Page 48 of Icing Hearts

Clara

Vince is six minutes late. While I don’t really consider that late, the chief does. I knew he’d be home tonight, so I asked for permission to go out with Vince, as opposed to doing what I want like usual. Going through the motions is tiresome. When the chief isn’t around—which he often isn’t—I mostly do what I want.

The chief didn’t ask to meet Vince this time but made it clear that it’s expected in the future. The chief likes the Culbertsons. Vince’s aunt is on the force, and my father has known her for years. So that’s a check in the pro column for him which makes Vince a safe prospect for me.

Tonight seemed like a good night for my lucky pink jeans. I’ve heard things about boys and the movies and skirts. You can never be too cautious. The chief doesn’t give me any money, but I sneak a bag of baby carrots and hummus for the movie.

Vince pulls up in his silver Jeep. It’s one of those big ones that can seat a bunch of people, not the two-door kind. I don’t know what his parents do for work, but I know they all drive nice, new cars and live in the same neighborhood as Tory.

I bid the chief a farewell, not breaking eye contact as he enacts an eleven o’clock curfew and says to tell Vince no more weeknight dates

The heat in the car is low, but it’s not too chilly. Vince is beaming, and I can tell he made an effort. The strong scent of cologne hits my nose as soon as I slide in, and he’s done something different with his tawny hair.

“Did you decide on a movie?” he asks after our greeting of a “hi” and a hug.

“Yup. The rom-com. No horror for me.” There was still a horror movie playing at the theater—a Halloween leftover. But I don’t like horror, and I know boys use it as an excuse to be heroic when girls get scared. If the girl in question is the type of girl to get scared—like me. But I’m not at the point where Vince is the boy I want comforting me. In fact, I doubt he ever will be.

“Sounds good. Oh, before I forget, this is for you.” Vince reaches in the back seat and reveals a sunflower. “You just seem like a sunflower kinda girl.”

“Thank you, that’s so kind.” I hug him around the neck, careful not to crush the yellow bloom. “I love sunflowers.” It’s not a complete lie. Sunflowers are just dandy in my book. Just not my favorite.

We chat about today’s practice and hockey for a few minutes and then the conversation lulls. But it’s a comfortable quiet and, while I don’t feel pressure to fill the space, the movie theater is in the next town over. I decide now is as good a time as any to head off the thing with the chief.

“Hey, whenever you meet the chief, don’t mention me tutoring or managing. If the chief finds out I’m making some money, he’s gonna take away my allowance,” I lie. I feel like it’s believable and something that a normal parent might do.

“You call your dad ‘the chief?’” Vince asks. One of his hands is on the wheel and the other rests on the shift. Bear paws seems a more apt description, though, when it comes to his hands. They’re almost too big.

I give him a rehearsed laugh. “Yeah, that’s pretty much all I call him, actually.”

Vince laughs too, clearly thinking it’s some sort of tongue-in-cheek joke. “That’s kinda weird, Clare Bear. But don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

And I believe him. For all his unseriousness, Vince just feels like the type of person who can be trusted with little secrets. Certainly, I wouldn’t divulge anything of substance, but something like this, I don’t worry about.

At the theater ticket counter, I slowly pull out my wallet, not knowing if he’s expecting me to pay my way. If he does, then I’m certainly not going on another date with him. But that doesn’t mean I want to make the rest of this one awkward. I went on a couple dates with a guy this summer who made me pay. It just wasn’t worth it.

Vince notices and says, “Do you think I’m gonna make you pay?”

“I don’t know.”

“I would never ask a girl to pay for a date. What kind of guy do you think I am?”

“I guess I’m trying to find out.” I smile awkwardly.

He shakes his head and wraps a heavy arm around my shoulders. I hide the way it makes me flinch and grab the tickets from the clerk. Vince steers us toward the concession stand.

“What’s your snack approach? You a salty or sweet kinda girl?”

“Well, I don’t eat dairy and avoid artificial dyes so there aren’t a lot of options I’d be able to have here.”

His mouth drops like I’ve just committed sacrilege. In the teenage world, I kind of have. But I’m not going to apologize for what I choose to eat, and I won’t judge anyone for what they choose to put in their own body either.

“I snuck a snack in my purse, though,” I whisper to him, concealing my crime from the theater staff who probably couldn’t care less .

I drum my fingers on the glass snack case as Vince orders a large popcorn and a blue Slurpee.

“But sharing popcorn is half the fun of a movie date,” he tells me.

“Don’t worry, I’ll have a couple handfuls before the night is through.”

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