As our journey to the undisclosed destination progresses, Kai suddenly instructs me to cover my eyes presumably to preserve the element of surprise. Despite my initial reluctance, he gently slows the vehicle and covers my eyes with his hand. So that he can solely focus on driving I replace his hand with mine somewhat indignantly. With a sense of unease, I wait for his next instruction. What sinister plans does have in store for me?
My apprehension is somewhat eased by the fact that I did not notice any dense forests in the vicinity before I was blindfolded. However, my mind is still racing with possibilities.
I cannot help but feel a little nervous about what lies ahead. All I hear is the sound of quiet music leaving the radio as the car rolls to a halt, tyres rolling against the asphalt. I have to mentally remind myself not to remove my hands from my eyes.
"Don't look yet," he says urgently.
"I'm not." I hear the sound of his door opening. "Hurry up."
He closes the door after stepping out of the car and in my blind state, I assume he's coming over to let me out too. When my door opens and a gust of wind tickles the strands of my hair, he tells me to give him one of my hands and guides me out of the seat. I clumsily stumble around on my feet, but he balances me with a hand around my waist. After shutting the door for me, he walks me forward a bit before standing behind me and covering my eyes himself.
Uncontrollably, a strained titter leaves passed my lips and I apprehensively bring my hands up to touch his.
"How long do I need to keep my eyes closed?" I drawl out impatiently.
"Not long."
He guides me with his body firmly pressed onto my back and when I feel his warm breath caressing the nape of my neck, I melt into his embrace. The lines of his physique embrace me and noticeably my shoulders stiffen. His hand finds my waist and we move forward together, our movements in synch as if we are one. My eyes flutter open even though I am still caught in darkness and a breath leaves my nostrils harshly from the heat that is surging through my body from his closeness.
"You okay?" he leans over my shoulder to whisper into my ear, causing another slight shiver to travel from the tips of my fingers all the way to my toes.
Instead of answering verbally lest my breathlessness gives me away, I quickly nod while simultaneously trying to prevent my cheeks from blushing and calming my already fast paced heart drumming within the cavern of my chest. His grip tightens and he pulls me closer to him. So close that I can feel the steady rhythm of his heart.
"Okay, stop here."
I do. "Am I allowed to look now?"
"Yeah."
I slowly drag his hand down and blink the discomfort out of my eyes from being swallowed in darkness for so long.
The first thing which catches my attention about the familiar, trendy spot is the bright colours. Cotton candy pink and soft baby blue is an amazing pair when trying to attract consumers to buy all sorts of frozen drinks and comestibles. The neon sign above the building flickers on and off.
When a few people I know from school saunter passed me, they wave at me politely and then they whisper amongst each other after seeing the person who I am with. This place is extremely popular.
Most people bring their dates here, and a lot of them insist upon it. Apparently, it has good luck or some mystical charm which keeps people bound together for eternity or something. I think that is just bogus superstition because I remember my brother bringing girls here with him and all those relationships ended with the conclusion of his time in school.
Me and Taylor pop in here every once in a while. They serve the best Danish chocolate chipped balls.
"So, what do you think?" he asks me after my lengthened silence.
"There is no way you brought me here." With a surprised grin, I throw my head over my shoulder to look at him. "This is the first place we ever met."
Satisfied with my observation, he nods his head and a smile breaks out on his face.
"You are such a cheese fest," I say while letting out an amused spur of chuckles while slapping my knee.
"Uhm... I think you mean dreamboat," he responds sarcastically with a playful look.
"I have not been here in a while," I admit to him while trying to refrain from bouncing around on the balls of my feet excitedly. "Probably because it was too cold to come here during winter. The last time I got froyo while it was cold, I caught a cold."
"That was one too many colds in a sentence."
I wrinkle my nose at him mockingly before taking his hand and marching us into the store. The wind that instantly blows down on us from the air conditioner has me grateful and when I see the secluded booth that I normally pick is empty, I quickly guide us over to it.
While being dragged by me, under his breath, I hear him complaining about me high jacking his date and I don't disagree. I probably know this place better than he does though. We shuffle into the booth, sitting on adjacent sides of the booth. He sits against the wall while I stay near the outside.
"You do know that we need to go and order our drinks before sitting down, right?" he muses, leaning back into the wall behind him leisurely.
"I know. I just wanted to make sure that we secured this booth."
"What, is this like the best booth in the house?"
"Mate, you have no idea. My friend and I have the entire layout all figured out. You see, one of the other booths is way too close to the bathroom, so you spend most of the time inhaling bleach or watching people walking in and out whilst wiping their wet hands all over their trousers."
"Mm-hmm."
"The other booth is near the window, and I don't particularly like being seen eating or drinking by random people walking up and down the pavement. That is how you get turned into a meme on the internet. I'm good."
"Right." He seems amused.
"You laugh, but I just saved you from potentially having to bear the smell of bleach and having your face turned into a meme."
"I don't mind the smell of bleach. I quite like it. It's the same with the smell of petrol."
I pretend to wretch at his words and then distastefully, I shake my head no. He chortles under his breath. Unlike most, the smell of petrol always has me gagging.
When he tries to stand up to go and order our respective drinks, I quickly reach for his arm and drag him back down into his seat. He gives me a questioning look and that is when I remind him about that one time he paid for our meal at South Bank and he promised me that I would pay the next time we went out. It's my turn to cover our drinks.
I stand up after telling him to protect our booth with his life. A "go down with the ship" sort of protection.
"I think I'm going to go for some froyo," I think out loud.
When I ask him what he would like, he tells me that he would prefer plain, old vanilla ice cream over anything else and after nodding in confirmation, I stroll over to the front to stand in line to order. The mood to have froyo dissipates the closer I get to the counter and is replaced by wanting a cold slushy. So, I order one icy, raspberry slushy and a medium cup of vanilla ice cream. The bloke at the front announces my order once it has been made and I turn towards him to swap my payslip for the items, leaving him with a polite thank you.
Upon my return, instead of allowing me to sit back down opposite him, he grabs my arm and forces me to slide into the space beside him. "I thought you were getting froyo," he comments with furrowed brows the second he sees my big cup of slushy.
"Changed my mind. I want a slushy." I slide his cup of ice cream across the table over to his side. I have to admit, it looks delightful. However, chocolate will always be the supreme flavour.
"That will give you brain freeze," he warns me.
"Only if I drink it too fast."
"I dare you to do it," he exclaims, smiling at me challengingly.
I purposefully suck the slushy into my mouth slowly, watching him pointedly.
He grins in amusement and then spoons his ice cream, but right before he puts the spoon in his mouth, he pauses midway. Then he glances down at the ice cream and worriedly asks, "This ice cream is kosher, right?"
"What is kosher?"
"Well, that definitely means it isn't kosher," he says, gently stabbing the spoon back into the cup. "Remember what I told you about me being Jewish and how I am not supposed to eat food that is not kosher?"
"Oh, right," I exclaim, grimacing apologetically at my forgetfulness. "Sorry. I completely forgot."
"No, it's my fault. I should have been more specific."
"Wanna swap?"
After contemplating my offer, he nods his head and we swap cups across the table. I was not planning on having vanilla ice cream today, but it's not the end of the world. I can always just get myself another jumbo slushy cup before we leave.
"By the way, why are you always carrying that camera around?" he asks, tilting his head over to gesture at the camera resting on my lap. "I rarely ever see you using it."
"My dad got it for me before he passed away, so I guess I carry it around with me because it helps me feel closer to him or whatever," I explain to him, scooping the ice cream onto my spoon and allowing it to melt on my tongue. Vanilla is not half bad actually.
"Oh," his tone turns repentant and I glance up to see him giving me an apologetic look. "I'm sorry for asking. I… I didn't know."
At first, my brows furrow in confusion at his words until it hits me that condolences are something that people give to those who have lost loved ones. Then I smile stiffly, shaking my head as if silently reassuring him that he has nothing to be apologetic for. Just in case he doesn't get it, I say, "It's okay."
"So, I'm guessing that your mum remarried because I thought I met your dad at the diner a few months ago. Unless he's the one you're talking about."
"No, Franklin is my stepdad. They aren't married though. I don't think my mum wants to get married again. If she did, she would have done so by now. They have been together for about nine years now."
"Um… what happened to your dad, if you don't mind me asking?"
"He… died in a car accident when I was about seven years old. Six or seven. I don't really remember and I feel awkward talking to my mum about it because I do not want to unintentionally hurt her by bringing it up."
"I'm sorry to hear that," he whispers intimately. "Do you miss him?"
I stare at him for a second, pondering his words.
Quickly, he cuts me off to say, "I'm sorry. I have no idea why I asked that. Of course, you miss him. He was your dad."
"Yeah. I mean, I do miss him, but I would be lying if I said I don't sometimes forget that he was once in the picture. I think the longer it has been, the harder it has become to remember his face and that might be what saddens me the most. The fact that I need to constantly look at the photo I still have of him to remind myself. I know that's fucked up to say but…"
"I don't think that's fucked up to say," he says softly, watching me reassuringly. "I won't pretend to know what losing a loved one to death is like but you seem to be dealing with it in your own way."