Page 5

5

MARIAH

" A re you sure you want to go camping with us, Miss Rye?" Frankie asks as I yank the gate open.

Fortunately, the generator's still humming as we head inside to start opening. "Of course I want to go. Don't you want to give your dad another shot at just a trip with the two of you?"

"I don't mind." She shrugs. "We don't really like the same stuff anymore. He's always busy with work, and I mean, I don't want to be stuck in the woods with just my dad. He'll start telling me the same old stories from his job."

"You don't like what he does for a living?"

"It's not that," she says with thoughtful consideration trickling across her face. "His job is actually really cool. He's like one of those guys you see in action movies where things explode, and he saves the president or something."

"That sounds dangerous."

Frankie nods. "It is. But he doesn't ever tell me about the explosions. He tells me the same stories about the one time he guarded some really famous pop star and saved him from a crazy fan."

"Wow. I imagine he must have a crazy kind of schedule."

Frankie sighs. "Not really. The last person he was in charge of protecting let me hang out with their daughter, and we went to the same school. We have a regular schedule. What's your schedule like, Miss Rye? Do you have to get up before sunrise or something crazy like that?"

I chuckle. "Oh no, I can't do that every day. If I were running a bakery or restaurant that sold breakfast, I would. Luckily, all I have to do is make my ice cream bases for whatever I'm selling for the week."

"That's so cool. What's the craziest flavor you've ever made?" she asks excitedly.

"Um, good or bad?"

She giggles. "Bad."

"That would be chocolate creme brulee toffee. It ended up tasting like black licorice." My nose scrunches, my mouth desperate to never remember that flavor.

"Eww," she says, sticking her tongue out. "Okay, what's about the best good one?"

"If we're talking about crazy and tasting good? That would be my seasonal Thanksgiving Fixins."

"As ice cream?"

"Yup. I was able to make a macaroni and cheddar waffle cone. Sweet potato ice cream with a marshmallow swirl and a sage sausage crumble. I don't know how I even got to those flavors, but I only do it for the month of November because it's a nightmare trying to get everything right."

"I'd have to taste it. I can't imagine it in my head. Can you show me how to make it after we make this pancake one today?"

"Sure, why not? It's better to share the recipes so they're not lost to time."

Frankie lets me walk her around the kitchen and shop to show her how everything works. She's attentive and asks questions as if she has plans to work here. I don't mind, and it's nice to have someone as interested in ice cream as I am.

We spend the next hour crafting different parts of the newest recipe with her name on it. Once Dallas arrives, he smiles as we sit him down to try out every variation we’ve crafted.

"How's the car?" I ask him as he tastes the first sample.

He nods. "This is good but very sweet. The car's going to Chase's shop. He's bringing me a loaner until it's fixed."

"Try this one next, Dad," Frankie insists, pushing a cup covered in a tart strawberry syrup.

She anxiously waits for his reaction. The way his eyes snap shut and mouth puckers send Frankie into a fit of giggles. She can barely get her words out. "That's the one with lemonade pancakes and sour candy swirls."

"Oh, so you set me up?" He grabs Frankie to hug and tickle her. They continue to laugh as I bring over the rest of our samples.

"It was Miss Rye's idea," Frankie blurts out.

"Hey!" I reply, faking shock with a hand clutching my chest. "I would never put out something so sour."

"If it was blue raspberry, it would taste great. Just like those tangy candy straws. What else can we make?" Frankie asks, her eyes darting around.

"I think we need to slow down," Dallas says. "I can see the sugar bouncing off you, Frankie. How about we grab lunch? Are you two hungry?"

"Aww, Dad, but Miss Rye said she knows how to make Thanksgiving ice cream. We can have that for lunch."

I step up to help Dallas sway her, saying, "All of those components take hours to put together, Frankie. I think your dad is right. Let's grab lunch, and we can make a big batch of your favorite sample for you guys to take home. How does that sound?"

Frankie scoffs. "It sounds like you two are in cahoots to get me to eat regular food. You're like those twins working together to trick me."

Dallas and I laugh as I assure her, "Frankie, I promise that's not what's happening. You should eat some regular food because too much sugar and dairy will upset your stomach."

"Fine," she relents. "Let's go have lunch."

It becomes crystal clear that many restaurants won’t open until later. Every place we go to has some sort of sign about damage or no employees being able to come in. I think it's best to lock up my place too. People will be out for essentials, and I can use a day off. Instead of traveling around Mercy, we head back to Cincinnati.

The city is bustling like it never rained furiously for the past three days and nights. I imagine that's why Dallas didn't think the rain would make that much of a difference at the campgrounds. The wet streets don't slow us down as they take me to one of their favorite burger spots.

After lunch, Frankie insists that I see what her room looks like and how big their kitchen is. You know, just in case I spend the night and make ice cream for her one night.

Dallas and I share knowing glances as we let her get away with believing she's persuading me into coming over. I can't stop my imagination from fantasizing about being a permanent part of their family. Frankie's so spunky, inquisitive, and smart. She reminds me of myself at her age. I'm excited to see if this instant connection lasts.

Dallas drives us to one of the tallest buildings in the city, right off the river. Frankie gushes over the pet park, which she can see from the balcony of their condo. The view is amazing from their third-floor abode, which is so spacious and has touches of Frankie and Dallas all over it.

While Dallas said his ex wasn't in their lives, it's all the more evident as I walk around. Family pictures include Dallas and Frankie, with a few popular athletes at various events and on vacation. None of them have a woman that looks remotely attached to them. I feel like an asshole for the relief washing over me, but I want to fill some of those spaces missing in their photos.

"What do you think, Miss Rye?" Frankie asks. "Isn't our kitchen big enough to make ice cream? I know we don't have those big fancy mixers and stoves, but we can do small batches, right?"

"We sure can. I can actually show you one of my favorite ways of making ice cream in a freezer bag."

Frankie's widen. "What?! Do you mean it's been that easy this entire time?"

She slaps herself on the forehead, driving Dallas and me into laughter.

"It's easy, but ice cream made in the kitchen always tastes better to me,” I tell her. This method is good if you just want something quick and fun to munch on."

I notice Dallas standing beside me, his hand hovering over my lower back, as Frankie spins on a high stool across the large island that separates their kitchen and living room. The ceilings are at least ten feet high, giving the home a loft-type feel. But there's a long hallway on either side of the kitchen. From what they've shown me, their rooms are on opposite sides of the condo.

We wouldn't have to be nearly as quiet as we were in the cabin.

Heat floods my cheeks when I think back to last night and this morning. I have to gulp down my lust as our conversation shifts to the science of making ice cream in a Ziploc bag. Frankie's enthusiasm to try anything is motivating and keeps my mind from wandering to the dirtier corners where I want to get Dallas alone once again.

We find ourselves in a familiar rhythm, preparing dinner and testing out a few of Frankie's bags of ice cream concoctions. Time flies by, and before I know it, I find myself gazing up from the balcony off their living room after Frankie heads to bed. The moon is sitting high in the night sky as the reflection of stars across the river twinkle over subtle waves. The calm and cool breeze feels great compared to the storms we've had.

Dallas joins me by wrapping his arms around me, keeping me warm in his embrace as we watch the quiet flow of the river.

"I'd love for you to spend the night, Rye," Dallas mutters. "But if you want to go home, I can have a car take you. I'm sure at least one of my drivers is on call."

I rest the back of my head against his chest, slowly shaking my head, "No. Don't do that. I don't want to drag anyone away from what they're doing. This isn't an emergency, and I don't have a problem crashing on the couch."

"What did I tell you about sleeping on the couch?" he says in a low growl. "That's not going to happen around me."

"What would you like to happen around you?" I ask him, rubbing the top of his hands as they continue to hold me around the waist.

"I'd rather feel something around me," he says against my ear, licking the shell and making me shiver.

The mild vibrations send signals directly to my nipples that harden under my shirt. He reaches his hands up to rub them. After noticing their perky delight, he slips a hand under the bottom to pinch and caress them. I grip the top of the balcony's glass wall to hold myself steady while Dallas uses his free hand to slip into my jeans.

My body shakes with anticipation as Dallas uses his mouth along my neck, his hand on my breast, and his fingers in my pussy to deliver an intense orgasm. There's a slight sliver of fear as I cry out when another orgasm washes over me.

"You can be as loud as you want out here. Those doors are soundproof," Dallas says, his voice dripping with dark promise.

However, I don't get to test that out just yet as he captures my lips in a passionate kiss that forces me to turn around and face him. My arms wrap around Dallas's neck as his knee nudges my legs apart after he slides my jeans down to the ground.