On Any Given Sundae

by Marilyn Brant

  Elizabeth, who until a minute before had been sharing a laugh with Gretchen at the counter, opened her mouth. No sounds immediately came out.

  Then, finally, “I-I—well, um…” She paused, stared at him in an intense way that made his toes squirm and then tried again. “Rob’s done a g-great job with the s-shop.”

  “But, I mean, aren’t you glad you’ve gotten to know him again so personally?” Nick said. “Now that you’re both all grown up and out of high school? That’s gotta be such a trip. I mean, he was this amazing football star and you were this total academic. You guys probably had, like, nothing in common, and now you’re here together handling your uncles’ business and being friends and all.” He nodded at them and grinned. “That’s so cool, isn’t it?”

  A look of something—man, it seemed like fright—flashed like a lightning bolt across her face. And it occurred to him that, no matter how many how many family dinners she went to, it was no easy task getting her to feel comfortable with their “relationship.” That the supposedly real one—their friendship—was probably just as much a sham as the dating game they’d been playing for Mama’s benefit.

  But, then again, it was a friendship that wasn’t quite so pure anymore. There’d been that one kiss, after all. Even if she didn’t remember it yet.

  A final customer came in, silencing Nick temporarily, but Rob couldn’t help but notice the way Elizabeth’s gaze kept finding his own at odd moments during clean up. She kept shooting these confused looks in his direction and, when Nick pulled out a bottle of ouzo to accompany the gooey baklava he’d made, she stared at the licorice-flavored alcoholic beverage and then at Rob again.

  As if she’d made some connection between the two.

  As if memories were floating back to her.

  As if chunks of last night’s experience, ones that’d broken apart from her now-frozen memory and drifted away for the day, were returning and melting into her consciousness.

  Well, she should remember, dammit. He was a memorable guy. He wasn’t someone who could just be kissed and forgotten.

  Jacques pulled back the foil from his tray. Rows and rows of little jam tartlets.

  “Gretchen talked me into making these,” he explained, popping one into the blonde’s mouth.

  “Mmm,” Gretchen moaned. “These are even better than I imagined when I saw that recipe. Pretty please will you let me make them with you next time?” she asked Jacques.

  “My pastry knives are at your disposal, chéri. Now, what kind of truffles did you bring us tonight?”

  Gretchen opened up a large tin box of perfect dark chocolate confections with green squiggles across the top of each one. “Irish crème. Two dozen.” She popped one of her creations into Jacques mouth.

  “Mon Dieu. This is heaven.”

  Rob broke open the milk-chocolate-covered fruit slices Miguel sent up, and the gang’s Ooohs and Ahhhs indicated their delight. Relief and a little pride swept over him. This was quite the culinary crowd.

  Only Elizabeth’s contribution to the Treat Swap remained. She unveiled it: Cherry cheesecake.

  “Oh, my! Did you really?” Gretchen said. “It’s been so long since you made it. I know it must have brought back memories…were you okay?”

  Elizabeth nodded.

  “Well, it looks positively sinful,” Gretchen said, hunking off slices for everyone and putting one on each plate, right next to the generous slabs of baklava Nick dished out. “When did you have time to make it?”

  “A month ago,” Elizabeth admitted. “I made three in May and gave one of them to Uncle Siegfried and one to the lady collecting donations for the hospital bake sale. This one I froze for all of you.”

  Jacques leaned over and kissed her, which left a prickly aftertaste in Rob’s mouth, despite the silken truffle he’d just devoured.

  “You are a saint among women,” Jacques said. “A goddess.” Then he paused and his tone turned serious. “This was your mom’s recipe, oui?”

  She nodded again.

  “Then it’s going to be the best cherry cheesecake we’ve ever had.” And something in Jacques’s voice indicated that no one had better dare disagree.

  Nick splashed ouzo into glasses, Elizabeth made sure all the plates were loaded with treats, Jacques dimmed the lights and Gretchen pulled a few candles and a pack of matches out of her handbag.

  This troupe was beyond weird, but Rob had to admit he was getting into it. Elizabeth’s face and hands looked softer and smoother than ever in the candlelight. Her eyes glowed a bright green, and the smile that touched her lips appeared more relaxed than he’d ever seen her. This was familiar territory for her. This was home.

  He’d tried the Greek ouzo once before—“It’s like Good & Plenty for adults,” Nick told them—but it’d been years ago and, even then, he hadn’t tasted more than a few sips. Elizabeth, he noticed, regarded her glass of ouzo skeptically. He doubted she’d planned on drinking much of anything tonight, but Nick wouldn’t shut up until he got them all playing a grownups’ version of “Truth or Dare.”

  “What’s the dumbest thing you ever did in a car?” Nick said. “Either tell or drink.”

  Jacques spoke first. “I tried eating soup while you were driving,” he told Nick. “A très stupid idea.”

  Nick laughed. “And you got cream of chicken with broccoli and rice all over my passenger’s seat. Yeah, that one ranks high for me, too, but probably the stupidest thing I did was pick up a hitchhiker.”

  “You did that?” Elizabeth said, her sweet lips parting in surprise.

  “Yep. That’s how I met Micah.”

  “His first long-term partner,” Jacques explained to Rob.

  “I was an idiot,” Nick said and, even though he’d “told,” he drank a few swigs anyway. “What about you, Elizabeth?”

  Her brows creased in concentration. “Mmm. I think it’s got to be trying to transport an ice sculpture of this beautiful angel to Milwaukee, in the m-middle of a July heat wave, in my old Plymouth.”

  “Oh, my gosh,” Gretchen said. “The car that had no air conditioning!”

  “She was a fallen—and a melted—angel,” Elizabeth said with mock sadness.

  “Let us all pray,” Nick said, raising his glass solemnly. He drank again. “Rob?”

  He’d done many a stupid thing in his day, the worst being the night he and Tara had almost…well…they hadn’t but… “I’d better drink,” he said, taking a small sip of the clear liquid that tasted like licorice-infused lighter fluid. Elizabeth shot him a wide-eyed glance.

  “Gretchen?” Jacques said.

  She pressed her lips together, shook her head and brought the rim of the glass up to her mouth. She took a drink and grimaced. “Jeez, Nick! You trying kill us?”

  Nick laughed and poured some more alcohol into his glass, the only one that was now empty. “Next question. Who did you have the biggest crush on in high school? For me, it was Andy Northrop, the biggest, meanest and, unfortunately, straightest hockey player at Wilmington Bay High. But, oh, what a sexy slap shot he had.” He paused as if in awe, remembering. “How about you, Elizabeth?”

  Gretchen looked at Elizabeth, kind of oddly, Rob thought, before interrupting. “Oh, but I wanna go next,” Gretchen said. “For me, it was Jeremy Alexander Brennan. He sat right behind me in sophomore geometry and would trace shapes on my back with his fingertip.” She shivered. “It was such a turn on. What about you, Jacques?”

  “I was in love with Mrs. Larousse.” He grinned. “She was young—maybe twenty-five—and was the school cook. Her quiche végétarien was unbelievable.”

  They all laughed.

  “Rob?” Gretchen said.

  “Had a thing for Heidi Klum,” he said, which was only a partial truth, but close enough. He had no intention of drinking any more of that stuff if he could avoid it.

  “Elizabeth missed her turn,” Nick said, his voice getting louder and more insistent. “So, who was your high-school fantasy?”

 
; Elizabeth looked around their small group, caught Gretchen’s eye for a split second and then wrinkled her nose. She sniffed the ouzo, turned an interesting shade of pale before taking a sip…and then a few shades paler after it.

  “N-Next question,” she said, her green eyes watery and her voice a little hoarse.

  Three rounds later, they all were laughing, no one more heartily than Nick, who’d downed five or six full shots of ouzo in under an hour.

  “Oh—oh, I know the next question,” the guy said, flopping to the ground and covering his eyes with his palms for a moment. “Who was the first person you ever slept with?” He raised his head and glanced at everyone with a silly expression. “Oh, wait. You don’t have to answer that one, Elizabeth.”

  “Why not?” Rob said, noting the strange dynamic bouncing between Elizabeth, Jacques and Gretchen at this question.

  “I’ll go first,” Jacques said, trying, from the look of it, to cut Nick off.

  “Anybody want more cheesecake or tartlets or anything?” Gretchen asked, waving a few sweets at them. “Oh, and don’t forget the baklava, truffles and chocolate-covered fruit. We have lots of—”

  “Because she’s a virgin,” Nick explained loudly, to which Gretchen sighed, Jacques slugged Nick’s arm and Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut.

  “Ow,” Nick said.

  “I’ll t-take a truffle to go,” Elizabeth said, getting up. “It’s pretty late and I didn’t sleep v-very well last night.” She tossed a few things in the trash and said to him in a strained voice, “Rob, could you please lock up when you’re all ready to go home?”

  “S-Sure,” he said, stuttering for probably the first time since he was a toddler. A virgin! Oh, God. And since this wasn’t news to any of them—except him—the reason for her embarrassment and quick departure was because of him, too.

  He had to let her know somehow that this was all right. That it was admirable even, especially in this day and age when restraint was rare. That—that he was grateful, of all things, that she hadn’t given herself to someone who wasn’t special to her. But she wouldn’t look at him.

  “Okay, t-thank you. Gretch and Jacques, could one of you drive Nick home? I don’t want him to die a horrible death before I can kill him.”

  “You got it,” Gretchen said.

  Elizabeth sprinted out the door. One of the candles extinguished itself when the wind rushed in. The room seemed darker.

  Jacques slugged Nick again.

  “Ouch. Stop it, would ya?”

  Rob got up and handed the keys to Jacques. “Could you lock up for me? There’s something I’ve got to take care of.”

  The Frenchman gave him a hard look, but he swallowed and nodded slowly.

  “Thanks.”

  Rob said goodbye to all of them, even the nearly passed out Nick on the floor, and told them he’d do all the cleaning up in the morning. Then he ran out after Elizabeth.

  He caught up with her by her car. “Can you hold on a minute?” he said.

  “Why?”

  “Because—because I’ve got something to—to tell you.” And in his mind he spoke very eloquently about how much he admired her and appreciated her moral strength and intelligence and how he thought she was just lovely, both now and even back in high school. But none of those words would come out.

  So, after an unbelievably long moment of her staring at him and him saying nothing, he reached out to her and drew her body to his. Her eyes became the largest spheres he’d ever seen on anyone’s face, but he figured if she wanted to stop him she would.

  He gave her another five seconds to push him away, if that was her choice. When the time ran out and she hadn’t, he brought his mouth down on hers.

  Hang on tight, sweetheart. This is one kiss you’re damn well going to remember.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Elizabeth had racked up plenty of experience with lightheadedness in the past twenty-four hours. A long, thorough kiss with Rob Gabinarri, however, did more than make her feel woozy and unsteady on her feet.

  She felt like she could fly clear to Tibet.

  This went beyond fantasy. This surpassed any daydreams she’d ever had of Rob during high school, or even this summer. This couldn’t possibly be for real.

  “W-What are you d-doing?” she managed to ask him when he let them break for air.

  “Last night’s kiss wasn’t a good idea. You were drunk and I wasn’t. Tonight, babe, we’re both sober and it’s a different story.”

  He looked at her all serious and sincere. She squinted at him. What the heck was he saying?

  “That kiss really happened yesterday?” she said.

  Now he was the one who squinted. “You’ve got me going out of my mind here, Elizabeth. Do you or don’t you remember kissing me last night?”

  Oh, God. She hadn’t dreamed it after all.

  “I-I-I thought I’d j-just imagined—”

  He shook his head and smiled slightly. “Nope.”

  Their few moments on her sofa came rushing back to her, as if all she’d needed was the confirmation that she hadn’t been hallucinating to solidify the baffling memory into reality. Oh, heavens. In her dream she’d practically attacked him last night. Only, if it wasn’t a dream then…

  She buried her head in the fabric of his shirt. “S-Sorry.”

  He pulled her away from her hideout and stared her down. “I’m not. Not about last night and not about now. Not unless—” He paused. “Unless you’d rather be with Ivan.”

  She squinted at him. “Who’s Ivan?”

  At that, Rob laughed a little and brought his lips to hers again for another long, slow, involving kiss that sent her soaring far away from Wilmington Bay, above the trees, over Lake Michigan, across the country and toward the ocean, while all the time embracing her firmly on their little plot of pavement and keeping her safe on the ground.

  “Get a room,” some snotty teen boy in a passing car shouted. Rob didn’t even look up.

  But, eventually, the summer heat grew too warm for them, even at nearly midnight, so he tucked her into his car and sped them over to her apartment.

  “Show me to thy sofa, woman,” he whispered in her ear.

  The heat in his voice made her body ripple with waves of wanting. She did as he asked.

  “Where were we yesterday like now?” He tugged off her shoes and laid her down on the cushions. He brought his face up close to hers. He looked at her expectantly. “You’re supposed to kiss me. You’re missing your cue,” he reminded her. “Hurry up.”

  Although she’d been kissing him virtually nonstop since they’d left Tutti-Frutti, she obliged. But, oh, there was something about this horizontal position that performed devious stunts on her weak flesh.

  Her blood pulsed differently, sending shivers of longing spurting through every vein and artery and bodily extremity.

  Her lips tingled with desire for more of him. More firm lips. More hungry tongue. More joining of their two beings.

  Her vision clouded over, like a kind of fog screen or hazy filter between them and the harsher outside world.

  “You n-need to keep doing this all night,” she told him. “I won’t let you stop.”

  “Okay by me.”

  And so the fever continued, with a furor of warring nerve fibers that were unable to decide where to concentrate sensation. There was so much to feel, so many points of contact where her body and Rob’s intersected. If only she could get rid of these restrictive clothes, there would be even more locales where their merging would be possible.

  She yanked his shirt free from his Levi’s…taking Step One in a recipe she’d never made. She lifted it over his head and tossed it on the floor. Step Two. She unfastened his belt buckle—with some difficulty—and snapped open his jeans. Step Three. She wrenched them down over his narrow, sexy hips. Step Four.

  He unbuttoned her blouse…unlatched her bra…pulled off her slacks…and had his fingers poised at the waistband of her ivory panties…in a record-breaking S
tep Five.

  When they were underwear-to-underwear, he pressed his erection against her. She gasped, never having felt anything like this before, and his gaze flew up to meet hers.

  “Oh-oh,” he said, his voice thick. “I bet I’ve crossed some uncrossed boundaries already.”

  “Ah-huh. About five more than have ever been breached.”

  He grinned. “Can’t say I’m sorry, Lizzy.”

  “Elizabeth,” she told him, then she snapped the waistband of his smiley-face boxers.

  “Ow. That was so not nice of you,” he murmured in her ear before he nipped at her lobe. Then he traced the outside of her ear with his wicked tongue, shooting sparks of need from that one tiny corner of her body all the way down and around to everywhere else. And, as if that weren’t enough sensation, he ground his hips into hers a second time.

  “Oohhh, Rob.”

  Then he did it again and again, and it occurred to her that this extreme level of awareness might overpower her. That her longing for him could get so strong that her flimsy underused circuits would overheat and shut down. That she could die from this degree of wanting.

  He surged against her another time and she almost broke. “Oh, Rob. I-I can’t—”

  She tried to say, I can’t take it anymore, I’m about to ignite, but Rob took her at her literal words, clenched his jaw and pulled himself off her.

  “I know. I’m sorry,” he said.

  She reached up to try to pull him back. To explain how he’d misunderstood.

  “You’re right to wait for someone special,” he said. “Someone who’ll love you and stick by you and be here for you next month and next year.”

  She let her arms flop down on the sofa. She wished she could cover her ears without offending him. She knew for sure she wasn’t going to want to hear what was coming next.

  “I want you like a crazy man tonight, Elizabeth, but you know Chicago is home to me now. You know after our uncles come back next week I’m going to have to leave.”

  Her throat was dry and unresponsive, so she just nodded. Yes, yes, she knew he’d leave.

  “And you’ve waited for so long. I don’t—I don’t want you to waste this gift of yourself, of your first time, on me.”