Page 53 of Let’s Make a Scene

“Cynthie! Jack!” one of them calls. “Does this mean you guys are back together?”

We ignore them as best we can, and Jack continues to walk on the outside, blocking me from the worst of the rabble. He doesn’t hold my hand—we haven’t discussed hand holding, and I’m starting to realize he’s really not going to touch me unless I ask him to. So he doesn’t hold my hand, but he stays close to me, closer than a casual acquaintance would. The photographers are loving it.

We reach the ice cream shop, which is charming with its stripy red awning, and provides a sweetly innocent backdrop for our “date.” I wonder if that’s why Jack thought of it. When we duck inside, the shouts of the photographers cut off dramatically. The shop is relatively empty, so there aren’t too many curious faces in here.

Jack exhales a sigh of relief. “That was a bit more intense than I’d anticipated. People aren’t usually so bothered about getting a photo of me buying ice cream.”

“Half those guys were parked outside my house twenty-four/seven for the first couple of weeks after the story broke,” I say. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised they’ve turned up. Gayle did say there’d be a lot of interest.”

Jack’s mouth thins. “It looks like she was right. I hadn’t really thought about this whole thing except in a sort of abstract way… The reason you have to do it… It’s not right. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You’re helping me. This is much better than doing it by myself.”

He still looks annoyed. “I didn’t exactly volunteer because of my chivalrous nature,” he says. “And that pisses me off.”

“It pisses you off?”

His eyes meet mine. “Yes, it does. I’m pissed off with myself.”

“Would ice cream help?” I ask after a moment.

There’s another beat and then he sighs. “It wouldn’t hurt. Come on, my treat.”

We move to the counter and eye all the flavors. There are loads, and each one sounds better than the last. “I’ll get a scoop of lavender honey in a waffle cone,” I decide.

Jack wrinkles his nose. “Aren’t those ingredients they make soap with?”

“All right, Mr. Sophisticated Palate. What are you having?”

“Bubble gum,” he says decisively. “With rainbow sprinkles.”

I laugh. “What are you? Six years old?”

His mouth tips up, his eyes crinkle. “It’s called nurturing your inner child, Taylor.”

“Wow,” I say as he accepts his lurid blue ice cream. “I had no idea bubble gum ice cream was therapy.”

“Lots of things can be therapy,” Jack says, licking his ice cream as I try really, really hard to look away. “But actual therapy is usually the best therapy.” He cocks his head, levels his gaze at me. “Have you got someone you can talk to at the moment?”

“I have Hannah.” I take my own ice cream from the woman behind the counter, while Jack hands over some cash and tells her to keep the change.

It’s not like it’s the first time anyone has suggested therapy to me, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Opening up like that to a stranger? Especially when so much of me is already up for public consumption? Let’s just say I don’t find the idea appealing.

Jack seems to accept the answer, or at least he doesn’t pry further. He only lifts his brows and says, “So do you want to eat these in here, or do you want to face the screaming hordes?”

I lick my ice cream thoughtfully, and it’s so delicious, I moan in appreciation. Beside me, Jack flinches like he’s just received an electric shock.

“What?” I ask, startled.

“Nothing.” He clears his throat. “Brain freeze.”

I wince sympathetically. “The worst.” The photographers hover outside the window. “I think if you can bear it, we should go and walk a bit. After all, the more pictures they get now, the better.”

“Sounds good,” Jack replies easily.

“And then we can… you know… what we talked about,” I manage, and I want to kick myself, because instead of sounding cool and nonchalant, I sound like a twelve-year-old girl, and I just know that I’m blushing, too.

To his credit, Jack tries to hide his amusement when he says. “Kiss, you mean?”