Page 43 of The Moment I Knew

He sniffed. “I did not run off.”

“I mean, you kind of did.”

He snorted. “Yeah, well, I went somewhere with better service.” Then, like he couldn’t help himself, he added, half under his breath, “I was a paying customer. You’d think he’d show a little respect. Honestly, people in the service industry sometimes…” He shook his head. “Some people just don’t belong there.”

I stared at him, trying to figure out if he was serious. The way he said it—so casual, so certain—made my stomach twist. I should have let it go. I should have changed the subject. Instead, I heard myself say, “Did you actually buy anything?”

He looked at me like I’d asked something ridiculous. “What?”

“You said you were a paying customer,” I said. “But you didn’t have a drink. So… were you?”

For a second he just looked confused. Then his expression hardened. “Are you defending him?”

“Well—”

“He said I was making you uncomfortable. Me. Making someone uncomfortable.” He scoffed, as if he had absolutely no idea just how uncomfortable he made both me and my twin. But before I could remind him of that, he let out a deep sigh then pasted on a smile, almost like he was pulling a mask in place.

“Anyway,” he said, “I just didn’t think you’d actually text me back.”

“Yeah,” I said, staring straight ahead. “Me neither.”

He missed my tone entirely. “But hey, I respect it. Not a lot of girls would admit when they were wrong.”

I’d never had the urge to slap somebody quite as strongly as I did in that moment. “I didn’t say that.”

He smiled like I was being playful. “You’re funny.”

“I’m really not,” I said flatly.

Once again, he missed the tone.

The rest of the drive was filled with Mitch talking at me. Not to me—at me. Lacrosse season. How his coach was kind of an idiot but also a genius. How annoying it was when people assumed he had everything handed to him. How his dad worked really hard, actually, which somehow justified the fact that Mitch didn’t need a job.

I nodded when it seemed socially required and counted red lights.

It didn’t occur to me to ask where we were going until we pulled into a parking spot and I realized we were in front of a frozen yogurt place.

“It’s November,” I said. Then I glanced at the date on my phone. “Actually, it’s almost December.”

“Two days,” he said, grinning. “You want fro-yo?”

Normally, I wasn’t anti-ice cream in the winter, but as I stared at the cheerful sign on the door, all I could think about was Hilary standing in the kitchen, watching me scoop ice cream from the freezer while she told me this was good for me. That didn’t feel like a great omen. Not that there had been many good signs for a date I didn’t want to be on.

I must have been staring for a while, because Mitch had time to jog around the car and reach the front door of the shop before I even got out. Once again, it didn’t seem to occur to him that he could have opened my door—or even waited. Neither counted in his favor, but at this point, I was just waiting for the date to be over.

I climbed out of the car and followed him, shivering in the cold. Frozen yogurt wouldn’t have been my first choice for a first date at the end of November, but at least it would be quicker than dinner and a movie, like he’d originally suggested. He held the door open wide and gestured inside.

“After you,” he said.

I probably should have thanked him, but I was still annoyed about the car thing, so I walked past him without comment.

The place was surprisingly busy for such a cold Saturday—families bundled in coats, a couple of people our age sitting at tables, cups of frozen yogurt in front of them like this was completely normal behavior for late November.

Mitch put a hand to my lower back as we walked in, and I struggled not to shove him off me. I figured he’d have to put it down once we reached the cups anyway, so there was no use making trouble.

“So,” he said, as we grabbed cups, “should we share one?” He wiggled his brows.

I tried not to cringe. “Oh, um, well, I like really unusual flavors,” I said, hoping that that was a neutral enough answer that would tell him that no, absolutely, we should not share one.