Kiss and Don't Tell(47)

“That works.”

Together, we walk down Banff Avenue.

“Do you think you’re going to get recognized?” Winnie asks, her shoulder brushing against mine.

“Strong possibility,” I answer. “It’s common knowledge that we hang out here during the summer. For the most part, everyone is pretty cool, but we’ll get a person here or there asking us to take a picture with them.”

“Do you?”

“Always,” I say. “My parents always said, it might be my tenth picture I take that day, but it’s the first for that person, and you always need to make sure to remember that.”

“That sounds . . . tiring. I couldn’t imagine.”

“Comes with the territory,” I answer and then point to a store. “Posey is obsessed with the fudge in this store. Not that you need to win over any of the guys, but Posey would love you forever if you got him some of the Neapolitan fudge.”

“Oh, I would love to be loved forever.” She opens the door for me and the aroma of sugary confections assaults me. So good.

“Oh no,” she says.

“What?” I ask, concerned.

“This is not good.” She shakes her head. “Not good at all. It smells too good in here, Pacey. I don’t have a strong willpower to resist buying everything, and my wallet can’t handle that kind of binge.”

“Do you have a sweet tooth, Winnie?”

She nods. “Oh, big time.”

“Then get what you want. It’s on me.”

She glances up at me. “You’re sweet, but that’s not happening. You’ve done enough for me already.” She moves over to the fudge counter and I hear her order some Neapolitan fudge. “How much would he like? I ordered a quarter of a pound. Should I get more?”

“Nah, I’m going to get some for the house as well. But if Posey has his own stash, he’ll be grateful.”

“Are you sure?”

I nod. “Yeah, positive.” While the fudge is being wrapped up, I watch her carefully to see if she gives anything away as to what she’d want, but she doesn’t stray far. I hate that I don’t know what she’d like. I hate that I can’t just get her something for the hell of it.

So, instead, I decide on something for the both of us.

“Ever had a caramel apple?”

She pensively taps her chin. “I don’t believe I have.”

“Want to share one with me? We can save it for after lunch, maybe when we’re riding in the gondola.”

“That sounds like fun. Sure.”

“Do you have a flavor choice?” I ask, bringing her over to the display case where all the apples are. “They have tons of flavors.”

“Oh, wow, they do.” She studies them. “Although I’m obsessed with anything that has chocolate and peanut butter, I would say, let’s go with the original.”

Peanut butter and chocolate, good to know. That was easier than I thought. And apparently, she likes caramel, too, if she’s up for a caramel apple.

I order us an original apple, and while she pays for the fudge, I work with a lady behind the counter, who helps me fill up a small box with candies that I think Winnie might like. Once I pay for everything and thank the workers, I place my hand on Winnie’s lower back and guide her out of the store.

“The boys must love their chocolate,” she says as I take her bag from her. She doesn’t need to carry that.

“They do, but I picked some stuff out for you, too.”

“Pacey, you didn’t.”

“I did.” I drape my arm over her shoulders and bring her in close. “I have to win you over somehow so you start talking to me.”

“You can just ask; you don’t have to bribe me with chocolate.”

“Will you give me the real-deal answers, though?”

She moves her arm around my waist and says, “I think I’m comfortable enough at this point to give you the truth.”

I gather two things from that: She doesn’t trust easily, and when she does trust, she’s willing to open up. That’s really good to know.

I point to a shop up ahead. “That has a bunch of souvenirs in it. Shirts and whatnot. Hornsby collects souvenir hats. He gets at least one every time we come here, and I can help you pick one out if you like.”

“That’s perfect. Eli has been so kind to me. A hat would be perfect.”

I let go of her and reach for the door, holding it open for her. She walks in past me, her hand grazing my arm in the process, and I can fucking feel it—the electricity bouncing between us. She’s growing increasingly more comfortable with me.

We head back to the hats and I ask her, “So what do you do?”

She picks up a pink trucker hat and plops it on her head. She makes a cute face at me and asks, “Think Eli would like this one?”

“I think you need to keep looking.”

She chuckles and says, “Maybe so. And as to what I do for a living . . . well, currently, I guess I still hold the title of student.”

That wasn’t what I was expecting.

“Oh, shit, how old are you?”

She pats my chest. “Don’t worry, Pacey. I’m an old student. Twenty-five.”

Hmm, okay, two years younger than me.