Peter threw his head back and let out a loud, forlorn sound of disgust.
Patrons sitting at the bar turned their heads.
Wendy’s cheeks flared with heat. She shoved Peter’s side. “Shh!” she hissed.
Unperturbed, Peter shook his head slowly. “You really need to branch out—broaden your horizons,” he told her.
“There’s nothing wrong with vanilla,” she muttered darkly.
“Whatever you say, Wendy.”
Wendy huffed, doing her best to ignore his stupid face and that damn smile. “What’s your favorite ice cream, then?” she asked, rolling her eyes.
“Bubblegum.”
Wendy scoffed. “What are you, eight?”
Peter shrugged his shoulders as his eyes drifted to the handwritten menu. “Sometimes.”
Wendy narrowed her eyes, unsure whether or not he was joking.
“Whoa,” Peter said, suddenly pointing at something behind the counter. “I want that.”
He was pointing at a picture of what looked like three scoops of chocolate ice cream with swirls of dark chunks, topped with caramel drizzle, whipped cream, and a cherry. The lettering below it read, TRY OUR NEW TRIPLE CHOCOLATE MOCHA ICE CREAM! MADE WITH REAL STUMPTOWN ESPRESSO BEANS!
Wendy snorted. “The last thing you need is sugar and caffeine,” she told him.
“I’m getting it.” Peter turned to the cashier. “Can I order one of those things, please?” he asked.
Wendy recognized the girl behind the counter from school, but she didn’t know her name. Her light brown hair was pulled up into a messy bun on top of her head, loose strands framing her face. She had on dramatic eyeliner that accentuated her brown eyes. A purple rhinestone nose ring sparkled in her nostril.
Wendy pushed her hands through her own short, blunt hair, suddenly feeling very plain.
Not unlike vanilla ice cream.
“Sure,” the girl said. She leaned on the counter and flashed Peter a smile. “How many scoops?” she asked.
“THREE!” was Peter’s enthused reply.
“Two,” Wendy cut in. When Peter jutted out his bottom lip, she added, “I’m the one who’s paying, remember?” She turned back to the girl. “And I’ll take an order of fries and a cup of ice water.” Wendy glanced at the ice cream again. “And one scoop of London Fog,” she added.
Peter’s smirk was knowing and triumphant.
Wendy rolled her eyes. “I happen to like Earl Grey.”
The smile the cashier gave Wendy was markedly less warm.
Wendy slid her debit card across the counter to the cashier. When she looked down, she saw Benjamin Lane, Ashley Ford, and Alex Forestay smiling up at her. They had taped the missing posters to the countertop. HAVE YOU SEEN ME? was written in big, bold letters at the top of all three.
Guilt cramped Wendy’s empty stomach.
When they got their order, they sat down at one of the picnic tables outside, where a cool breeze rolled in from the Columbia River. In the distance, sea lions crooned from the piers. She sucked down large gulps of ice water. The cold in her throat was refreshing.
As soon as he sat down, Peter swept a finger through the whipped cream and popped it into his mouth. “Mmm,” he hummed, eyes rolling back and lids fluttering in euphoria. He held out the paper bowl to Wendy. Waggling his eyebrows, he asked, “Wanna try?”
“When was the last time you washed your hands?” Wendy asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
“You don’t want to know,” Peter told her, grinning around the stem of the cherry he’d popped into his mouth.
Wendy shook her head at him, but she loved whipped cream. Leaning onto her elbow, she got a dab of the whipped cream on the tip of her finger and licked it off. It was real whipped cream, the thick, heavy stuff. Not the kind that came out of a can and tasted like an oil slick.
Peter dug in with his plastic spoon. He hummed to himself and Wendy wondered if he always did that when he ate.
Wendy went for her fries first. They were fresh and piping hot. She had to blow on a golden brown fry before taking a bite. The outside was crispy, the inside soft and fluffy. It was perfectly salty. They were the best fries in town by far. She cooled off her tongue with a taste of ice cream. The cool sweetness of the London Fog, with a nice balance of bergamot and vanilla bean, was the perfect mix.
“How is it?” Wendy asked as she bit into another fry.
Peter’s lips pressed together but his smile was still big enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes. “So good,” Peter said through a mouthful of chocolate and espresso beans.