate mountain. "I've had that flavor before."
Anika narrows her eyes. "Since when do you turn down chocolate?"
"I'm pacing myself."
"You're acting weird." She studies my face closely. "Are you up to something?"
"Me? Never."
"HA! Now I know something's up." She points her cone at me accusingly. "You're plotting something."
My heart hammers against my ribs. I try to keep my voice steady. "Can't a guy just enjoy some ice cream without an interrogation?"
"This better not be another spy adventure," she warns.
I laugh nervously. "No spy stuff, I promise."
Anika steps in front of me, walking backward so she can see my face. The move is so confident, so Anika. No fear of bumping into anything because she simply expects the world to move out of her way. Usually it does.
“You’re not a very good liar,” she says. “What aren’t you telling me?”
I dodge the question by pointing toward the water. "Hey, check out that sailboat!"
Anika rolls her eyes but turns to look anyway. A white sailboat cuts through the harbor, its sail billowing in the summer breeze. The distraction works momentarily as we continue our stroll, ice cream dripping faster than we can lick it away. A ferry packed with tourists heads toward Toronto Islands. Everything appears perfect except my anxiety level, which escalates with each lick Anika takes of her ice cream. Then I notice she's slowing down but the chocolate mountain barely diminished.
"This is too much." She holds up her still-massive cone despite her valiant efforts to conquer it. "I cannot finish."
"Amateur," I tease, working steadily through my maple walnut scoop. "You can't give up now."
"Nobody can finish this amount."
“I can. See?” I take a huge bite off the top of my cone to demonstrate. The brain freeze hits me immediately.
Anika skips ahead. “I'm going to throw it away."
"No!" I say too slowly, the brain freeze thwarting my efforts.
But before I can stop her, Anika pivots toward what she thinks is a trash can—but isn't. I stare in horror as she cheerfully stuffs her half-eaten ice cream cone through the swinging flap of a bright red Canada Post collection box, and it disappears with a softplop.
My heart stops.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" I screech, dropping my own cone and lunging toward the mailbox. Several passersby turn to stare.
She licks a chocolate smudge from her thumb, completely unfazed. "I threw it in the trash. Why are you yelling?"
"That's not—" I grab my head with both hands. "That's not a trash can!"
