Page 75 of That Fake Feeling

“No.Butyou can tell me yours anyway.”

“Isuffer no shame.”Hestraightens and holds his tub toward me. “Crushedpeanut butter cups andCinnamonToastCrunch.”

“What?”That’spushing the bounds of believability too far. “Youmust have cheated.”

“Cheatedwhat?”

Ihold my tub out next to his but pull it slightly farther away when our fingers brush and my groin talks to me again. “Ditto.”

“Seriously?”Hepeers into mine. “Ofall of the five billion toppings out there, we picked the same two?Onthe same ice cream?”

Hedips his spoon into his tub, carefully picks around, and comes up with a scoop diligently laden with a bit of both ice creams and both toppings.Hiseyes close with pleasure as he puts it into his mouth and gradually pulls it out, leaving a trace of vanilla and a smear of chocolate from the peanut butter cups on his illegally kissable pink lips.

Hesticks out his tongue and licks it off—unnecessarily slowly.

WhatIwouldn’t give to have done that for him.

“You’rea wise woman,Rose.”Heopens his eyes. “Whocould resist the sweetness and crunch of the cinnamony bits as they combine with the chocolaty peanut buttery cups.”

Thissimply can’t have happened by accident. “Youmusthave copied me.”

Heplaces his hand on his heart. “Iswear onSterling’sdazzling wardrobeIdid not.”

AsIlaugh and let some caramel ice cream melt on my tongue, three of the kids run over.

“Canwe get going again,Connor?” the first breathless boy asks.

“Yeah,” the second says, almost bouncing with excitement. “Iwant to paint some more.”

“Connor, can we?” a girl pleads, her hands in prayer position. “Canwe, please?”

“Sure, folks,” he tells them. “Getback at it.I’llbe right behind you.”

Theyturn and race toward the building.

Hehas so much more patience with them thanIexpected. “Godhelp you with twenty kids on a sugar high and armed with paint brushes.”

“They’redoing a great job.”Hesays it like he means it.

“Ithought the whole thing was being done in white?”Igesture at the multicolored splatters on hisT-shirt. “Andthe kids are covered in all colors too.”

“Wedid do it white.ThenIhad a change of plan.It’salmost finished.Wantto see?”

Oh, shit.Whatthe hell has he done?

“Ofcourse.Loveto.”Itry to say it cheerfully, butIcan’t help having a sense of impending doom.

Ifhe’s gone totally against the plan and splattered everywhere with paints of various colors,Patriciamight lose her mind.

Wewander in silence back toward the music room.Butthis silence is the opposite of the one in the car yesterday.Thissilence is one where we’re comfortable and enjoying each other’s company…as well as the ice cream.

Oncewe’re inside, he turns his back to the plastic sheet covering the entrance to the music room and points at me with his spoon, almost jabbing the end of my nose.

“Thekids love it.So, if you don’t like it, you have to not say.”

Ican suddenly sense every bit of the icy contents of my stomach. “Oh,Jesus,Connor, what have you done?”

Ofcourse he’s gone off script.Ofcourse he has.Ishould have known better.