Ice Cream

Chapter 4 – Ink and Shadows

The evening shift at Sweet Haven was quieter than usual. A soft golden glow spilled through the windows, casting the parlor in lazy warmth as the hum of the freezers filled the silence. Lily wiped down the counter with deliberate care, pretending not to notice Ethan leaning against the sink, his apron hanging loose around his neck, sleeves rolled up from the heat.

It was impossible not to notice him, though. The rolled sleeves revealed his forearms—strong, a little tanned, the kind of arms that looked like they belonged more to someone who worked with engines than ice cream scoops. And then she saw it.

A faint, jagged line etched across the inside of his wrist, disappearing under a shadow of ink. A tattoo. The scar wasn’t fresh; it was old, healed, but unmistakable. Her breath caught before she could stop herself.

“What?” Ethan’s voice pulled her out of her stare, and she nearly dropped the rag. His eyes had caught hers, sharp and a little amused, like he knew she’d been caught snooping.

“Nothing,” Lily said quickly, heat flooding her cheeks. She busied herself with the rag again, scrubbing the countertop as if her life depended on it.

Ethan smirked, pushing away from the sink. “You were staring.”

“I was not.”

“Yes, you were.” He tugged at the hem of his sleeve casually, though he didn’t bother rolling it back down. “What caught your eye? My rugged good looks? Or…” His gaze dropped to his own wrist before flicking back to her. “The battle scar?”

Lily’s heart thudded. So he wasn’t going to pretend it wasn’t there. “I wasn’t—well, maybe I was. Just for a second.” She met his eyes, trying not to flinch under the weight of them. “Where’d it come from?”

Ethan tilted his head, the smirk still lingering but softened now, edged with something unreadable. “That’s a pretty personal question, don’t you think, Vanilla?”

There it was again—that nickname. He tossed it around like a joke, but tonight it felt like a shield.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she said quickly, regretting she’d asked at all. “I just… noticed.”

Silence stretched, punctuated only by the sound of the scoop clattering in the sink. Finally, Ethan sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Let’s just say life doesn’t hand out scars for free.”

Lily blinked. That wasn’t exactly an answer, but it was more than she expected.

The tattoo peeked out again as he reached for a towel. It was dark, curling letters she couldn’t quite read from where she stood. Not flashy, but deliberate. The kind of ink that meant something.

“What about the tattoo?” The words slipped out before she could stop them.

Ethan’s lips curved, though it wasn’t quite a smile. “Persistent, aren’t you?”

Lily folded her arms. “You could just say you don’t want to talk about it.”

“Maybe I like watching you squirm.” He tossed the towel over his shoulder, finally walking past her to grab the mop. She caught the faintest trace of soap and cedar as he passed, the kind of scent that lodged itself in her senses.

She frowned, trailing him with her eyes. “You’re deflecting.”

“And you’re nosy,” he shot back, though his tone lacked its usual sting. It was lighter. Almost teasing. Almost.

They worked in silence after that—Lily sweeping, Ethan mopping, the quiet stretching between them like unspoken words. But her mind wouldn’t let go of what she saw. Scars didn’t just appear. Tattoos didn’t just get inked for no reason. And Ethan, with his guarded grin and sharp tongue, was clearly hiding more than just his recipes for ice cream.

At one point, she dared another glance. He caught her again.

“What?” he asked, his voice lower this time.

“Nothing,” she murmured. But in her chest, curiosity burned hotter than ever.

By the time the shop closed and the lights were dimmed, the air between them carried something heavier than playful banter. Something she couldn’t name yet.

As Lily locked up for the night, she scribbled a mental note into her thoughts: Ethan Carter was not just teasing smiles and strong arms. He was hiding shadows. And she wanted to know why.

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That night, she lay in bed, her journal open on her lap. The pen hovered above the page.

She could have written about how annoying he was, how smug his grin looked when he caught her staring. She could have written about how infuriatingly secretive he was.

But instead, she wrote one single line:

Scars tell stories… I wonder what his would say if he let me read them.

She closed the journal quickly, cheeks warm even in the privacy of her own room. It was ridiculous, she told herself. He was just a coworker. Just a boy with secrets.

And yet… she couldn’t shake the feeling that Ethan Cole was more than he let on. And for reasons she didn’t want to admit, she wanted to be the one to find out.