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“Hello.”

Her gaze flicks toward me, then back to Locke. “Have you had ice cream before?”

“No.”

Her whole face brightens. “Oh. Then you need samples.”

Locke looks at me.

“Don’t look at me. Apparently this is between you and Cherry on Top.”

He turns back to the case.

Locke can’t read the labels, so I name the flavors as he points. Chocolate. Strawberry. Butter pecan. Cookies and cream. Something involving birthday cake that looks radioactive.

The girl reaches for a stack of tiny plastic spoons. “You can taste whatever you want.”

Locke looks at the spoons, then at the case. “All of them?”

The girl hesitates, as if she hadn’t expected him to take the offer quite that literally.

“If you want.”

His head turns slowly toward me.

“Don’t look at me. She made the offer.”

Locke turns back to the case and points to the darkest chocolate.

The girl hands him a sample. He puts the spoon in his mouth and freezes.

His eyes widen.

For one alarming second, I wonder whether cold food is somehow different from popcorn and we’ve just discovered that ice cream is incompatible with a living Wicker Man.

Then he takes the spoon out and looks at it.

“That is cold.”

“That is generally considered one of ice cream’s defining characteristics.”

He looks through the glass at the chocolate again. “And sweet. I know sweet from the iced tea Shannon brought, but this is so much sweeter.”

“Yes.”

“And…” His brow furrows while he searches for the word.

“Chocolate?”

“No. The way it feels.”

“Creamy?”

He considers that. “Creamy.”

Then he looks at the girl. “Another?”

She grins. “Absolutely.”