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But then somethinghappened that he simply couldn’t sit and watch. She had been open a few hours, with steady foot traffic. Phantom had watched. And wanted. His chest swelling with pride at how well she had done. Yes, pride. He’d never felt that. But he was proud of her, even though she wasn’t his to be proud of.
A mother had taken her young son inside Sophie’s Soft Scoops. The little boy was dark haired, like Phantom himself. But the boy had traditionally cut short hair for a boy. Phantom had his long, past his shoulders, almost down to his nipples. And his was curly, the little boy had straight hair. The boy was about the same age as Phantom himself had been the very last time he had had an ice cream. The kid came out of the shop with a huge chocolate ice cream in a cone, covered in mini M&M’s. It looked fucking incredible to Phantom. The boy held it in one hand, his eyes fixated on it, the other his mother clasped, dragging him along on his little pudgy legs.
Until he fell. It was just a slight stutter, a misstep, and the ice cream dropped to the ground where it landed with a splat. The boy had the empty cone in his hand. He looked down. His lip wobbled. He tried to pick up the scoop of chocolate but it was a melting mess on the floor. Then the tears came. Loud and clear. They ripped a hole in Phantom’s heart. The heart he had thought was dead and shriveled. Turned out, no, it was beating after all. And it could hurt, too.
The mother tried to placate at first, but then he heard more desperation in her voice. She didn’t have the money to buy him a new one.
Phantom was off his bike before he realized it. His leg swung over the bike and he was loping across the road. His hand went into his back pocket and he pulled out some dollar bills. His eyes were fixed on the little boy and the woman. She had seen him. He saw fear flit across her face. He reached the pavement and his own step faltered. She saw his hand, poised by his back pocket, her face crumpled in hate. No, she was misunderstanding him.
“Keep away, please, stay away from my son!” she said shrilly, reaching and pulling her hand to drag the little boy away, but he pulled back and kept crying, his face now red, streaked with tears and snot.
Phantom shook his head, but she wasn’t looking properly. He couldn’t use his voice, it was hopeless to even try. He choked and proffered the note in front of him, but the mother was panicked now.
“Come on, Hunter, we are going! Stay away, I’ll call the police!” she yelled now.
“What’s going on here?” A voice said from behind him. He froze. It was her. Sophie. He turned slowly, his heart pounding. There she was, her petite, lithe body, clad in leggings and an apron, her bronzed arms bare. Her hair, smelling of flowers and coconut, wavered in the light, cool breeze. Sugar Plum Fairy. Beautiful. She gazed from him, to the little boy, crouched over the remains of his ice cream, to the mother, yanking his arm, panicked and stressed. What did she see when she looked at him? A hulking great monster. His long, curly dark hair half covering his face as he looked down, frozen in place, appalled at himself, unable to move, unable to speak. Dark jeans, boots. His tattoos curling up from his neck, out from his black T-shirt. Scars on his forearms, on his hands. They weren’t even half of it. He had matching, bigger ones on his torso. A dark, ugly monster. A fucking shadow demon who dealt only in death and misery. That’s what the mother had seen. She was right to be terrified of him. Sophie should be, too.
Phantom forced a breath into his lungs. And again. But Sophie didn’t recoil. In fact, her face remained exactly in place, curious, a small smile playing calmly on her lips. Her eyes flitted around them all again.
“Did you drop your ice cream, little man?” she asked the boy, bending down, and softly stroking his head. The mother breathed.
She had a tray of free samples, smaller scoops in little pots.
“Here, take one of these, I’ll pull them together so it makes a decent portion, on the house, no real harm done,” she said, deftly using one of the little wooden spoons to roll another scoop into one of the cups and another. The boy blinked up at her through his tears, as entranced as Phantom was with her. She was an actual angel, in the flesh. Up close, she was as radiant as she was from across the street.
“I can’t pay you-” the mother began, quietly.
“It’s free,” she said.
“I... thank you,” the mother said, her shoulders dropping, air rushing out of her chest.
Sophie turned to him then. He swore his heart stopped. She swept her gaze over him once more. Again, imperceptible. Her gaze snagged on the money in his hand.
“You were going to buy another for him? That’s sweet but no need,” she said, like a tinkly bell. Phantom took a breath. He opened his lips and took another. He was proud of himself for managing that at least in her presence.
“Come back soon.” Sophie turned to the mother and little boy, who had stopped crying now and pulled his mother along the street eagerly. The mother pursed her lips at Phantom and eyed him curiously before turning and following her son.
“You want one, too?” Sophie asked him, angling her head a little, curious. Her eyes swept him up and down. Lingered on his cut. His face. His hands.
“Come in, come and try some!” She giggled, excited, and beckoned him over. “I’m guessing you haven’t had a vegan ice cream before? You strike me as a real dairy kind of man,” she said, her eyes raking him from top to bottom. He shivered and died and was reincarnated again in just a heartbeat with that look from her.
He’d never had vegan but ice cream was ice cream, in his book. He opened his mouth and his gaze flicked from her to the door. His breath hitched. He uttered his only sound, “Hmm.”
And he stepped inside.
“I’m guessing you don’t normally have sweet things at all actually, this might feel like a bit of a kick,” she said.
Oh, if only you knew, Sugar Plum, he thought in his head. No, he didn’t have anything as sweet as her, or the fucking ice cream, his world had been only bitterness before her.
His legs moved of their own accord.
It was retro chic inside, black and white checkered flooring, more pink and turquoise in the interior. A neon light on the wall, bright pink, of course, spelling out some cheery phrase. She’d been in here all along, grafting away, renovating the shop. Who knew? He could have helped. He could have been fucking her all this time. The thought took the air out of his lungs. He could have accidentally killed her by now if that had happened. He looked down at the floor.
She stepped away from him, slowly backing away. Not out of fear, he noticed. Guiding him, drawing him in. She moved to where a messy tub of thick caramel colored ice cream sat. “Well, I’m thinking salted caramel, it reminds me of you,” she said, a little huskily. She slowly bent forward and dragged the metal scoop through the thick lashings of the ice cream in the tub.
His tongue ran along the inside of his bottom lip. He looked at the ice cream, and he looked at her. He felt like his clothes were stifling him. He felt hot. He felt loose, like he was melting himself just like the ice cream.
“I haven’t perfected the recipe yet, you are getting an exclusive teaser taste, you should feel lucky!” She smiled.
