“You’re kidding, right?”
“What?”
“The list says eat healthier.”
“Right.”
"So why are we at Serendipity?"
Serendipity 3 is a famous restaurant in Manhattan, notorious for its decadent ice cream sundaes. It also happens to be one of my favorite places to eat, and one of the worst places to end up if your New Year's resolution is to adopt healthier eating habits.
“They serve salads here.” He grinned at me, knowing perfectly well that I wasn’t going to sit at a table in the middle of this frozen confectionary Shangri-La and eat rabbit food.
“You are the worst Samwise Gamgee, ever.”
"Well, that would make you a hobbit, which would explain your short stature, hairy toes, and freakishly large appetite."
“At least my hairy toes are cute. Yours look like fingers.” I made claws and wiggled my fingertips at him.
That was the moment the server approached us with menus, so he narrowed his eyes and shook his head, giving me a to be continued look.
“Hi,” he addressed the server. “We won’t need those. I placed a preorder under the name Michael Duke.” Her face brightened with recognition. “And she’ll have the Big Apple pie—vanilla ice cream—with the serendipitous hot chocolate”—my favorites—“and I’ll have a double espresso.”
“Very good. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
“What did you pre-order?”
He ignored me. “Let’s talk about this list and come up with a plan.”
“You are so into this. Maybe I would have finished by now if I’d told you about it sooner.”
“I wish you had, although some of these look familiar,” he said. My brow furrowed. “Number Twenty-seven: Ask for a Raise.”
I smiled. I knew I deserved a raise but was always too scared to ask for one until I made the list. Mike helped me research salaries for kindergarten teachers in private schools, and we practiced my speech for days. A five percent raise was the goal. I asked for fifteen and came away with nine. We celebrated at the little table in the corner opposite where we were sitting.
“You’ve actually helped me with a few of those. Number Twelve: Start a Diary. I’ve been using the journal you bought me for my birthday.” I saw Mike’s beard twitch in a sheepish smile.
“Cool,” he said. “I always wondered if you ever use that.”
"Have you ever heard of a teacher that didn't love school supplies?" I smiled at him again, and he responded with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "What's up, Captain?"
"Nothing," he sighed, and I narrowed my eyes at him. "I just had a little bit of a rough day yesterday, but I don't want to talk about it yet. No bad vibes in Serendipity."
“Fine. No bad vibes in Serendipity, but you have to promise to tell me later.”
He smiled at me and crossed his index finger over his heart.
Our drinks arrived, and I leaned forward onto my giant hot chocolate and gently slurped, rising with a nose covered in whipped cream. Mike's face scrunched in mirth. He was the easiest person to cheer up.
“What?” I shrugged. “Do I have something on my face? You have to tell me if I do. You don’t want to be a bad friend, do you?”
Mike chuckled, reached out, swiped the whipped cream off of my nose with his finger and popped the finger into his mouth, sucking it clean. It topped a long list of the sexiest things I’d ever seen him do, and the muscles between my thighs clenched in agreement. I stared at him in shock.
“You didn’t think I was going to waste perfectly good whipped cream, did you, Stella?” He winked. “Here comes your pie.”
The server set down my plate. A man in a chef's jacket delivered Mike's sundae, and my jaw dropped. He'd ordered the infamous Golden Opulence Sundae. The world-famous thousand-dollar dessert was a Tahitian vanilla sundae topped with expensive fruits and chocolate, then garnished with actual gold. I'd been dying to try it for years, and he knew it.
“You’re insane.” I squealed, grabbing my spoon and reaching across the table.
Mike used his spoon to block mine, making a clanging sound. “Ah, ah, ah. You’re trying to eat healthier, remember? So you can have these cherries.” He dug around in the sundae. “Here’s a raspberry and some chocolate-covered almonds. Almonds are very healthy.”
"Michael Christopher Duke, if you don't want to die right now, you should move that spoon."
He withdrew the spoon, and I dug into the sundae forgetting about my resolution and temporarily forgetting about my pie. Fuck, that sundae was good. I didn't know if it was worth a thousand bucks, but I couldn't stop eating.
"Damn, my whole name. I guess we're trading desserts?" He laughed. I didn't answer him, but I slid his sundae closer and continued to dig in. I slowed down halfway through and turned my attention to my hot chocolate and Mike's pie.
“So what’s your plan for the rest of the list, because you’re off to a good start.” I grinned.
“How do you feel about Italian?”
“Ugh, I’m so full. I couldn’t eat another bite.”
"No, Stel." He chuckled. "Italian the language. I signed us up for classes at The New York Language Institute. There weren't a ton of spots, and the choices were Mandarin, Russian, and Italian. I picked Italian because it has the same alphabet as English. The classes are three times a week, and we can start tonight. What do you think?"
My heart swelled. It was the perfect idea and exactly what I would have chosen. Mike was an amazing friend, but I had to remember that that's all he was. He was with someone who was gorgeous, perfect, and wouldn't be caught in public with whipped cream on her nose or diving headfirst into an ice cream sundae. I'd bet Chellie had never tasted ice cream. She'd probably post a photo on Instagram with the caption: 1K sundae with my Pookie! #Sweettreats; ice cream emoji, dollar sign emoji, kissing emoji, before drinking water and watching the ice cream melt.
“Hey, Daydream Believer. Italian class. You in?”
I blinked and focused on Mike’s gorgeous face stretched with an expectant grin.
“Sí.”