"Open your mouth, darlin'."

I obeyed and, as Will held it, I licked the sweet, slightly salty, white cream.

And then I let out a loud moan of pleasure.

Oh yummmmmmm.

"Sea salt cream and cookies" flavor ice cream.

Three years of no ice cream, that is, no real ice cream, made McConnell's taste even more amazing. If I was going to go non-vegan, Will was right, this was a spectacular way to do it. It was utterly delicious and it met my eco-political objectives: the business was family owned, had been around since the 1940s, used local, high-quality ingredients, and didn't have the bad shit in it.

And it was a date, with my, well, boyfriend, buying me an ice cream cone on a hot summer day. Thinking about the word "boyfriend" made me feel all squishy in my belly. I was not used to calling him that, but if we were together, wasn't he my boyfriend?

Will Thrash was my boyfriend.

I needed to think about that sometime. I needed to talk to Amelia about that too. Now wasn't the time, though. Now was the time to enjoy my treat.

This trip to McConnell's was an aberration. I wasn't going to make it a habit of going non-vegan. This was just to prove the point that I could do it. And it wasn't like I didn't have company: I had a friend who was vegan when I was growing up, but she made an exception for Girl Scout cookies. Nobody's perfect.

It felt very strange to be eating ice cream. In some ways, it felt normal. This is something that a lot of people eat, unless they are lactose intolerant, or are not eating it for some dietary reason. It's the way I ate when I was little. It was the way I ate three years ago. But once you break a promise to yourself, like my "I am giving up all animal products" promise, it felt a little anti-climactic to actually indulge.

But I wasn't totally clear on why I needed to make the point that I could do it, that I could change something that really mattered to me for him. Maybe it was because I wanted to find out if he would do the same for me and one way of doing that was to do it first. That way, I hate to say it, it was leverage; I did it for you, now you do it for me. I didn't like thinking that way, but it was true. But maybe it was because I wasn't the type to back down on a dare. Or maybe it was because I really liked him and I wanted him to know it. Or even maybe it was because I really just wanted to eat some ice cream and he caught me at a weak moment.

Or maybe it was because I wanted my boyfriend to buy me ice cream on a regular, old fashioned date on a hot summer day.

Hmmm. My boyfriend.

"What do you think?" he asked, pulling the cone away from my lips.

"Itsogood," I groaned and I grabbed the cone from him. He had bought his own chocolate cone and ate it, watching me.

As I licked my ice cream, Will watched me intently. I played it up, giving my ice cream cone lots of tongue action, and moaning and dribbling cream on my face. What can I say, it was fun to goad him. A patron or two might have noticed. But all he did in response was to narrow his eyebrows and ask me quietly, leaning over, cool lips brushing against my ear, "How much more of our two weeks do we have until I can get you naked and fuck you?"

My response was to lean back in my chair, grin at him, lick my ice cream all the way around the tip, and then slurp it up loudly, never losing eye contact with him.

He groaned and went back to his own ice cream cone.

I had driven Will to Santa Barbara in my bio-diesel Mercedes Benz, windows down, hair blowing, sunglasses on both of us. He sat in the passenger seat, dutifully, but he did not belong there. As a feminist, I didn't want to admit that, but he was not used to being driven; he was used to driving and he was used to driving in his big ol' truck. It was funny how much that little thing pushed his boundaries. He made no comment, but I could tell that he was uncomfortable. I made a concession to him, however, and befouled my radio with country music. I wasn't going to give in on driving, though. My car meant that I was driving.

As we drove, we chatted about the ranch and about the Headlands Program and the fact that there had been no major aftershocks from the earthquake. While Will was, well, Will, meaning not a chatterbox, he did answer my questions, most of the time, with more than one word, and asked me plenty of questions about where I lived in Santa Barbara and where we were going.

It was lunchtime once we got there and I drove him to a vegan cafe. He looked especially pained when he reviewed the menu. But he ordered some pasta with vegetables, and dutifully ate it.

Then we went to the ice cream shop.

Once I finished my cone, I needed to go run a few errands.

The first place we went was my apartment. I had a tiny studio downtown, with not much in it. Even though it ate into my paycheck to pay the rent all summer, I didn't want to let it go because it was in such a great location. I packed a bag of more clothes, checked my mail, and grabbed a few other things that I had forgotten.

As I did this, Will looked around my apartment. It was decorated in early stereotypical hippie, with tie dyes, tapestries, paisley prints, candles, scarves, and incense everywhere. I had photographs of my friends, especially Amelia, crammed on every surface, and my refrigerator covered with art from the preschool where I had worked. Will walked around slowly, looking at all of it and not saying a word. Once I packed up, he carried down the heavy case and I carried a box and a bag of stuff, we put them in my trunk, and headed to Tri-County Produce, my favorite grocery store, which was supplied by local farms.

As we walked in, I immediately saw an ex-boyfriend, Jeremy, who Amelia called "Man-Bun," working there.

Oh shit.

Awkward.

Well, he was one of the many guys before Will. There were lots and lots of them, and they just didn't do it for me. Not like Will. Man-Bun, while cute, was boring. Not an ounce of originality or enthusiasm about anything. He had probably smoked out all of his brain cells anyway.

Still, I couldn't ignore him.

"Hi, Jeremy, how are you?" I asked, as we walked down the bulk aisle.

"Marie. Hi," he said, enthusiastically, and then he did a double-take when he saw Will, who looked like a hippie god in that shirt. Man-Bun recovered and asked, "So where have you been? I haven't seen you around in a while."

"I'm working up near Buellton," I said, "at Will's ranch. This is my boyfriend, Will Thrash."

Will's eyes shifted to me for a second at the word "boyfriend," but then he leaned forward to shake poor Man-Bun's hand with what I was sure was a burly man death grip. Oh dear. Man-Bun didn't wrestle bears in his spare time the way Will did.

"Will Thrash of Headlands Ranch?" asked Jeremy. "I think we're stocking some of your berries right now. Want me to show you?"

I nodded and we walked over to the fresh produce, which took up half of the floor space of the place and, sure enough, there were Headlands Ranch berries there. "I don't think we need to buy them, do we Will?" I asked.

"We've got plenty at home."

I thanked Jeremy for showing us, and shopped some more, eager to stock up on my vegan supplies and get the hell out of there.

It was getting late, and we needed to head back up to the ranch for Will to make his rounds. We didn't have time to meet up with Ryan and Amelia but I texted her that I wanted to see her soon. We filled up my gas at the lone bio-diesel fuel station, Will looking at first, slightly disgusted and then, slightly interested, and then we drove back to the ranch.

Home.

I let Will drive.

So much for my vows, at least today.

When we got back to the ranch, he parked, got out, went into his house without saying a word, and as I was taking things out of the trunk, he came back with something small, and put it in my hand.

"A car key?"

"Key to my truck, Marie. I'm not fucking riding in your hippie mobile again."

"Thanks," I said and kissed him. He helped me carry the bags to the bunkhouse and then left, whistling for Trixie, so that he could go and check on the fields. I dropped my groceries in the kitchen, and then went into the bunk room, where both Janine and Stephanie were sitting on their bunks, chatting.

I threw my keys and Will's key on the bed and my purse down, and then turned to go and get my bags, which were in the hall.

Janine, noticing the extra truck key, asked, "Did you get another car?"

"No. Will gave me the key to his truck."

She looked shocked. "Did he really? Wow."

I looked at her questioningly.

She continued, with a knowing glance at Stephanie. "Well, it's kind of a joke saying, but if a cowboy gives you the keys to his truck, you know he's serious. It's almost more than an engagement ring."

Ohmigod.