Dedicated to clumsymonkey for her hilarious and lovely comment on the previous chapter (thank you for sounding like a numpty, because it was so cute).

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            “Triple scoop vanilla and chocolate, please, Flo.”

            Behind the ice cream counter, I glanced back over at Daniel. He was manning the till, currently stuffing a five pound note – which had come as payment from the slightly overweight customer he was serving – into the drawer. “Fudge stick?”

            “Fudge stick,” he affirmed, with a nod.

            I swivelled my attention towards the pastel slabs of ice cream in front of me. They were all laid out behind the glass cabinet, corresponding labels displayed neatly underneath. Reaching for the scoop, I dug it deep into the tub on the far left – vanilla – then switched to chocolate, returning once again to vanilla. A week in, and I was definitely getting the hang of the job. It’d become considerably easier once Daniel and I had perfected our system, at least; while he took care of the till, I’d been officially presented with the title Director of Ice Cream Preparation.

            Or so he jokingly put it.

            Finishing off my masterpiece with a fudge stick garnish, I handed it over. “One triple scoop vanilla and chocolate,” I announced, “with a fudge stick.”

            The customer thanked the pair of us, weaving round the existing queue and heading for the shop exit with his cone and change in hand. As the door clicked shut behind him, Daniel shot me an approving smile. “Nice job,” he said, “and in quick timing, too. You know, it makes me wonder how I ever managed this on my own.”

            “What can I say?” I said sweetly, twirling the scoop in my hand. “I’m just an ice cream pro.”

            “Hey, now don’t get too big-headed,” he warned, as the next customers moved forward to the till spot. “You’re still the newbie around here.”

            I stuck out my tongue. “A newbie who’s at risk of beating you. You’re just intimidated.”

            “Keep dreaming,” he said, but he was chuckling. The customers – a pair of elderly women kitted out in floral cardigans – looked between us affectionately. Within moments he’d diverted his attention towards them, flashing a winning smile in their direction. “Hi there, what can we get you today?”

            It wasn’t as if I had thought working in the shop with Daniel would be terrible, but it had by all means surpassed my expectations. The days sped by much quicker than those cooped up at Gram’s, and most of the time it didn’t feel like work at all. This rung especially true when the clock began inching closer to the hour between twelve and one: when Daniel handed off the shift to his mum, and we headed off to grab lunch. A lot of the time it was only the sheer anticipation that steered me through the morning rush.

            Most days we took to the beach, although several days ago the rain had prevented us from doing so. With our usual choice off the cards, we’d ended up dragging a couple of chairs out under the awning, settling down to watch the rain batter the street from our pleasantly sheltered spot. It was becoming increasingly bizarre to think that, technically, we’d only known each other for a fortnight; it seemed so much longer than that.

            I couldn’t deny it – at least not to myself. Maybe I did fancy Daniel the tiniest little bit, but could I help myself? It seemed impossible to avoid falling for his effortless charm and quirky habits. Of course, I knew it was pointless. It would never amount to anything, as much as I wished otherwise. It was simply implausible for someone so cool and calm and together to like someone so… well, not.

            It was the nights that hit me the worst. Lying in bed, straining hard to hear the distant sound of the ocean, I’d be completely fine one moment, but the next would strike with a stifling sense of overwhelming. Like it’d only just sunk in that I was in a completely new place, surrounded by people who were, essentially, strangers, and miles away from the rock that had always made everything seem okay.

            For the last three years, nights had always been the worst. Maybe it was the darkness, bringing with it a smothering wash of loneliness that did nothing but suffocate me. On the rare occasions that I did manage to drift off, the nightmares were another story. I was strange in the fact that these were not conventional nightmares; I didn’t dream of the car crash or my parents’ expressionless faces in the hospital beds. I didn’t wake up screaming, sitting up in bed with a jolt. But the alternative was just as bad.

            I dreamed of memories. Snapshots from an expanse of fourteen years, recreated by my unconscious mind. In my dreams I’d find myself a kid again, perched on my dad’s shoulders for a better view of the fireworks. I was in the kitchen with my mum, her hands clasped over mine, as she showed me how to ice the batch of cupcakes we’d baked. I was there at the zoo, running along excitedly with Nora, looking back every now and again to see both my parents laughing, their hands entwined.

            It wasn’t always the past. Sometimes I found myself miraculously pulled into the future, plunged into moments that would never have the chance to exist. They were there, bidding me a teary goodbye as they dropped me off at university. Watching me graduate. Walking me down the aisle.

            These were usually the times when it got too much: when I ended up clambering, watery-eyed, into Nora’s bed. She was upset too, of course, but in daylight she forced herself to stay strong. She had to hold herself together for me, if nothing else. But the hours past eleven were another story; then, her pillow was usually as damp as mine.

            She didn’t try to fake strength. Instead, we clung to each other under the covers, and though the outside world remained as terrifying as ever, we had each other.

            The grief had weakened since then, but it hadn’t yet stopped from hitting me at random times, its blow so sudden I almost stumbled backwards.

            And now, with Nora in London, and me stuck here, I didn’t know how to handle it.

            There was only one truth in the matter: I was messed up. I’d been permanently scarred by such a traumatic experience, the shattered remains only haphazardly pieced back together. And there was Daniel, so normal and happy and collected, despite what I’d found out about his dad.

            Hurtling back into reality, I realised the guy in question was waving a hand in front of my face, trying to catch my attention. “Earth to Flo?”

            I almost jumped. “Huh?”

            “Single scoop mango,” he repeated, peering at me curiously. “Hey, are you okay?”

            Mentally, I slapped myself, trying to retune my consciousness fully into the present. “I’m fine,” I assured him. “Just zoned out for a second. One scoop of mango coming right up.”

            I dug my scoop into the bright yellow tub, slapping a rounded portion onto a cone and handing it over. It didn’t take long to get back into the swing of things; three orders later, and my mind had once again become so focused on ice cream that I could hardly remember what had distracted me in the first place. Just like that, the tension was slipping away again – at least it was, until the moment the door swung open, preceding a figure that strode right past the queue and towards us.

            At first, I thought it was Erin – at least that was how I interpreted the sound of Daniel’s bright “Hey!”. However, once I let my gaze flicker upwards, noticing at once the significant absence of striking purple hair, I realised this wasn’t the case.

            “Oh. Hi, Collette,” I said awkwardly, instantly feeling myself shrink under the scrutiny of her cat-like brown eyes. I could feel her looking over my apron, my nametag – which Daniel had scrawled across in permanent marker, embellishing my name with a smiley face – and every other detail, wordlessly totting up the criticisms in her head. Though she was dressed down, in a simple pair of shorts and a hooded jacket, this didn’t stop her from immediately outshining me and everybody else in the room. By now, at least, I’d realised that this just came with the territory of being around Collette.

            “Flo…” she said slowly. “I, uh, didn’t know you worked here.”

            “Yeah.” I tried hard to inject a shot of friendliness into my tone, but it turned out to be more difficult than I expected, especially whilst being looked up and down with blatant disapproval. “I just started.”

            “Right. That’s… nice.” Apparently deciding I was no longer interesting enough to hold her attention, she looked over at Daniel. “You need to come with me. You won’t believe what happened.”

            He frowned, his brows knitting together. “What?”

            “Look, you’ll see when we get there,” she said. “To be honest, I’m not even sure how to explain it. Just come with me. It’s really important.”

            “Collette, I’m kind of working here…” He trailed off, awkwardly looking between us and the line of customers currently eavesdropping on the conversation. “Can’t we sort this out later?”

            “Come on. I just need to borrow you for ten minutes.” She was growing impatient, I could tell. “Twenty minutes, tops. Flo can handle the shop on her own for that long, can’t she?”

            The internal jolt of horror was immediate; it took a conscious effort to prevent the alarmed look from appearing on my face. I had said I’d got the hang of serving, but that didn’t mean – by any stretch of the imagination – that I was ready to be left alone. I’d only been here a week, for crying out loud. That was nowhere near the level of experience I deemed necessary to be in charge of the entire shop.

            Daniel glanced over at me. “What do you say, Flo?”

            I bit my lip. There were infinite possibilities of potential disasters in such a short amount of time, and my mind seemed unable to stop running through them all. I mean, there was fire, robbery, accidentally giving customers the contents of the till instead of the correct change – and they were just the first options that came to mind.

            But how could I say no? The look of hope flickering in his hazel eyes – not to mention the impatience in Collette’s – was already melting my defences. “Yeah,” I lied. “I can handle it.”

            Those exact five words formed the reason why, ten minutes later, I found myself standing behind the counter of Walden’s most popular ice cream shop, completely and utterly alone.

            And feeling it.

            “Sorry, what did you order again?” I asked, as I approached the glass cabinet and realised the customer’s request had completely vacated my mind. It had probably been lost somewhere in the stress of using the till; I’d been concentrating too hard on counting the chance, desperate to avoid putting Daniel out of pocket with my bad mathematical skills. Evidently, my brain’s capacity was limited to one thing at a time.

            The customer, who happened to be the father of a set of incredibly boisterous twin boys, gave me a strange look. “Two chocolate chip cones,” he repeated.

            “Right,” I said. “Sorry.”

            Quite frankly, I had no idea how Daniel managed it. Ten minutes and I was already in way over my head. I’d been thrown straight into the deep end, leaving me fighting to keep my head above water. But no matter how fast my limbs were sent flailing, trying to keep me afloat, I could barely keep up with the pace of customers coming and going. What had seemed simple enough with an extra pair of hands had suddenly become impossible.

            And boy, did I feel stupid. I mean, what sort of an idiot couldn’t even serve a few tourists some ice cream?

            Single, double or triple scoop. A few different flavours. It was hardly rocket science.

            “Uh, thanks,” the guy said, as I handed over two very wobbly-looking cones. Both looked about ready to topple over; really, they should’ve been served with a warning label that read handle with care. Not that the rogue twins already terrorising the shop would pay any attention.

            The queue was moving too quickly; as soon as I successfully served a customer, what seemed like another three would come in through the door. The constant stream was impossible to keep up with; the feeling likened to being on a treadmill, already running at full speed, but having someone constantly whacking up the setting until I could barely feel the ground beneath me. Needless to say, I was counting down the seconds until Daniel’s reappearance.

            Once the door banged shut behind the twins, I allowed myself a much-needed sigh of relief. The shop seemed to have expanded again at their departure; without them running rampage over every square inch, there was certainly more room to breathe. But there was little time for relaxation: I’d already begun taking the next customer’s order, which included five separate cones, shoving their tenner into the till drawer.

            Seriously, five? Couldn’t they see I was struggling?

            “Excuse me, could you speed it up a little?” someone from the back of the queue called, whilst I was halfway through dolloping a helping of strawberry onto the third cone. “I haven’t got all day.”

            “Sorry,” I mumbled, feeling my cheeks turn beet red. “I’m new.”

            Come on, Flo, I told myself furiously. You’ve got to get a move on. Daniel’s counting on you. Determinedly quickening my pace, I powered on, though I could see my scooping skills deteriorating considerably.

            “Actually, can we get Flakes on all of those, please?”

            I had to stop myself from groaning aloud. Leaning over to grab the box where they were usually kept, my palm enclosed air when I realised the spot was empty. This time I sighed out loud, pivoting on my heel and heading towards the back of the room, where I’d seen Daniel fish out extra stock a few times. Sure enough, a familiar yellow box sat in the corner, the uppermost item on a tall stack.

            I’d intended to step forward and retrieve it, but didn’t quite get there.

            Apparently, there had been a splatter of melted ice cream somewhere on the floor that had escaped my notice. I realised this only once my foot had landed right in it, my trainer losing its grip completely. Instantly, I was propelled forward, landing with a final thud right on my backside.

            Not to mention going face-first into the ice cream cone in my hand.

            Talk about graceful.

            It might’ve been easier to live down had it only been the line of customers there to witness my embarrassing escapade. But, of course, my luck wouldn’t allow that to happen. Milliseconds after my rear end had hit the tiles, the sound of a bell overhead indicated the opening of the shop door. Then, soon after, a familiar head appeared over the counter, peering down at me with the utmost confusion and what looked like restrained laughter written all over his face.

            “Uh, Flo?”

            Removing my nose from the ice cream, I dared to look upwards at Daniel. The throbbing in my lower back was already prominent, a bruise sure to follow, but I managed a sheepish smile. “Hi.”

***

            “You okay?” Daniel asked, when I emerged from the bathroom in the empty shop ten minutes later. His smile was strained, presumably by the effort of holding back laughter, but I supposed the image of me sprawled on the floor with a face full of ice cream was kind of funny. You know, if you didn’t happen to be me. “Cleaned yourself up?”

            I rolled my eyes, though I was more embarrassed than willing to admit. “Yes, thanks.”

            It seemed that Daniel felt bad about subjecting me to the stress of managing the entire shop alone. Though his first action had been to help me up from the floor, he soon decided to sweet-talk his mum into covering the afternoon shift so we could hang out instead. Whilst I’d been preoccupied scrubbing vanilla off my face, he’d finished serving up the last of the customers before switching the open placard on the door to its reverse side.

            Now, he’d abandoned his apron, looking effortlessly together in washed jeans and a T-shirt. My appearance was much less composed; a few springy curls had fallen from their ponytail, a slight damp patch remained noticeable on the back of my trousers, and pretty much all of my make-up had been scrubbed off with the ice cream. I was by no means at my best, but there was nothing I could do.

            “You know, I really feel bad for leaving you like that,” he told me, after we’d slipped through the door and he locked it behind him. “You’ve only been here a week, for crying out loud. It was completely unfair, and you can blame me as much as you like.”

            I shrugged. “Well, what Collette wanted was obviously really important, so…”

            I didn’t mean for the sarcasm to leak into my voice, but it did anyway. It was hard to stop myself; I had to admit the thought of Daniel and Collette spending time together alone struck a jealous chord. But this was Collette we were talking about. She had the looks of a supermodel, even if her sister had topped her by boasting an even better handful of genes. We were like chalk and cheese. And, as much as I didn’t like to think about it, I couldn’t see Daniel picking me if ever the choice was between us.

            “It could’ve waited,” he said. “I mean, she only wanted me to have a look at her car because the engine was playing up and she didn’t want to be late for some hair appointment. Maybe I know a tiny bit about cars, but only because my dad was into them. It’s not like I’m a mechanic or anything. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with it.”

            A brief delay ensued before the words could sink in properly. His dad. Had he meant to mention him? The only other time he’d been brought up was several days ago, when we’d had lunch with Erin, and even then it hadn’t gone as far as saying anything aloud. Neither of them had uttered a word about it since.

            But I was hardly in a place to blame them.

            “Sorry.”

            “Honestly, it’s fine,” I assured him again. “Where are we headed, anyway?”

            He stopped then, as if first realising his feet lacked any plan of navigation. “No idea,” he said. “Where d’you fancy?”

            I shrugged. “You pick. You’re the expert on this place, anyway. Show me what’s fun around here.”

            He looked around, skimming over our view of the seafront town as if searching for a source of inspiration. The beach lay ahead of us, clumps of tourists spread out across the stones, seagulls cawing overhead. To our left, the pier stood tall, the dark wood structure looking at least two hundred years old. Waves battered the rickety supports every few seconds, but the people milling around on it seemed far less apprehensive than I was.

            “Have you been to the arcade?” Daniel asked, his eyes also drawn towards the pier. As they swivelled towards me, catching sight of my raised eyebrows, he pouted. “Hey, don’t look like that. It’s fun.”

            “You’re just a big kid at heart, aren’t you?” I said, to which he nodded eagerly. “Okay, okay. If you say it’s fun, then we’ll go.”

            “It is. You’re just scared.”

            I frowned. “Scared of an amusement arcade?”

            “Scared of getting thrashed on the 2p pushers,” he corrected with a grin. “I’m telling you, live by a beach your whole life and you get good at them. I’m a pro. Prepare to be put to shame.”

            “Are you really making this into a competition?”

            His smirk grew. “Yup.”

            “Actually, you know what? It’s on.”

            “And,” he added, “how about this for interesting stakes? Loser has to go swimming,” he hooked his thumb behind him, though it was hardly necessary, “in the sea.”

            I stepped closer. “Bring it on.”

            Without warning, he grabbed my hand, the warmth of his fingers comfortably enveloping my palm. Then he tugged, pulling me in the direction of the pier. I quickened my pace as he broke into a run along the boardwalk, our trainers pounding on the wooden slats, and the two of us bounded towards the amusement arcade. We were laughing like idiots, and everybody was staring. But for what was probably the first time in my life, I couldn’t have cared less.

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 Jesus, you guys actually commented on the last chapter. And all of them made me so happy. Now all you silent readers who became not silent for one chapter... make that permanent, okay? I will love you forever. And you might even get a dedication ;)

Lots of Flaniel in this chapter, so comment to show your appreciation. And don't forget to vote for me in the Watty Awards (Most Popular Short Story is the main category!)