7 Days (BxB)

~11

          His eyes remained on the baby-pink counter as to not see the pity I knew he expected in my eyes. But I didn't pity him, I just found it completely maddening. I didn't push the subject. It wasn't too hard to guess why he hadn't had much ice cream.

So I turned to fudge instead. "We'll both take a double-fudge sundae, please, extra cherries and a mountain of rainbow sprinkles."

The order seemed to make Fudge exceptionally happy. He snapped his fingers and pointed in my face, "You got it, boss."

I led Romeo over to a bar spot a ways away from direct eavesdropping, which I knew Fudge loved to do. I was sure he practically knew half of the towns dirtiest secrets, who Martha Lewis was cheating on, the college team's latest fail, and how ugly those shoes were on Roscoe Rigatoni. Sometimes I urged him to write a book.

"They get really personal, kid." The wink he gave me sent shivers down my spine.

I spun around in my chair to stare directly into his eyes. The action startled him. He looked anywhere but at me.

"You never have ice cream," I said.

He sighed, "Yeah. I don't know."

"Let's pray you don't get diabetes then."

"Wait, what?" This caught his attention. Ah. Now his eyes were on me.

Mr. Fudge set two glass bowls down in front of us, filled to the brim with the chocolate delight. Diabetes. I nodded at the bowl, a mischievous grin filling my lips. He couldn't relate in any way. He eyed the bowl with worried eyes, poked at it with his spoon in skepticism.

Fudge was still standing next to the both of us, watching, waiting. His left eyebrow was impossibly raised to the ceiling, his hands rested on his hips.

I snorted, "You look like my mother." The ice-cream was just as it always was. Diabetes, basically.

Fudge nodded to the opposite boy's bowl. "It won't kill ya, boy. Go on, give it a go."

It took him a long moment—uncomfortable, too, from Fudge's restless gaze—but he finally gave in. And as he took a bite, I couldn't help but smile broadly. He didn't make a big deal of it, nor show much emotion (he never did), but I could tell, from the corner of his eyes, it was a delight worth the stomach ache.

"It's good," he said approvingly.

Of course, Fudge clapped his hands as loudly as possible, booming out laughter. "That's ma boy! And since you liked it so much, have as much as you want, on the house."

I almost dropped the spoon. "Fudge!" I lifted my hand to give him a fist-bump, to which he obliged proudly. "You shouldn't have."

Romeo nodded through a spoonful of ice-cream.

I said quieter, more serious, "You really shouldn't have, he's going to throw up."

We glanced at the boy happily enjoying his bowl. I was the only one that blushed, however.

Fudge looked back at me. Again, that eyebrow was raised, this time accompanied by a grin. My body shook from the gleeful force when the man patted my shoulder. Even quieter, he murmured, "Treat the boy, Georgie. He won't get many dates like this."

He stole my signature wink and returned to his station.

I figured I should treat the boy, then. What're a few bowls of diabetes really going to do?

"Get me a bag."

Mr. Fudge and I said to treat him, and I really did. I figured he would get sick, but that was where I was wrong.

I was the only one feeling the after effects. Well, not as dramatically as I made them seem to be, but he was laughing, and my God I never wanted that laugh to end.

As we pulled up to his neighborhood, he attempted to muffle his never-ending chuckles. I only continued to make gagging noises out the window.

He scolded me, "Someone is going to hear you."

Another gag, and a beam. "I'm dying, and you care if we get caught?" Tightening my grip on the wheel, I began swerving along the street drunkenly. Romeo, laughing, tried to control me.

But the old house came into view and the fun had to end. It was back to reality for the both of us, but maybe more so for him. Mine wasn't as awful. This only made it harder to see him go, more so, to let him go. I felt awful. The least I could do was walk him to his window and make sure he got inside.

"Yeah, you're good, just keep climbing."

He was turning his head to look down.

I hissed, "No, don't look down. Keep going."

"Sorry!" he whispered loudly.

And finally, he made it to his window, hopped in his bedroom, and popped his head out to gaze at me one last time before Monday night ended. "Romeo," I nodded, my heart thumping and my mind flying.

A lazy smile curled his lips. "I have a name, you know."

"I suppose it's Juliet. That would make more sense."

He chuckled lightly, but never took his eyes off mine. "No . . . it's Noah."

Noah, the trees whispered, over and over and over again, straight into my rapid heart. "Noah," I had to say out loud, to make it real. Even then, this all felt like a dream.

He slowly nodded, "Noah."

I smiled, brighter than I ever have before. At least it felt like that. "Well, Noah, Romeo—whatever you call yourself—thus concludes Monday. Our first rendezvous, traveling the town in which you have somehow never seen before."

"Thank you." His words were genuine and filled with so, so much warmth. My chest flooded with something I wasn't used to, but something I most certainly didn't hate.

"Goodnight, Noah," I whispered.

"Goodnight, George."

And with one last look, off I went, riding back home into the blissful night.

Thus concludes Monday.

Onto Tuesday.