“Plan B?”
“The art store didn’t work out, so what are we doing instead?” His voice was cheerful. It irked me. “Because today is our day of fun, and you and me? We’re going to have fun.”
I groaned again, wilting under his grip. “You know it’s bad when Oliver Twist is being optimistic.”
Jamie’s lips twitched as he tried to fight off a smile. “Sydney Carton,” he said.
“What?”
“Oliver Twist is an already optimistic character, so your sentence was fundamentally flawed. Sydney Carton, though, was a pessimist. ‘You know it’s bad when Sydney Carton is being optimistic.’”
I stared up at Jamie for one heartbeat, then for two. “Fundamentally flawed,” I echoed tiredly. “Right. Have I told you lately that you suck?”
Now a full smile bloomed across Jamie’s lips, wide enough that it showed his teeth. A sweet smile I rarely saw, I realized now while looking at it. It even gave him a dimple on one of his cheeks. I reached for him, ready to poke my finger into it. “Have you always had?—”
Jamie used his grip on my shoulders to abruptly spinme around, so my back was to him. “Plan B,” he murmured, ducking his head low until it was almost level with mine. His next words were soft on the skin of my neck, and he pointed. “How about ice cream?”
A little ways down the sidewalk and off to the right sat a walk-up ice cream parlor with a bright yellow and white striped awning out in front of the ordering window. Picnic tables were scattered in front of it, with yellow and white umbrellas above them to match.
A solid plan B, but I didn’t want to applaud him for two good ideas in a row. It’d go to his head. “I suppose it’ll…” Crap, what was the word he always used?
Jamie whispered in my ear, “Suffice.”
“Suffice. Right. I suppose it’ll suffice.” I sniffed, catching a hint of his shampoo before he leaned back. “Lead the way, Sydney Carton.”
Chuckling under his breath, Jamie came around to walk at my side.
At least itwasa pretty day. The clouds were white and puffy, and the sky was beautifully blue, and my skin soaked up the vitamin D. Despite leaving the closed art store behind us, I could practicallyfeelthe happy hormones flood my system, chasing away the heavy weight from this morning. I closed my eyes as we walked down the sidewalk, basking in the sun and the moment.
Jamie caught my hand, fingers wrapping around my palm, jerking me to a stop. “Crosswalk sign saysno, Daze.”
I opened my eyes before rolling them, making sure Jamie could plainly see. He rolled his back.
There was no one in line when we got to the ice creamparlor. Jamie ordered a cookie dough ice cream with mini M&M’s on top, and I ordered a vanilla and chocolate soft serve swirl. I didn’t like toppings, so even though it was a little plain, it definitely hit the spot.
We picked a picnic table close to the road, sitting so the sun wasn’t in either one of our eyes. “What class do you think Nellie’s in now?” I asked Jamie. “Would this be sixth or seventh period?”
Jamie swiped his spoon through his cookie dough ice cream, scooping up a few mini M&M’s for his next bite. “It’s a little after one, so she’s probably in sixth. Political science.” And then he picked one of the napkins up from the little stack he’d collected, offering it out to me. “Draw me something.”
“Bah. Demanding. Apleasewouldn’t hurt.”
Jamie spoke around his spoon. “Then I entreat you, fair artist, to grant me but a fragment of your imagination upon this humble napkin.”
I fought the smile that quirked my lips. “Loser,” I muttered, and then reached for my house keys in my pocket. I kept a mini marker attached to a keyring, and popped off the cap. “But you’re my loser, so what can I do?”
Jamie made an offended noise.
I started tracing a pattern into my napkin, using light pressure so the marker tip wouldn’t tear it. “Nellie’s in school and we’re here getting ice cream,” I said, satisfied. “Totally better than a perfect attendance award.”
Jamie didn’t respond, at least not right away. He watched me draw on the napkin, probably trying to guessthe image before it truly took shape. “I can’t believe you didn’t bring your sketchbook. We went to an art store, and you left your vessel of creativity at home.”
“First of all, myvessel of creativity—” I arched an eyebrow. “—is in your car. Second of all, I can’t bring my sketchbook into an art store. What if it gets jealous?”
“What?”
“My sketchbook.”
Jamie blinked. “Your sketchbook would get jealous.” His voice was flat.
