Sweeter Than Summer

6 | peanut butter monkey bread

I could feel myself turning pink, even though it wasn't much of a compliment. "I didn't know you had another job."

Wyatt shrugged, then pulled my order out from the crook of his elbow, holding it out to me. "My family owns Peshwari Palace. I don't have much of a choice."

"I guess I should have known that."

"I don't know," he said, shrugging again, "it's not like we talk much."

"Oh. Yeah."

"Right."

I took a step backwards, towards the door. Wyatt took a step backwards, towards his car. But, for some reason, that was as far as we went. "We're scheduled together on Friday," I told him.

"Yeah?"

"Yup," I took another step backwards, and so did he. "So, see you then?"

For a long moment, Wyatt just blinked slowly. But then he regained his normal serious expression, nodded, and walked back to his driver's side door. "See you on Friday," he called out, then climbed in. I hugged the food to my chest as he drove away, one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting his rearview mirror.

"Hey!" my dad said enthusiastically when I walked back into the house, shutting our front door behind me. "Food's here."

"Sure thing."

I handed everything over to my dad, who immediately started to pull things from the paper bag. As soon as he uncovered the vegetable pakora, he ripped one apart, sticking half of it in his mouth. I crossed behind him to get into one of the cabinets, finding two plates.

"Did you know that guy?" my dad asked.

"The delivery guy?"

"You two were talking," he clarified.

"We work together. We barely know each other, we're aren't even friends."

We were just two people, who did a crossword puzzle together one time. Where one person got the other to stop their horribly bad habit of biting their nails. Just two people, who worked together, who always met too randomly and too awkwardly to be friends.

***

"You can say whatever you want, January," Frank said, eyes narrowed, "make any excuse you can. But I know, okay? I know this is a personal attack."

I looked up long enough to roll my eyes at him, then looked back down at the chalkboard listing all of Franny's flavors. Usually, it was located on the wall behind the counter, but right now, it was on the ground, wedged underneath my left knee, as I updated the Flavor of the Day. So far, I had only managed to write the word 'peanut.'

"It's not! I promise."

Frank snorted. "Bullshit."

"I don't understand," Rosa piped up from her perch on the counter.

"On Monday – only two days ago – January and I had an in-depth discussion about how nuts in ice cream is the devil's work."

Rosa raised an eyebrow. "This is all about nuts in ice cream?"

"Yes," he said emphatically.

"There are no real peanuts in it," I said, "just peanut butter."

"You say that as if this is a good thing."

"It is. Peanut butter isn't really like peanuts."

Frank stared at me, aghast. "That's like saying strawberry smoothies aren't really like strawberries."

"Peanut butter is more of a nut-derived paste," I said, my voice defensive. "While it does keep the integrity of the peanut, it doesn't share the same texture, and since it is being incorporated into the base ice cream, it has a sweeter taste. Meanwhile, the monkey bread emphasizes –"