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When she’d found the little 24-hour ice cream shop she was both surprised and grateful. Ice cream had been her most favored vice since she was a little girl. She wasn’t even all that picky – Ben & Jerry’s, Talenti, Godiva…they all had their moments. But despite her usual iron-fisted control over every aspect of her life, she simply couldn’t buy a pint of ice cream to keep in her freezer. Oh, she’d mean well, but before she knew it, she was sitting on the couch with the carton and spoon, and halfway through a loud action flick she’d hit cardboard. No matter which way she sliced it, that kind of thing was no good for her waistline.
So, occasionally, she’d find herself in the little shop. She’d splurge on a scoop of something decadent in a hot waffle cone and a cup of really fantastic strong, black coffee. She’d sit there, indulge, lick her wounds as she licked the ice cream and wallow deep in that chest-tight feeling that always indicated she’d break down in her car in the parking lot before she could even drive home.
Then, one night, the colonel appeared. He strolled into her little coffee shop at two in the morning dressed in baggy jeans and sweatshirt and looking like everything that was all right with the world. She chased inappropriate thoughts down deep inside her with a bite of Black Cherry Desire and chased that with a sip of coffee.
He ordered coffee, too, and sat down across from her. She didn’t ask if he was looking for her. Didn’t ask if he knew where to find her. Didn’t want to know if he’d just accidentally happened upon her. So they talked of inconsequential things that reminded her she was more than just an airman, more than a scientist – she was a woman. He talked to her about opera with soft eyes just this side of smoldering and she told him about how her first kiss was backed by Carmen. And when his eyes faltered on her ice cream cone she offered it to him with a smirk but she was the one left licking her lips after he’d sampled the treat.
After that it was more usual that he’d happen upon her. It’s like he always knew when to find her there. Somewhere along the way they’d taken to sitting in the back corner of the shop where they were mostly hidden by the counter even though they always met in the middle of the night and who on earth would be around to spot them, anyway? Because while they weren’t technically doing anything wrong, it wasn’t exactly right the way they shared personal information, the way he touched her – innocently enough, or the things that happened inside her when he’d take one long, slow, bite of her ice cream.
He was particularly fond of the Rum Raisin.
She kept going back to Black Cherry Desire.
But the sound he made when he had a mouthful of Chocolate Cake Batter made the whole arrangement seem indecent. And then he told her it was probably best that she not order that one again. And considering the way the look on his face had made her better judgment drain into her panties, he was probably right.
It didn’t take long before trailing her lips along the dessert where his just were felt like something more intimate than most of the kisses she’d shared. She liked the way the heat of his mouth melted the ice cream just enough that it would smear across her lips. She liked the way his eyes darkened when she’d lick the stickiness away. Mostly, she liked the way he was always hard and unashamed when he’d stand up and offer to escort her to her car. As it was always dark, and always the middle of the night, she always let him.
When summer passed into fall and slipped into winter’s first snow fall she thought, perhaps, their ice cream tryst was over. But the Black Cherry Desire called her with offers to soothe the pains of another loss, another near miss, and another painful injury. When she arrived he was there, sitting at their table and looking like he really had been up for the last three days she’d spent in the infirmary. Coffee was in front of him. He held a cone in his hand.
When she sat down he held it just out of her reach. “I can’t do it anymore, Carter. I can’t watch you hurt and suffer. I can’t wonder if you’re going to make it. I can’t wonder if you’re going to want to. I’m done just having ice cream with you.”
She doesn’t bother to ask what he means, because she knows. She’s known since she saw the look in his eyes as she fell in the field. It was the same look he said she got whenever the Black Cherry Desire hit her tongue for the first time in a while. It was pain, it was regret, it was pleasure, and it was overwhelming. It was something with the ability to chase inappropriate thoughts deep down inside you. It was coping. And they didn’t have to just cope anymore.
“Okay,” she said, because, after dozens of ice cream cones she didn’t need to say any more.
He offered her the cone. Chocolate Cake Batter.