Ice Cream

Chapter 14 – A Shared Blanket

The storm still rattled against the windows when Ethan finally decided to lock up the shop for the night. The neon sign buzzed weakly in the rain-soaked dark outside, and the two of them stood inside the quiet parlor, damp from their ridiculous water fight.

Lily hugged her arms around herself, her thin T-shirt clinging in spots where it hadn’t fully dried. She shivered, partly from the chill in the air, partly from the way Ethan glanced at her — quick, almost guilty, then away again.

“Guess we should wait it out,” he said, pulling at the lock until it clicked into place. His voice carried that low, casual rumble, but it didn’t mask the faint tension in his shoulders. “Roads get slick in this weather.”

Lily nodded, brushing a strand of wet hair off her cheek. “Yeah. Probably safer.”

They stood there for a beat too long, surrounded by the faint hum of the freezer units and the patter of rain. Lily’s heart thudded like it wanted to fill the silence.

Finally, Ethan moved, ducking behind the counter. She watched him rummage until he pulled out a folded blanket — faded plaid, probably left by the manager for emergencies. He shook it out with a snap and then, hesitating only a second, held it toward her.

“Here.”

She blinked, then smiled, a little crookedly. “Do you just… keep a stash of blankets with the ice cream?”

His mouth twitched, that teasing grin threatening. “What, you’ve never had an ice cream emergency? Freezer’s too cold, customer needs saving…”

Her laugh bubbled out before she could stop it. It filled the room, soft and warm, and Ethan’s smile grew, almost unguarded. He motioned for her to take the blanket, but instead of grabbing it outright, she let her fingers brush his when she pulled it close.

The spark was instant. Small. Dangerous.

“Thanks,” she murmured, trying to focus on wrapping it around herself, ignoring how her pulse jumped.

But then Ethan shifted closer, tugging at one end. “You’re hogging it,” he said, voice low, eyes glinting.

Her breath caught. “You could’ve just—”

He didn’t wait for her to finish. Instead, he draped the other half over his shoulders, settling next to her on the worn leather bench by the window. The storm painted shadows over his face, but the nearness — the steady warmth of him — lit her nerves like tiny fireworks.

They sat like that, awkward but not, their shoulders touching beneath the shared blanket. Lily kept telling herself to focus on the rain, on the lightning crackling far off, but her eyes kept drifting sideways — to the scar along his forearm, the way his jaw flexed when he swallowed, the faint curve of his lips when he caught her sneaking a glance.

“You always this quiet?” Ethan asked after a stretch of silence.

Lily let out a nervous laugh. “You say that like I’ve been talking your ear off all summer.”

He tilted his head. “You talk plenty. But right now… feels like your brain’s running laps.”

She bit her lip, caught. “Maybe it is.”

“About?” His voice had softened, curiosity wrapping around the question.

She hesitated. What was she supposed to say? About you. About how close you are. About how I can feel the warmth of your arm through this stupid blanket.

“About… everything,” she said lamely, hugging the plaid tighter around her.

He didn’t push, though the flicker in his gaze told her he wanted to. Instead, he leaned back, stretching his legs out in front of him. The blanket shifted, tugging her closer, until her thigh brushed against his.

Her body went rigid.

“Relax,” Ethan murmured, not looking at her. “I don’t bite.”

The words came out so dry, so casual, but they hung in the air, heavy with something she couldn’t name.

Lily tried to laugh it off, but it came out shaky. “Good to know.”

The storm raged on, thunder shaking the glass, but inside, the quiet thickened. Every drop of rain seemed to push them closer, every flicker of lightning illuminating the fragile space between almost and not-yet.

Finally, she shifted, just enough that her shoulder leaned more firmly against his. For a second, he stilled. Then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, Ethan adjusted the blanket so it wrapped them both snugly, a small cocoon against the storm.

Neither spoke. Neither needed to.

The hum of the freezers, the crash of thunder, the shared warmth beneath one blanket — it all settled into something that felt fragile and infinite at once.

Lily’s heart whispered that she’d never forget this night.

And when Ethan let out the faintest sigh, so quiet she almost missed it, she wondered if maybe he felt the same.