Novel Sweet
Passenger Princess: Chapter 12
A knock comes on the door of my hotel room, and knowing it’s probably Jaime giving me the plan for the next day, I shout, ‘Come in!’ The door clicks with the sound of the digital lock undoing, and I set my book to the side as I sit cozied on the couch, looking up as he enters with three giant bags from different grocery stores.
He walks in silently, looking at me and tipping his chin at me in that cool guy way before moving to the small kitchenette and putting the bags on the counter.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he starts shuffling through the bags I can’t see into from the couch. Finally, his head comes up, and he looks at me, a shy smile on his lips as he starts to remove things.
“The chocolate and vanilla from this brand are supposed to be solid,” he says, placing two pint containers down, and my brow furrows. “And I got a few from this brand since they make normal ice cream, too, but I think it’s going to be kind of hit or miss.” He stacks up three more pints from a familiar brand I used to eat before we pinpointed my allergy. Cookie dough, peanut butter chocolate, and a cherry vanilla flavor.
“This brand is really fancy,” he says, grabbing it from the bag of a specialty store. “And the flavors are kind of weird, but the reviews are great.” He pulls out a few pastel-looking pints. I stand, walking his way and watching as he keeps going.
“And these are sorbets, which are fruit or whatever, so not really ice cream, but I figured it was worth a shot.” He puts those next to the others and reaches into the bags one last time.
“These are ice cream bars. I like this brand, not sure if the bars are any good, but they sounded decent. Whichever you like, we can get more of at the next stop. Or we can try more. Figure out what’s the best replacement.”
He stands there for a long moment, looking at me before he starts shuffling things around, shoving the bags into each other, and stepping away. Looking at him, though, I see it.
A light blush crosses his cheeks, a bit of discomfort but also eagerness, like he hopes I like this simple gesture he just gave me.Content bel0ngs to Nôvel(D)r/a/ma.Org.
‘You got me ice cream?’ I ask. He nods, but doesn’t speak. “Why…why did you do this?” He shrugs, but I don’t fill in the awkward silence.
Eventually, he sighs before answering. “You said you like ice cream. You said you missed ice cream.” I stare at him, not believing it, and eventually, he keeps talking. “I didn’t know you had a dairy allergy,” he says, beginning his verbal vomit. “I thought you were just a cliché, watching your calories and wishing you could have dessert, but it didn’t fit into some kind of contrived diet. I judged you, and I was an ass. Now I’m making it right.”
“How were you supposed to know, Jaime?” I ask with a small smile, trying to alleviate the guilt he very clearly feels. “I never told you, never told your firm or anything. I don’t really tell many people, really, because I don’t want to be difficult. It’s not life-threatening or anything, just uncomfortable.”
“If we’re being honest, I’ve judged you on a lot of shit, Ava. Not just the ice cream.”
“That’s not—”
“We both know it’s true, and it’s fucked. This one? This one I can make amends for. Let me,” he says.
Silence takes over the small kitchen as I look from Jaime to the dozen or so pints of ice cream and boxes of bars, then back at Jaime, trying to piece it together to understand what this all means.
But it’s so obvious.
“Oh, my god,” I say with a realization, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over my chest.
“What?” His face goes slack with panic, then he looks around the living area, suddenly on guard.
“It’s just…you really like me, don’t you?”
I expect an eye roll and an irritated scoff, but I’m surprised when I don’t see it. Instead, another shy smirk comes to his lips, the slight dent of a dimple hitting his cheek.
“You’re a pain, you know that?” he murmurs, but it’s not a denial.
Progress.
I’ll take it.
My hand moves to his shoulder, and I shift to my tiptoes, pressing my lips to his cheek where his dimple is still. “Thanks, big guy,” I whisper, meaning it. People don’t do this kind of thing for me, and this man being the one to do it feels…special. Jaime let me past his tough guy exterior by doing something as simple as buying me ice cream.
“Anytime, Princess,” he says, shifting away to grab spoons, a light blush on his cheeks.
‘Will you stay?’ I ask, suddenly nervous. ‘Taste test with me?’ I feel silly asking, but I really, really want him to say yes.
And when he nods, starting to open the containers and meticulously lining them up, I let myself imagine that he does it because he wants to spend time with me, too.