“Pistachio mint, please.”
“Aren’t you a little old to be chasing after the ice cream truck?” I ask as I dip a scoop, drop it into the waffle cone, and dip another.
“Well, that doesn’t clear my suspicions that all ice cream men are perverts.”
“Ouch!” I exchange the cone for her three singles. “We’re just trying to make a nut like all the other squirrels,” I joke.
“Still not helping.”
Something about the way she licks that ice cream tells me she’s willing to test her theory.
“So you’re joining me in the back of this truck or what?”
© Nortina Simmons