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“So help me God, I will literally jump out of this car right now if you don’t pull over.”
“At least let me speed up first to make it worth the trouble of another police report.” I press the accelerator harder. Unlike my McLaren, my dad’s old truck whines as it switches gears.
Her glare quickly devolves into the worst kind of weapon she carries in her artillery.
Puppy eyes.
“Please, Julian. I’m not above begging you for Cisco’s.”
Fuck me.Every cell in my body lights up at the sound of my name in that voice.
“I’ll do anything.Please.”
Good luck saying no to her when she looks and sounds like that.
“Let’s start with shutting up.” I slow down and make a U-turn at the next median.
Nieve de garrafa:Handmade ice cream native to Mexico
“Yes!” She does a little victory fist pump.
I squash the urge to smile as I drive back toward the park and stop in front of Cisco’s. A few families sit on the benches while some kids run around, probably enjoying the last few weeks of decent weather.
“Make it fast.” I pull out my phone and begin reading through the thirty emails I’ve received in the short amount of time since I last checked.
She reaches for the door handle, only to hesitate. “Actually, you’re right. It’s too cold for Cisco’s.”
I stop my scrolling. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. Let’s just keep going.” She motions toward the steering wheel while scanning the park. The tension in her shoulders combined with her darting eyes gives her nerves away.
While Dahlia has always struggled with anxiety since we were younger, this feels different.
Sheis different.
With a sigh, I open my door.
“Where are you going?” Panic bleeds into her voice.
To do something stupidly nice.“I’m in the mood for Cisco’s.”
I walk away before I come to my senses and remember all the reasons why Dahlia is bad news.
CHAPTER SIX
Dahlia
Step one of my plan to get over my ex-fiancé includes mango-flavorednieve de garrafafrom Cisco’s, also known as the best food truck around. I devour my dessert while Julian taps away at his phone, doing whatever important things billionaires do on a Sunday night. At one point, he steps out of the truck to answer a call, leaving his lemon-flavorednieveunsupervised and available for the taking.
I can’t be held responsible for my actions. If anything, I’m doing Julian’s abs a favor by taking his dessert off his hands.
Once I finish both cups, he tosses them out before we drive away from the park with Morat on full blast. While Julian and I are very different, we share the same great taste in music, a fact I would never admit to his face.
Unlike my first night here, I take in the town and how much it has grown in my time away. While some businessesshut down during the slow winter season since not many people want to hang out by the lake when it’s cold outside, most have remained open all year since they were first founded in the late 1800s.
Some of my favorite shops, like Hole in the Wall Hardware, Holy Smokes BBQ, and the Surf & Turf Meat Market, have been passed down for generations, while a few newer shops, like the Sweets & Treats Bake Shop, catch my eye.
“Where are we going?” I ask after a minute.
