BETWEEN US AND THE PAST

CHAPTER9- ICE CREAM

I didn’t plan the grocery run. It was more like an emergency decision.

Because of course my body picked today to remind me that my monthly period does not respect schedules, school stress, or emotional chaos involving two complicated guys.

So I threw on a hoodie, grabbed my phone, and walked to the nearest grocery store with one mission: get in, get out, survive.

Simple.

At least that’s what I told myself.

The store was quiet, the kind of late-afternoon calm where everything felt slower than my thoughts.

I moved quickly through the aisles, avoiding eye contact with everyone like that could somehow make me invisible.

I reached the aisle.

Found what I needed.

Tampons.

Perfect.

I grabbed it without hesitation—

and turned too fast.

I collided with someone’s shoulder.

Not hard, but enough to make me step back instantly.

“Sorry—” I started at the same time he spoke.

I looked up.

Frost.

Of course it was Frost.

He stood there holding a small basket, calm as ever, like I hadn’t just crashed into his personal space mid–life crisis.

My brain short-circuited for a second.

“…Hi,” I said, immediately regretting how weak that sounded.

Frost blinked once. “Hi.”

Silence.

I tightened my grip on the item in my hand without thinking.

Then I realized what I was holding.

My soul left my body.

I tried to lower it behind my side casually.

Too late.

His eyes had already flicked down.

There was a brief pause.

Not dramatic.

Just… recognition.

I felt my face heat instantly.

Frost looked back up at me, expression neutral—but there was a slight pause, like his brain registered the situation a second later.

“Oh,” he said softly.

That one word made everything worse.

“It’s not—” I started immediately, then stopped because there was no sentence that saved me here.

Frost shifted his basket slightly, still not making it weird, which somehow made it more embarrassing because I was the only one malfunctioning.

“Do you need help?” he asked.

I blinked. “No.”

Too fast.

Too defensive.

He nodded once like he accepted that answer.

Another pause.

I tried to move past him.

Key word: tried.

Because as I stepped forward, my bag strap caught slightly on the shelf edge.

And in the split second I tried to fix it—

the item in my hand slipped.

It dropped.

Right between us.

Directly visible.

My brain fully stopped.

I bent down so quickly I nearly hit the shelf.

“I got it,” I blurted, voice way too loud for a grocery store.

Frost crouched at the same time out of reflex, but stopped halfway when I practically lunged for it.

We both froze for a second.

Too close.

Too aware.

I grabbed it first, stood up fast, and held it like it had personally offended me.

Silence.

Frost slowly straightened too.

His expression hadn’t changed much—but there was a subtle shift in his eyes, like he was trying very hard not to react.

I stuffed it into my basket without looking at him.

“Okay,” I said quickly. “Done. Let’s go.”

Frost didn’t argue.

He just stepped aside slightly so I could walk past.

As I moved forward, I could feel my entire face still burning.

And then—very softly, almost under his breath—

“You’re overthinking again.”

I stopped walking for half a second.

Then kept going faster.

Because I absolutely was not going to survive this interaction any longer than necessary.

We left that aisle faster than I ever wanted to.

I didn’t look at Frost.

Not properly.

Not even once.

I just kept walking like the store was suddenly on fire and I needed to escape my entire existence.

Frost followed beside me at a steady pace, basket still in hand, like nothing unusual had happened at all.

Meanwhile, I was actively trying to erase the last five minutes from my memory.

We turned into the next aisle.

Better.

Safer.

Less emotionally damaging.

I focused on breathing normally. On acting normal. On pretending I was not internally screaming over a completely harmless grocery store incident.

A few seconds passed in silence.

Then Frost spoke.

“Do you like ice cream?”

I almost tripped.

I looked at him quickly. “What?”

He nodded toward the frozen section ahead.

“Ice cream,” he repeated simply. “Do you like it?”

I blinked.

“…Yes?”

That felt like a safe answer.

Frost nodded once like he filed that information somewhere in his brain.

Then, without changing his tone at all—

“Get some.”

I paused mid-step.

“…Excuse me?”

He was already walking toward the freezer section.

Not waiting.

Not explaining.

Just assuming I would follow again like this was now part of my life plan.

I stood there for a second.

Then exhaled slowly and followed anyway.

Because apparently I had given up making my own decisions today.

We stopped in front of the freezer doors.

Cold air rushed out when he opened one, brushing against my face.

I watched as he scanned the shelves.

Then he glanced at me.

“You choose,” he said.

I frowned. “Why me?”

“Because you’re picky,” he replied calmly.

“I am not picky.”

He didn’t respond to that.

Which somehow felt like an answer.

I sighed and leaned slightly toward the freezer, scanning the options.

Too many flavors.

Too many decisions.

I reached in, grabbed one randomly, and held it up.

“This one.”

Frost looked at it.

Then nodded.

“Good.”

I blinked at him. “You didn’t even check it.”

“I trust your choice,” he said.

That sentence hit weirdly harder than it should have.

I looked away quickly, clearing my throat.

“Okay… sure.”

He took it from me and added it to his basket like it was completely normal for him to randomly assign me ice cream responsibilities in a grocery store.

We started walking toward the checkout.

I thought that was it.

The end of the embarrassment arc.

Wrong.

Because halfway down the aisle, Frost slowed slightly.

Then spoke again.

“You looked stressed earlier.”

I stiffened. “I wasn’t stressed.”

“You were,” he said simply.

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

He continued walking beside me, calm as ever.

Then added, almost casually—

“Ice cream helps.”

I stared at him.

“…Is that your solution to everything?”

He thought for a second.

“Yes.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or question my entire life.

So I did neither.

I just walked beside him in silence all the way to the counter—

holding tampons in one hand, ice cream in the other—

fully aware that this was officially the most chaotic grocery run of my life.

We ended up sitting outside the grocery store on a low concrete ledge near the parking lot.

The evening air had cooled down, soft enough that it almost made the situation feel normal.

Almost.

I held the ice cream cup in both hands like it was something I needed to evaluate before accepting my life choices. One bite in, I already knew the truth.

I did not like it.

Not even a little.

It was cold, sweet, and somehow still too much at the same time—like frozen regret pretending to be dessert.

I swallowed anyway and immediately made a face I failed to hide.

“Don’t comment,” I said quickly.

Frost glanced at me.

He was eating his like it wasn’t even a question. No reaction. No hesitation. Just steady, calm bites like flavor didn’t have authority over him.

I frowned slightly.

“How are you eating that like it’s normal?” I asked.

Frost paused. “It is normal.”

“That’s not an answer,” I said.

He took another bite anyway.

Still calm.

Still unaffected.

I stared at him for a second longer than necessary, then muttered, “Are your taste buds broken or something?”

That got him to look at me properly.

And then—

he laughed.

Quiet at first, like he didn’t mean to.

Then a little more.

Not loud. Not dramatic.

Just an unexpected sound of amusement that made my brain stall for half a second.

I blinked.

“What?” I asked immediately.

Frost shook his head slightly, still smiling faintly. “You’re unpredictable.”

My face warmed instantly.

“I am not unpredictable.”

“You are,” he said simply, taking another bite like it was confirmed data.

I looked away fast, suddenly very interested in the sidewalk.

Because unfortunately…

he wasn’t wrong.

A few seconds passed in quiet.

Not awkward.

Just… settled.

Then I spoke again, softer this time.

“…Can I ask you something?”

Frost didn’t even look surprised. “You already are.”

I ignored that.

“Mason,” I said.

The moment his name left my mouth, the air shifted slightly.

Not tense.

Just more aware.

Frost slowed his spoon a little.

I continued anyway.

“What’s going on between you two?”

Frost leaned back slightly against the ledge, gaze drifting toward the parking lot like he was choosing his words carefully for once.

After a pause, he finally said, “Nothing simple.”

I sighed. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only honest one,” he replied.

I poked my ice cream again, watching it melt slightly at the edges.

“Of course it is,” I muttered. “Everything in my life is ‘not simple’ now.”

“You make it sound like chaos follows you,” he said.

I pointed at myself without hesitation.

“It does.”

Frost gave a faint exhale that almost sounded like a laugh.

“You’re just… loud about it,” he added.

I gasped slightly.

“I am not loud.”

He didn’t argue.

Which somehow made it worse.

I checked the time on my phone.

“…It’s late,” I said quietly, mostly to myself.

Frost glanced up. “Yeah.”

I stood up, brushing my hands together. “I’ll just walk home.”

That made him pause.

“You shouldn’t,” he said simply.

I looked at him. “It’s not that far.”

“It’s dark,” he replied.

“I’ve walked in worse.”

He didn’t react.

Just stood up too, calm as ever.

“I’ll give you a ride,” he said.

I blinked. “What?”

“A ride,” he repeated.

I shook my head immediately. “No, it’s fine. I can walk.”

“You can,” he agreed.

I narrowed my eyes. “Then why are you offering?”

“Because it’s late,” he said simply.

“…You always talk like that?”

“Yes.”

“That explains a lot.”

He ignored that.

“I’m really fine, Frost.”

“I know,” he said.

A pause.

Then—

“I’m still giving you a ride.”

“…That’s not how offers work.”

“It is for you.”

I let out a short laugh despite myself. “Excuse me?”

He already started walking.

“Get in.”

I stood there for a second.

Then muttered, “This is so annoying.”

But I followed anyway.

The car slowed as Frost pulled into the driveway.

Finally.

I exhaled. “Okay, thank you. I can take it from here.”

“Mm,” Frost responded, already turning off the engine.

I stepped out and closed the door.

And then I saw it.

The front door.

Open.

“…Mom?” I muttered, walking faster.

“Nugget,” I called out.

Too late.

A blur of fur shot past the doorway.

“NO—NU—!”

I ran after him.

Bad idea.

My knee protested immediately.

“Seriously?!” I hissed.

“Mason!”

He appeared instantly.

Fast. Focused.

He grabbed Nugget’s leash just before he reached the gate.

Nugget looked proud of himself.

I reached them out of breath.

“…You’re unbelievable,” I said, taking Nugget back.

My mom rushed out.

“Oh my goodness—Nugget! I forgot to close the door again!” she said.

Then she saw Frost.

“Oh—thank you for bringing her home safely,” she said warmly.

Frost nodded. “No problem.”

Mason handed Nugget back to me.

I sighed. “We’re installing alarms for this dog.”

Just as I got Nugget inside—

“Why is everyone outside my house looking like they survived a crisis?”

My dad.

Perfect timing.

He stepped out, looking between all of us.

My mom smiled. “I invited them for dinner.”

My dad raised an eyebrow. “Them?”

Mason nodded. “Good evening, sir.”

Frost followed. “Good evening, Mr. Loris. I’m Frost Dawson.”

My dad studied them.

“…Did I miss something?”

I sighed. “Yes. Everything.”

My mom waved it off. “They helped Evelyn and caught Nugget again.”

My dad softened. “Oh. Thank you, boys.”

Mason: “No problem.”

Frost: “It’s fine.”

Nugget barked again like he wanted credit.

“No,” I said. “You are not part of this conversation.”

Inside, my dad looked between them again.

“So… you two are classmates?”

I nodded. “Unfortunately.”

Mason glanced at me. “Yes.”

Frost: “We are.”

My dad sighed.

My mom clapped her hands. “Dinner!”

My dad muttered, “Of course you invited them without warning me.”

I muttered back, “Welcome to my life.”

Mason sat down.

Frost followed.

And I stood there for a second longer than necessary, realizing one thing very clearly:

My house had officially turned into a meeting point for my entire chaos problem.