The Last Pint

 I rushed down the aisle brushing my arm up and down to warm up the nearly frozen limb. Despite the cold in here, it was still blazing outside. I scanned the blue pints of ice cream behind the frosted glass searching for the one with my favorite movie producer on it, but came up empty. This was not happening. Not today. 

I dug in the freezer, a cold rush blasting me as I pushed aside the pint after pint. There had to be another one. A small chuckle came from next to me and I looked around, spotting the tall, tattooed man. His basket was empty save for the blue pint I needed. I glanced at my watch, twenty-seven minutes.

I smoothed my dress down, my heels turning towards him. I cleared my throat as those icy blue eyes locked onto me. God, he was intimidating but insanely attractive. I tried to find the words as he looked me up and down. I was grateful I put more effort into my appearance for work. My curls were styled into the neatest messy bun and my black dress fit like a glove. 

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“I need the ice cream in your basket, I will pay you twenty dollars,” I looked down at his basket using it as an excuse to take him in from head to toe. 

He held up his basket, peeking at the ice cream. He seemed to consider and looked me up and down once more, his gaze lingered on my lips. “Not a chance.”

I looked at my watch, twenty-four minutes. “Okay, thirty,” I reasoned and looked behind him, watching other carts roll to the only open register. 

“You can’t possibly want this ice cream that bad,” he chuckled motioning to the other colorful pints behind the glass. “There’s at least one hundred other flavors.”

“Listen, I have had a long day at work and I have,” I glanced at my watch. “Twenty-two minutes to get home before my favorite show, the only show that’s making life worth living right now comes on, and since I’m too cheap to pay for the service that lets you record I have to watch it live. If I don’t, the internet will spoil it for me and then I won’t be able to watch the rest of the season because my brain works that way and then I will no longer have a reason for living,” I tapped my foot against the tile. 

“What show?” He tilted his head like he had all the time in the world.

“What? Oh, um, Summer in Love,” I spat out. I usually hated admitting I watched it, but I’d never see this man again. It was only on once a week and several conventionally attractive, single people move to an island and decide who they want to date. It wasn’t a great show to hinge my mortality on, but I looked forward to it every summer. 

The corner of his lip turned up, showing me a blinding smile and I had to remember he was the enemy. “No way, I too, am rushing home to watch it. Well, not rushing. I’m recording it.”

“Yeah, right. Of course, you watch Summer in Love,” I rolled my eyes half not believing him, but mostly annoyed. I moved out of the way so a woman with a screaming kid could grab a pint. “Fifty bucks is my final offer.”

He chuckled, grabbing the ice cream from his basket tossing it in the air. “The answer is still no. It’s my cheat day and I’ve already been to every store in the vicinity.” 

I groaned, rubbing my temples. This wasn’t happening. Eighteen minutes. 

“But I’ll tell you what,” he put the ice cream back in his basket. “Come to my place. We’ll split it and watch it together.”

I clutched my belly, my laugh startling everyone around us. “Are you nuts? You could be a serial killer. I could be a serial killer.”

He crossed his arms making his muscles even more pronounced. “Well, guess you don't want it that badly,” he turned around, moving at a glacial pace down the aisle.

This was dumb. Did I need it that bad? No. I could’ve gotten one of my other favorites, but I wanted that one. I also wanted the man with it in his basket, but that’s neither here nor there. Guys like that didn’t want women like me. I huffed and glanced at my watch, then to the one line that was open, and saw it was already forming down the aisle. Sixteen minutes. I prayed he wasn't actually a serial killer.

“Fine,” I trailed behind him. “But I’m not paying for it.”

After checking out and following him to his place in my car, which was funnily enough only seven minutes from my house. I lingered in his apartment’s doorway as he held it open, catching a glimpse of the inside. It was relatively clean. Thick, artsy books sat atop the mid-century modern-style coffee table upstaged only by the boucle couch and a TV almost as big as the wall.

“The ice cream is going to melt,” he shifted his weight onto his other foot, the plastic bag hanging on his wrist. 

I clutched my purse, keeping my hand on the bedazzled pepper spray. “Don’t try anything funny,” I said as I walked in. I looked around making sure there weren’t any apparent red flags. No conferderate flag. No folding chairs. No AK-47s hung on the wall. 

He laughed as I stood by the now-closed door, ready to run if he came back with a weapon. “I’ll grab us spoons.” 

I followed him to the kitchen in case he decided to poison me. “We are not sharing the pint. We will split it evenly,” I said. My eyes roamed over the cleanliness. The neatly stacked dishes behind the frosted glass. The empty sink. I was almost impressed. He grabbed two bowls from the cabinet and an ice cream scooper from the drawer.

 “Absolutely not,” I held up my hand. “That’s not even, the shape of the scoop will inherently leave one of us with less,” I crossed my arms. 

He sighed and put the scooper back in the drawer. “Okay. what do you suggest because we’re running out of time.”

“Cut it,” I shrugged my shoulders. “Give me a knife.”

“I don't know if I feel safe with you having a knife.” 

I rolled my eyes, walking over to the block to grab the biggest knife. He stepped back and held up his hands. I started to slice, but he cleared his throat, stopping me.

“What is the issue?” I asked.

“Well, since you brought up the whole inequality thing, maybe you should slice it right down the middle.” 

I rolled my eyes, hating how right he was. Attractive, smart, and his place was clean. It wasn’t fair. I took off the top and cut it down the middle. Satisfied with our servings, we sat down on the couch on opposite ends as his TV came to life. Static danced in the air or maybe the TV really was too big. I breathed a sigh of relief when my favorite singles appeared on the screen. My spoon hovered above the bowl and I was just about to dig in when I glanced at him to gauge his interest, but caught a glimpse of his bowl. Although I felt I cut it evenly, from this angle his bowl looked more full. He noticed my staring and paused the TV.

“Okay, what?” He asked.

“Nothing,” I turned back to the TV but kept stealing glances of his bowl.

He picked up the remote. “Okay, I just feel like you have more and that’s why you agreed to take it,” I said.

He laughed, shaking his head. “You are something else,” he handed me his bowl and I sat back on the couch, content as he pressed play. 

The hour went by without a fuss. We stopped so often to discuss the developments, nearly coming to blows when we disagreed on how one of the singles handled newcomers. When my favorite singles were off the screen and my bowl essentially scraped clean, I set my bowl on the coffee table and turned to him. “Okay, you can kill me now or whatever. I will not scream.”

He stood and walked to the door, “I’ll let you live another day, but I don’t know about the next time.” 

I smiled, gathered my things, and met him at the door. “Well, thank you for,” I gestured to the room and the air around us. “Everything. What’s your name?”

“Vince,” he sucked his teeth, looking me up and down. 

“Vince,” I held out my hand and he shook it, sending electricity up my veins. Just five seconds ago I was worried about him killing me, but I’m sure there are worse ways to die. “I’m Savannah.”

“It was nice watching Summer in Love with you, Savannah,” he opened the door and led me out onto the porch. “Don’t be a stranger.”

I smiled and gave him a small wave, suddenly embarrassed by how I acted because he really was just being a nice guy. I climbed into my car and went home, smiling the entire way. Something must have misfired in my brain because I knew what I had to do.

         ***                

I sat in front of my subpar TV, my frozen pint leaving a damp ring on my pink sweatpants. I tried to not think about the man with the icy eyes, but it was no use. Don’t be a stranger. Was that an invitation? Seven minutes later, I stood in front of that door with an extra pint in tow. I knocked on it, leaning against the doorway, and hoped he was home. I was relieved when it opened and even more relieved to see Summer in Love already on the screen. I held up the pint and he stepped aside, letting me enter. I made myself comfortable on the couch as he grabbed two spoons.

“How’d you know I didn’t have any ice cream?”

I cleared my throat. “I didn’t. I just, um, brought an extra one in case,” I patted the couch and peeled the lid off my pint.

He sat down, pressing play and those voices filled the room as I dug into my ice cream. I snuck glances of him out the corner of my eye. If he was weirded out by my audacity, he didn’t show it. We were halfway through the episode and they were just about to vote someone off the island when he paused it, turning to me. That icy stare stilled me in place.

“You know,” he cleared his throat and set his ice cream on the table, the spoon hovered near his lips and I tried not to be distracted by their fullness. “I had a hard time finding ice cream this week. I went the other day to make sure I had some for tonight. Nothing. Checked back yesterday, nothing. I checked today and still nothing. The cashier told me that this flavor had gotten really popular, and someone was coming in and buying them out. You wouldn’t happen to know about that would you?”

I looked at the ceiling, “Um no, I got these from that grocery store on Main Street actually.”

He smirked, “Nice try, but Gary, y’know the manager, stopped stocking this brand.”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you because it wasn’t me.” 

He grabbed the remote and stood. “Okay, let’s go to your place.”

“No, we’re in the middle of the show,” I shook my head and continued to eat my ice cream, motioning for him to press play again.

“I will lock that door, delete this recording, and read off every single spoiler.”

“You wouldn’t,” I crossed my arms. 

“Hey, I can still watch shows after reading spoilers,” he shrugged and aimed the remote at the TV. He hovered over the delete button. 

“Fine, fine,” I stood and grabbed my ice cream. 

He followed behind me in his car to my place and I thanked the heavens I cleaned this week. His large frame looked out of place in my small kitchen where he could probably touch both ends without moving. He walked over to the freezer and opened it, but only neat stacks of frozen dinners, meats, and the occasional frozen bag of fries looked back at us.

“I don't know what you were expecting to find,” I leaned against the counter satisfied with my attention to detail.

He paced around the room and shook his head. “No, something’s off,” he pointed his finger at me and looked around. “Show me your garage.”

“Where would I keep ice cream in the garage? You’re acting very ungrateful for someone who was just brought free ice cream on your cheat day.”

He smiled and started opening random doors, I rushed behind him trying to stop him before he got to the garage door, but it was too late. He opened it, the automatic light turning on illuminating that shiny, large stainless steel deep freezer. The hum filled the room, bleeding over the threshold. 

“Well, what do we have here?” he walked down the stairs and opened the lid, I could see the dozens of blue pints in that frozen mist.

I crossed my arms, rolling my eyes. “I just wanted to make sure I never ran out again.”

“Really?” He closed the freezer and approached me. The tip of his boots touched my slippers, my heart raced in my chest at the proximity. “So if I go in your living room right now and look at the cable box I won’t see a red dot because I refuse to believe you’d leave your house right before the show and risk not being able to see it because were you just going to miss the show if I wasn’t home?”

I looked past him and sighed, ignoring the fact that he was very right. “I would’ve just stayed off social media until I could watch it.”

“I think you just wanted to see me again,” he leaned in his face inches from mine. “I would’ve said yes. No need for the games.” Smugness bled through his tone. 

“I did not want to see you again,” I took a step back, putting some distance between us, but he took a step forward.

His hand went up to my hair, tucking a stray curl behind my ear, his finger grazed my neck sending goosebumps down my body. “Well, I wanted to see you again,” he whispered.

“Really?” I finally looked up meeting that icy stare. His tongue darted out grazing his lips. He walked me back until I was pressed against the wall. His toned, tattooed arms boxed me in as he looked down on me. I swallowed hard, pulling my lip between my teeth, not taking my eyes off him.

He smirked and backed away. “See you next week, Savannah,” he patted my shoulder and walked out my front door.