KEILAH
I tugged at Ralph’s hand, trying to pull him toward the ice cream shop. The brightly colored sign above the door read "Scoops & Smiles," and the kids were laughing inside, faces smeared with chocolate and sprinkles. The sweet aroma of freshly made waffle cones and creamy scoops of different flavours filled the air, and I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of indulging in a little treat. But Ralph, as always, resisted.
"Come on, Ralph," I urged, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. "It’s just ice cream. It’ll be fun!"
He glanced at the brightly colored sign above the shop, then back at me, his expression impassive. "Mate, this kind of ice cream eating is for kids and teenagers," he replied, his tone calm but firm. "Not for someone like me."
I stopped pulling and l
