7. Clarry

CLARRY

Wet.

Everything felt fudging wet.

My pillow felt drenched from me crying all night.

My soul felt soggier than a cone trying to contain a melting ice cream.

My heart felt heavier than a wet blanket, the kind that would never dry properly no matter how long you left it in front of the fire. All it did was smell damp and moldy.

By the time I rolled out of bed it was almost noon. I knew I had to get the parlor open. I knew I'd have to roll up my sleeves and start making more ice cream. I just wasn't sure how good it was going to taste.

I prided myself on the fact that I poured my heart into my creations.

But what good were the ingredients inside me now?

What on earth do you name the flavors of a broken heart?

Choca-Mocha Misery Mudslide?

Praline and Pistachio Pity Party?

Strawberry Swirl Sundae Sadness?

Pecan Honeycomb Happily-Never-After ?

"Oh, for cripes' sake! Pull up your big boy pants and pull yourself together, Clarry," I told myself sternly. "So what if River's already found a new girlfriend. And so what if it's that horrible Roxanne Maxwell, digging her claws into his tooshie like she was making her mark to claim him as her own. So what if that tooshie was supposed to be yours, not hers!" I felt the tears swell again, but I forced them back. "For crying out loud, Clarry, build a bridge and get over it. River hasn't been a part of your life for eight years. What difference does it make if he doesn't want to be a part of it now? You've got a job to do. It's the only thing you've got, so just do it. Go make some ice cream."

But first, some music.

I picked up my Discman.

I shoved the earphones into my ears.

I wasn't in the mood for one of my movie soundtracks—something that would normally inspire me—so I grabbed one of my old favorites, clicked the CD into place and pressed play.

Gilbert O'Sullivan began moping about being "Alone Again, Naturally."

And I knew exactly how he felt.

I measured milk and sugar.

I whipped cream and stirred in choc chips and caramel buttons.

I pulled a big tub of Creamy Crumbly Pumpkin Pie out of the cooler and placed it in the front counter window display. That's when I glanced up the street and saw River striding determinedly down Riverside Promenade, heading directly toward me.

I panicked and thought about closing up the front window of the parlor.

I scrambled to find my Gone Berry-Picking sign.

He was getting closer by the second.

So close now that he spotted me.

He waved.

Oh, sugar cookies !

I couldn't exactly hide now.

I gave a timid, twinkly wave back.

Oh, juniper berries, what was he doing here? Shouldn't he be working or hanging out with that home-wrecking, soul-crushing, dream-destroying new girlfriend of his? What did he come here to say to me?

What was I going to say to him ?

How's your love life?

Any fresh claw marks on your patootie?

Need an ice pack for that hickie?

A wide grin spread across his face as he neared me, as though he was busting to tell me all about his new romance. He even picked up the pace in the last few yards, breaking into an effortless jog to the parlor. Just watching him move—the motion of his body, limbs limber and graceful—forced me to work extra hard to keep my chunky legs from turning to boneless blubber beneath me.

With ease he sailed to a halt at the front counter of the parlor. "Clarry! Hey! How you doing today?"

"Good. Great. Busy busy. You?"

"I'm good. Had a busy morning too. I'm on my lunch break, thought I'd go for a stroll."

"Nice day for it." Fudgesickles, that sounded so stupid coming out of my mouth.

"Yeah. It's a beautiful day." He squinted up at the bright sun. "Kinda hot, actually."

His large fingers toyed with the zip on his coveralls, swishing it up and down a few inches as though he was entertaining the thought of zipping it undone to cool off.

I wanted to tell myself to "Stand strong, blubber legs! Stand strong!"

"Maybe an ice cream will help cool you down," I suggested instead. I wanted him so badly to unzip his coveralls, but if he did, I feared it might be the end of me. "Pecan Honeycomb Crush is your favorite, right?"

I didn't need to ask, I knew all too well it was. But I didn't want to come across as too clingy or observant or knowledgeable; I didn't want to appear to be an expert in all things River Raven. Clearly, I wasn't. After all, I had no idea he'd come back to Mulligan's Mill to find love in the arms of a woman, especially one like Roxanne Maxwell.

What else didn't I know about my best friend?

Was he even my best friend anymore?

Perhaps I'd been wrong to assume we were ever best friends at all. Perhaps he felt differently to me. Perhaps he just felt sorry for me all these years, as though he was obliged to be my friend, because if he didn't do it, nobody else would.

While the bones in my legs threatened to dissolve, the contents of my belly swirled about in a whirlpool of anguish and uncertainty.

"Yeah, Pecan Honeycomb Crush is totally my fave," he smiled. "You know that. God, how many times have I sat on your couch watching TV and polished off a cone of Pecan Honeycomb? I can't even count."

I faked a carefree laugh, as though those memories meant nothing. "Me neither. One scoop or two?"

"Definitely two. It really is hot today."

The zipper began to descend, pinched between his thumb and index finger and pulled slowly downward, revealing the key to the ice cream parlor hanging on a chain, dangling between the mounds of his pecs.

I swallowed and my throat clicked audibly.

I had to look away, focusing instead on the once simple job of scooping ice cream into a cone, something I'd done a million times before. Yet now it was like splitting an atom or performing open heart surgery, my hand quivering and the task seemingly impossible. I could almost hear the teeth of the zipper clack as the coveralls came undone.

Clack.

Clack.

Clack.

My heart was like a battering ram against the wall of my chest as I tried desperately to ignore River's slow striptease.

By some miracle I managed to get one scoop into the cone.

Another miracle occurred when I managed to balance a second scoop on top of the first, albeit it was sitting a little wonky.

When I looked up to hand him the ice cream, I saw that River had not only unzipped his coveralls, he'd slipped his arms free and was now tying the sleeves around his waist like a makeshift belt, standing there before me completely naked from the waist up.

His brown skin shone in the warm sun.

His hairless torso was like sculpted marble, his muscles so much bigger than they once were.

And when he looked up from tying his sleeves, that smile still spread across his handsome face, there was no hiding the tremor as I held out his ice cream cone.

Concern washed his smile away. "Clarry? Are you okay? You're shaking."

He saved the cone, taking it in his hand before it slipped out of mine, his fingers brushing against my fingers in an exchange that lasted several seconds longer than it needed to.

"I'm fine," I babbled. "My fingers are just cold from making ice cream all morning. Brrrr ." I feigned another laugh and added a fake shiver to my performance, even though my entire body was still fighting to stay upright.

The second scoop of his cone started to slide and he stopped it…

With his tongue .

A nervous stutter escaped me and he heard it, eyes glancing up at me again.

"Cold. Shivers. Brrrr, " I said once more to try and pass off the noise I'd made.

The cream of the scoop melted against his tongue and slid down the side of his mouth.

I stifled the groan inside my chest, smothering it like I was a villain armed with a pillow in a Hitchcock movie.

River's tongue didn't know whether to lick the cream gliding down to his chin, or try to nudge the scoop into a more stable position on the cone.

"Do you… need… help… Do you need me to help?" I muttered.

"Uh-uh," he said, his words muffled in cream. "I ink I oh ay."

His lips intervened, sucking the top of the scoop in an attempt to stop it from slipping off the bottom scoop. All he managed to do was squidge more ice cream out both sides of his mouth.

A big glob slid down one side of his chin…

Then landed with a splat on the mound of his left pec, an inch from the canyon that ran down the center of his chest.

My winky dinky swelled instantly.

The blood pounded in my ears.

My heart did a drumroll and practically boom-tished!

River looked down at his chiseled chest, the glob oozing over his mountainous pec and gliding into the crevice between his muscles where the key on the chain sat. With one finger he messily mopped up the splodge, then brought his finger to his mouth, his tongue licking up the cream so thoroughly, so slowly, so seductively, I didn't know whether to pass out or throw myself over the counter, yank his finger out of his mouth and replace it with mine.

Not that I had the physical energy to do anything other than gape with glaze-eyed lust at my best friend in all his muscly, ice-creamy glory .

Yes sir, in that moment my two greatest fantasies collided in a sultry, simmering scene of pure bliss. If I'd been wearing pearls, I would have clutched them so tight I'd have snapped the string holding the necklace together, sending white pearlescent gems spurting into the air.

When River was done licking his finger clean, he went back to mopping up the remnants of cream that had by then drizzled down over his abs.

My knees actually knocked together and settled there, as though my legs were two crumbling pillars needing each other's support.

My body caved against the ice cream display, the only thing left holding me up.

By now, more cream had started oozing down the sides of his cone.

It melted in trickles at first, then rivulets, then streams.

It began to slide over the fist that held the ice cream.

More drops spattered his chest and abs.

My man-candy had swollen in my jeans by then, straining inside the denim and ready to produce a quart of cream all of its own.

River simply looked up and laughed, white oozing down both sides of his mouth as he gulped down more ice cream and said, "God, maybe I do need some help. Do you have a paper napkin?"

Paper napkin? How about my tongue?

"Oh sherbert, you have made a mess of yourself. Here."

I passed him a handful of paper napkins over the counter.

He held the cone with one hand while he tried to clean himself up with the napkins in the other hand, the paper tearing and sticking in patches.

"Oh shit, I think I'm just making an even bigger mess. You know what, I think I just need to devour the rest of this cone before it completely caves in my hand."

"I think that's probably a good idea." I nodded, yearning to see him shove that big, oozing cone in his mouth.

My eyelids fluttered when he did exactly that, jamming the collapsing cone down his eager throat. He bit down twice, pushed with his fingers, and before I knew it, he had swallowed down every last gulp.

"Oh my," was all I could murmur.

His tongue slurped up one last drop on the corner of his mouth and the smile returned to his face. "All gone. Fuck that was delicious. Although I have to say I'm kinda sticky now."

He needed a good shower.

Oh, gobsmackers he needed a shower.

I wanted to suggest it. I had a perfectly good shower upstairs he could use.

But it wasn't my place to say anything.

What would that even sound like?

That I wanted him naked… and wet… in my little home above the parlor?

Why would I even suggest that when he probably had a date with Roxanne after work?

I kept my mouth shut.

Kept myself upright.

Kept myself propped up against the counter as the words suddenly rolled off his tongue—"Do you think it'd be okay if I used your shower?"

All I could whimper was, "Yes."

Steam billowed out through the slightly opened door, and all I could ask myself was, "Why would you leave the door to the bathroom open while you showered? Who does that?"

People who feel comfortable in their own skin do that.

People who have served in the military and showered with other people do that.

Couples do that.

He definitely ticked the first two of those boxes.

But it was the third box I wanted him to tick the most.

I was cleaning up the kitchen that didn't need cleaning, listening out for the bell I'd left on the parlor counter downstairs in case anyone wanted to buy an ice cream cone…

Praying that nobody turned up to the counter…

Not wanting to leave my pokey little upstairs apartment in case River needed a towel, or more soap, or a hand working up a lather.

The chunky funky monkey in my jeans had remained very chunky for the last twenty minutes, but thankfully my pink apron masked it. Urgently I wanted to step up to that crack in the door and peer inside.

I wanted a glimpse.

An innocent little peep.

The chance to spy his perfect, muscular body through the steam and capture the image in my mind forever.

But that would be wrong, wouldn't it?

It would be deceitful and fiendish and downright impolite to sneak a peek without his permission, wouldn't it?

I couldn't do it.

I wouldn't do it.

I refused to—

"Say Clarry, are you there?" River called from the bathroom as I heard him shut off the water.

"Ah, ye-ye-yeah?" I stammered.

"Would you mind helping me here? I got soap in my eyes, I can't see where the towel is."

Oh mercy me!

"Um. Of course. Sure thing."

I wanted to rush to the bathroom door, yet at the same time I was utterly petrified. My heart was clanging like a fire bell, my very core quivering with terror. Gently I pushed the door open and, oh cockadoodle dandy!

There he stood in the shower recess, hazy through the veil of steam yet every inch of him visible. Naked. Nothing but the key to the parlor hanging around his neck.

He was completely exposed.

Dripping with water.

And he didn't seem to mind at all.

"You there?" He was rubbing his eyes with one hand and reaching blindly forward with the other.

His chest glistened.

His abs shimmered.

And his thick meaty manhood hung heavy and long and if I wasn't mistaken semi-hard between his thighs, veins roping their way down the shaft, its crown bulbous and a ripe pinkish-purple.

"Yeah, I'm right here." My voice cracked as though I just hit puberty.

I hadn't really seen River completely naked before, not with such clarity.

Yes, there was the time we went camping and I somehow woke up with my hand around his erect peen, but the moment descended into humiliation and horror so quickly that I never really got a good look at him before I burst into tears of sheer embarrassment.

This was different.

This was River inviting me in to take a look, standing unabashedly naked before me, thankfully unable to see me peering at his pecker and eyeballing his large, plump wrecking balls.

I fumbled for a towel, unable to avert my gaze.

I pulled one off the towel rack and reluctantly handed it to him.

River's hand groped for it. "Thanks."

With one end of it he rubbed at his eyes, while the other end of the towel dropped in front of him like a curtain coming down on his muscled torso.

I didn't know whether to stay or leave, when the bell from downstairs rang with a ding-a-ling-a-ling.

I pointed out the obvious. "That's a customer. I'll be back."

I almost added, "Don't move, stay right there, stay exactly as you are." But I stopped myself before I made things totally weird.

Instead, I raced downstairs and up to the counter.

I moaned to myself in despair when I saw cantankerous old Mrs. Roper looking angrily at my ice cream display. "Where's my Nutty Nougat Prune Surprise gone? You know that one was my favorite. Kept me regular. So where is it?"

"Good afternoon to you too, Mrs. Roper."

"I didn't say ‘good afternoon'. I said where's my damn Nutty Nougat Prune Surprise. Don't tell me you've decided to stop making it."

I tried not to give an irritated sigh as I thought about the naked man in my shower. "Unfortunately, I decided to discontinue that flavor. People were enjoying the Nutty Nougat part, they just weren't ready for the Prune Surprise."

"What are you talking about?"

"It was making customers a little too regular, if you know what I mean."

"Oh baloney. When you get to my age there's no such thing as too regular. I demand you make me a fresh batch of my ice cream immediately."

"Mrs. Roper, I can't just whip up an entire tub of ice cream at the drop of a hat. Making ice cream takes time. It demands care and creativity."

"Give me a break. I didn't ask you to paint the Sistine Chapel, I asked you to make some damn ice cream."

I began to dance impatiently from one foot to the other. "Mrs. Roper, I'm afraid you're going to have to choose something else from the display. "

"Fine," she huffed. "But I'm not happy about this. It's downright ageist if you ask me. I've a good mind to write a letter to Judge Judy about it."

"Perhaps I can suggest a scoop of Rhubarb Apple Pie Delight instead. Or maybe a Sherbert and Sherry Chantoozie, that's a favorite with many of my older customers."

Mrs. Roper gasped. "Did you just call me old? You are being ageist. How dare you? You can shove your ice creams up your ass, Clarry Pinkerton. You'll be hearing from my lawyers. I'll see you in Judy's courtroom."

With that, the town's crankiest old lady stormed off home while I turned and bolted back upstairs, praying that River was still toweling himself dry in my bathroom.

My heart sank when I saw him standing in my little living room, dressed in his coveralls. They were again unzipped and he was tying the sleeves around his waist like a belt once more.

"Oh, you're all cleaned up." I tried not to sound disappointed.

"Yeah. I think I got all the cream off." He pointed to his bare chest. "Thought I'd leave the top down for the walk back to work, get some sun on my shoulders."

"Well, you've got the body for it." The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. I added a desperate laugh to make things sound lighthearted and casual.

"You think so? Thanks."

He gave me a chummy slap on the side of my arm, and it almost toppled me. Then he winked at me as though giving me permission to give him a friendly pat too. I did so, my palm connecting with his bicep and resting there a moment.

The muscle was firm, but his skin was soft and warm.

I longed to run my hand down the contours of his arm, or up over the muscled boulder of his shoulder.

Instead, it took all my strength to pull my hand away.

We stood facing each other for an awkward moment, both of us not quite able to look the other in the face. Our eyes pinged from the floor, up to meet the other's gaze, before dropping to the floor again.

Eventually he said, "Hey, I hope you didn't mind me asking you to come into the bathroom and hand me a—"

"No! Of course not! Why would I mind?"

"Cool. I guess I got used to showering with the other guys while I was overseas. It's just kinda second nature now to strip off in front of someone else."

"Hey, whatever floats your boat."

Floats your boat? Seriously?

"Just so long as I didn't embarrass you, that's all." There was genuine concern in his voice.

"No! Not at all. It takes more than that to embarrass me."

Instantly I thought of the night we both woke in our tent with my hand holding his peen. I felt my face flush bright red, then looked up to see his cheeks blush pink too.

Oh jeepers, was he thinking the same thing?

Quickly he changed the subject. "Anyway, I was thinking… maybe we can hang out properly sometime. You know, grab a drink at Flannigan's Bar maybe."

"Oh, Flannigan's closed a couple of years ago. Everybody goes to Aunt Bea's these days."

"Aunt Bea? I met her. Stilettos. Sequins. A whole lotta sass."

"Yep, that's Bea all right."

"She owns a bar?"

"U-huh. She converted Mr. Kincade's old barnyard down near the mill. Gage Channing works the bar, there's a jukebox that plays old records, and Bea's even been known to get up on the bar and belt out a tune once in a while. Not that I've ever been, that's just what I've heard."

"Why haven't you been?"

"You know me, bars aren't exactly my scene. Besides, who'd go with me? "

River smiled excitedly. "I will. Let's go. Tonight. You and me. It sounds like fun."

I'm not sure which rose faster—my winky dinky, my sense of panic or my wall of defense. "Oh, gosh. No. No, no, no."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Because what?"

"Because… me."

He gave a laugh. "What do you mean, ‘you'? ‘You' are not a reason to not go out to a bar."

"Yes, I am. I'll feel completely out of place. I'm shy and awkward and terrible in social situations. Why else do you think I love sitting in a dark empty movie theater? It's to avoid going out and meeting people. I don't like hanging out with people."

"I'm a person. You like hanging out with me, don't you?"

"You're different."

"In what way?"

"In the way that I've known you forever." I wanted to add that I could be myself around him, but I knew that wasn't true, not entirely. There was that part of me that he could never know. The part that loved him so much more than just a friend. I settled for adding jokingly, "You know what a total dork I am. Besides, I don't have anything to wear to a place like that."

"You got jeans. You've got a shirt. That's all you need. Just don't wear your apron or that cute as hell pink bow tie of yours. They're not exactly clothes to wear to a bar in Wisconsin."

I blushed again and gave a shy grin. "You think my bow tie is cute?"

He reached forward and in a totally unexpected move he tweaked my nose with his finger. "God, you're cute as hell all over, you know that, right?"

I caught my breath.

Did he just say what I thought he said?

My crotch twitched again, and my heart grew wings .

"I am?" I asked in a voice so soft the words almost didn't form properly.

But he heard them alright. "U-huh. Sometimes I just wanna wrap you up in my arms and never let you go, you know that?" He sighed then. "I've really missed you, Clarry. There's something about you—something about us—that fills my cup."

I beamed. "Me too."

"So, you'll come tonight? To the bar? I'll keep you safe, I promise. I'll even come by and pick you up, so you don't have to walk in on your own. We'll go together. What do you say?"

I didn't want to go.

But I didn't want to say no.

Why would I say no to a chance to be with the man of my dreams?

Before I could overthink things a second longer, I nodded. "Okay."

"Yes!" he exclaimed. Suddenly his big arms were around me. His bare muscles enveloped me. He squeezed me tight, then as quickly as it had happened, he released me again.

I steadied myself.

He headed toward the stairs, still grinning. "We'll have fun, I promise. I'll come get you at eight o'clock."

"Eight o'clock?"

"God, is that too late?"

"No. Yes. It's a little past pajama time," I admitted.

"Seven. Let's say seven. I'll pick you up at seven. Does seven work?"

"Seven works."

"Good. It's a date then."

With those words he rambled down the stairs and out of the parlor…

Leaving me to ask aloud, "Did he just call tonight a ‘date'?"

At long last I let my legs give way as I collapsed onto my couch.