The Lineup(51)

“I’m lactose intolerant.”

“Oh.” Her face falls, and I laugh, pulling her into my apartment.

“I’m only kidding. Ice cream is my jam. What flavor did you get?”

She sets her purse down in the entryway and follows me to my living room where I take a seat on the couch and she stands awkwardly at the edge of the rug.

“You can come in, you know. Make yourself comfortable.”

“Just dropping off ice cream.”

“Dottie. Sit.”

After staring at the couch for a few seconds, she finally gives in and takes a seat. She holds the blizzards out to me and says, “Strawberry cheesecake or double chocolate brownie?”

“Brownie. Brownie every time.” She hands me the little cup of ice cream and in seconds chocolate is searing my tongue, making me one happy man. “This is fucking perfect. Thank you.”

“The least I could do for your help today.”

I nudge her with my foot. “I told you it was no problem. I can seriously take care of the plants from now on if you want.”

She shakes her head. “No, the distance from my parents is nice.”

“Oh yeah, I keep forgetting they’re at your place. When I was reading the instructions, I saw that you’re not to water them past nine? What’s that about?”

“I have no idea. I just do what the instructions tell me to do. I swear she treats them like animals. She was never like this in college. It wasn’t until she was living alone that she developed a green thumb. I think it’s because she missed Knox and poured her love into greenery.”

“Better than pouring her love into a bottle.”

“I guess so.” She scoops a spoonful of ice cream in her mouth and looks around the place. “You really did do a nice job decorating.”

“Thank you. I hate decorating, because I really only care about the kitchen.”

“So you actually like to cook?”

“Love it,” I answer, ice cream sloshing around in my mouth. “It soothes me. I spend a lot of hours getting beat up behind home plate, and it’s a nice getaway from all of that.”

“What’s your favorite thing to make?”

“Potato salad of course.” I wink. “Which I still have not forgiven you for spitting that out in front of my face.”

“You were annoying me. I don’t feel bad.”

“Didn’t think you did.” I laugh and study her, while still shoveling ice cream in my mouth. “So why the change of heart?”

“What do you mean?” she asks, even though I know she knows what I mean. I can tell from the way she looks away, no doubt her mind spinning to find an appropriate answer. Whatever she says probably won’t be the full truth and that’s fine, because if she’s had trust issues in the past, it’s going to take a while to know I’m trustworthy.

“You want to be friends. But a few days ago, I think you would have rather stuck your head in my jockstrap and worn it as an eyepatch than be friends with me.”

“That’s revolting.”

“Exactly my point.”

She sets her cup down and says, “Emory and Knox are going through some big things. There are going to be parties and celebrations coming up, and I want to make sure it’s comfortable for everyone, which means we should get along.”

That does make sense, but I still don’t believe that’s the full truth.

“Think they’ll have one of those gender reveal parties?”

Dottie nods. “Oh yeah. I bet Knox hits one of those color balls with a bat to reveal it.”

“That is so him.” I devoured my ice cream, so I take the last bite and set my empty cup down. Dottie still has half of hers left. “Are you going to finish that?”

“Go ahead.” She hands it to me and I don’t even bother switching spoons. I take big scoops while smiling at her.

“Told you ice cream was my lover. Do you have one . . . a lover?”

“What? No. I haven’t dated in a really long time.”

“Not a person. But a thing that you attach yourself to during the good times and bad. A comfort food.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders are stiff as she talks. What’s it going to take to see her actually loosen up—but not in a weird I’m trying to slip my hands down your pants for no reason way. “Um, comfort food, well, I guess guacamole.”

“Really?” I ask, slightly stunned. For Knox, it’s Oreos, for Carson it’s M&M’s now—used to be brownies—I guess I just assumed she’d pick something sweet as well.

“Why is that such a shock?”

“I’ve never heard anyone say guacamole before. Do you have an accompanying chip with that? Scoops, black bean tortillas, a regular old Lay? Maybe a pretzel or pita chips?”

“Carrots.”

I blink . . . a few times. “Your go-to I need comfort meal is carrots dipped in guacamole.”

“Have you ever tried it?”

I finish the last spoonful and set the empty cup down. I lick my lips thoroughly, soaking up every last drip of ice cream. “I’m a healthy man, Dottie. I work out every day, I eat like a champion most of the time, kale being consumed daily, but I can tell you right now, carrots dipped in guacamole holds no appeal to me whatsoever.”