Summer of Soft Sunshine – Chapter Three – Ice Cream & Tiny Mishaps
The air smelled like salt and sugar.
That was my first impression when we stepped onto the boardwalk. The tang of the sea rolled in on the breeze, mixing with the buttery scent of popcorn, fried dough, and something sweet I couldn’t quite name but instantly craved.
The planks beneath my sandals creaked faintly as we walked, the late afternoon sun slanting gold over the ocean to our left. Families moved past us in a stream of bright swimsuits, sunhats, and chatter. Somewhere ahead, a carousel spun slowly, its music box tune carried on the wind.
I tugged a little at my shirt, self-conscious despite the fact that no one was looking at me. Samantha noticed immediately.
“You’re fine,” she said, brushing her hand across my back in a light pat. “No one’s staring.”
“I know,” I muttered, but my voice sounded small. The faint bulk beneath my shorts was more noticeable than it had been at the beach — at least to me. Every step made me hyper-aware of it, even though Samantha insisted it was subtle.
She leaned close, her tone playful. “Trust me, sunshine, the only thing anyone cares about is funnel cake.”
That earned a reluctant laugh out of me, which made her grin widen. She slipped her hand into mine — casual, steadying. Somehow that little gesture calmed the churning in my stomach more than any words could.
We wandered past the arcades first, their flashing lights and ringing bells spilling into the walkway. A group of kids squealed at a claw machine win, holding up a gaudy stuffed dolphin like treasure. Samantha nudged me with her elbow.
“Could get you one of those to keep your plushie company,” she teased.
I rolled my eyes, but my face heated all the same. “I don’t need a dolphin.”
“Mmm, maybe a crab then. Very on theme.”
I gave her a look, but she only laughed and tugged me along.
The boardwalk stretched wide ahead, with kiosks selling t-shirts, seashell necklaces, and cheap sunglasses. The sound of gulls crying overhead blended with the steady crash of waves against the shore. My nerves began to ease, replaced by the hum of summer energy all around us.
We passed a stand selling ice cream, and Samantha slowed. “You hungry?”
I hesitated. Part of me wanted to say no, to keep things simple. But the smell of waffle cones and the sight of towering scoops drizzled with syrup made my mouth water. I nodded quickly, maybe too quickly, and Samantha smiled knowingly.
We stepped into line. The couple ahead of us debated flavors — pistachio or rocky road — while I studied the chalkboard menu, overwhelmed by the choices.
“What’ll it be, sunshine?” Samantha asked when we reached the counter.
I pointed to a photo of a sundae drowned in rainbow sprinkles. “That one.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Going big, huh? Alright.”
She ordered, and a moment later, the server handed me a cup stacked so high I almost dropped it. Samantha paid, steering me toward a bench tucked against the railing overlooking the sea.
The first bite was bliss — cold, sweet, melting faster than I could keep up. I grinned despite myself, spooning bite after bite until the inevitable happened: sticky drips down my hand, a smear at the corner of my mouth.
Samantha was ready with a napkin, dabbing gently at my face before I could react. “Messy pup,” she teased softly. “You’re lucky I came prepared.”
I ducked my head, embarrassed, but she just smiled and handed me the napkin to finish the job.
The sugar and sun combined to lift my mood higher. We sat in comfortable silence, watching the waves roll beneath the pier, the sound rhythmic and steady. My sundae dwindled quickly, and by the time I scraped the last melted bits from the cup, I felt both satisfied and just a little too full.
Samantha stretched her arms overhead, sighing in contentment. “Perfect day, isn’t it?”
I nodded, leaning back against the bench. “Yeah… it really is.”
She turned to me then, her expression softer, more thoughtful. “See? Nothing to be nervous about. Just us, the sun, and sprinkles.”
I smiled, warmth spreading in my chest. For a moment, the tension I’d carried earlier seemed to melt away like the last of the ice cream.
But as we sat there, I shifted uncomfortably, a different kind of pressure beginning to make itself known. I froze, the realization sudden and unwelcome. My stomach tightened.
Not here. Not now.
I swallowed, eyes darting around at the families walking past, the vendors calling out specials, the sheer normalcy of the boardwalk. The thought of losing control here, in the open, made my cheeks burn.
Samantha, of course, noticed my stillness instantly. She leaned closer, her voice low. “You okay?”
I forced a nod, gripping the empty cup tighter than necessary. “Yeah. Fine.”
Her eyes lingered on me for a moment, knowing but gentle. She didn’t press — not yet. She just reached for my hand again, standing. “Come on. Let’s walk a bit more before the sun sets.”
I rose with her, heart beating faster for reasons that had little to do with the crowd.
Somewhere ahead, the carousel music started again, the jaunty tune clashing with the nervous flutter in my chest.
The boardwalk stretched ahead like a ribbon of light and sound, all the smells of fried food and sweet sugar drifting on the breeze. My sandals clapped against the old wooden planks while Samantha walked beside me, humming in that carefree way she always did when she was a little too aware of my nerves.
She was holding my hand — not tightly, not dragging me along, but loosely, like she knew I needed the tether but still wanted me to feel I had a choice. Her thumb brushed back and forth across my knuckles in slow, grounding strokes.
“You’re awfully quiet,” she teased gently, turning her head so her sunglasses flashed in the sun. “Thinking about funnel cake? Or maybe…” she paused just long enough for my stomach to knot, “…thinking about whether you can make it all the way down the boardwalk without a little oopsie?”
I groaned softly and tried to pull my hand back, but she only giggled and tightened her grip. “You’re terrible,” I muttered.
“And you’re blushing,” she shot back. “Which means I’m right about something.”
She wasn’t wrong. The truth was gnawing at me, heavy in my belly and harder to ignore with each step. I’d been fine at the pool earlier — or at least I’d told myself I was. But walking here, in this thrumming crowd of families, kids darting past with dripping popsicles, parents juggling strollers and soda cups, I suddenly wasn’t so sure.
I could feel the padding under my shorts, softer and warmer than it had been an hour ago. I’d been pretending it was nothing, just a secret hug against my skin. But now? Each step pressed the faintest reminder, a whisper of what might happen if I couldn’t hold on.
The sun was still high, sharp and hot against the back of my neck. Gulls wheeled overhead, crying loudly as they swooped for scraps, and every little sound seemed amplified by my nerves. My senses were overloaded: the sticky-sweet smell of cotton candy, the sizzling oil from a fry stand, the salty tang from the ocean just behind the boardwalk. All of it pressed down, adding to the tension coiled in my chest.
Samantha steered us toward a brightly painted ice cream stand where kids clustered around, already sticky-handed and giggling. The line wasn’t too long, but long enough for my nerves to rattle. The air smelled like vanilla sugar and waffle cones. My stomach growled, but underneath that hunger was another pressure, far more urgent.
She leaned closer, brushing her shoulder against mine. “What flavor are you getting, sunshine?”
I hesitated, trying to focus on the chalkboard menu instead of my body’s protests. “Uh… maybe… chocolate chip cookie dough?”
She grinned. “Classic. I’ll get strawberry swirl.” Then her voice dropped low enough for only me to hear. “You gonna behave while we wait? Or should I have gotten you a cone and a change of shorts at the same time?”
Heat flared in my cheeks. “Sam…”
Her laugh was soft, almost kind, but not without that mischievous glint. “I’m just teasing, Alex. Relax. No one’s paying attention to you. Just the sprinkles and hot fudge.”
But of course I was paying attention — to every tiny muscle in my body, to the way the boardwalk seemed to creak under my sandals, to how long each person in line was taking to choose between three nearly identical shades of ice cream. I shuffled a little, bouncing on the balls of my feet, trying not to let it look obvious.
A family in front of us ordered with noisy enthusiasm — two cones, one cup, sprinkles, extra napkins. Their kids bounced in place, chanting for chocolate. I envied their carefree energy while I fought to look normal, my body staging a rebellion.
And then it happened.
Not all at once, not dramatically, but like the slow realization of rain seeping through fabric: a warmth spreading, unstoppable, the faintest rush of release before I could clamp down. My heart lurched into my throat.
No, no, no—
I bit down on the inside of my cheek, hoping somehow that would help me hold back the rest. But the harder I clenched, the more impossible it became. My body made the choice for me, quick and final. I gasped quietly, barely audible over the chatter of the crowd, as the truth sank in.
I’d… done it. Here. In public.
My knees wanted to buckle. My hands twitched like I didn’t know where to put them. The noise of the crowd seemed to roar around me, every laugh and squeal of the kids suddenly sharpening into mockery in my ears, though I knew no one had actually noticed.
Except Samantha.
She noticed instantly — the tiny tremor in my breath, the way my shoulders hunched. Her grip on my hand tightened, and when I dared to glance up, her sunglasses tilted just enough for me to see her eyes, full of that infuriating mixture of amusement and care.
“Oh, Alex,” she murmured, too softly for anyone else to hear. “Did my big kid just have a little accident?”
My whole face went crimson. “Please don’t…” I whispered, the words sticking in my throat.
She tilted her head, lips curving in the smallest smile. “Shh. No one saw. I promise.” Her free hand rubbed a circle between my shoulder blades, soothing. “It’s just me and you, sunshine. Just us.”
I wanted to melt into the boardwalk and disappear, but her calmness — her almost casual certainty — anchored me. She wasn’t panicked, she wasn’t disappointed. She was… fine. Like this was part of what she’d expected.
Still, her teasing didn’t let me off the hook completely. She leaned close, breath warm against my ear. “Guess those sprinkles aren’t the only thing getting a little soggy today, hmm?”
I groaned and buried my face against her shoulder for a second, half mortified, half desperate for the safety she carried so easily. “Sam…”
Her hand stroked down my back again, steady and sure. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re okay. We’ll get you cleaned up when we’re done here. Right now, we’re just two people getting ice cream. That’s all anyone sees.”
I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat softening just enough to let me breathe again. She was right — no one had turned around, no one had gasped or pointed. Families still wrangled their kids, the vendor still scooped cones, and the world hadn’t shattered.
Just me. Just her.
And when our turn came, Samantha ordered like nothing was amiss, smiling at me as if to say: See? Still standing. Still safe.
The line inched forward, slow as molasses. Every step closer to the counter was supposed to be a relief, but instead it felt like a countdown clock ticking in my ears.
One step. Shuffle. Pause.
The wood beneath my sandals creaked, an old familiar sound of the boardwalk, but today it pressed sharp into my nerves. The thud of kids running past, the squeal of stroller wheels, even the rustle of paper napkins being pulled from the dispenser — everything sharpened, louder, brighter, heavier.
I shifted my weight from one leg to the other, pretending I was just restless. The truth was coiled in my belly, demanding attention, a growing pressure I didn’t want to acknowledge. My heart thumped in time with it.
You can wait. You can wait. Just hold it. It’s not that far.
Then a crueler thought: What if you can’t? What if you do it here, where everyone can see?
The voices in my head battled each other as I stared at the chalkboard menu. Chocolate chip cookie dough, rocky road, mint swirl — the words blurred together, meaningless compared to the storm in my chest.
Behind me, a little girl giggled as she waved her dripping cone too close to her brother. He shrieked dramatically, and their mother scolded them half-heartedly while juggling napkins. The normal chaos of family life, but to me, it sounded like a spotlight of noise, as if every laugh was already meant for me.
I squeezed Samantha’s hand harder without realizing it. She glanced sideways at me, her sunglasses hiding her eyes but not the curve of her smile. Her thumb brushed against my knuckles, slow and steady.
“Relax, sunshine,” she murmured, just for me. “No one’s watching you.”
But I was watching me. Hyperaware of every shift, every muscle twitch. The waistband of my shorts felt too snug, the padding beneath them impossibly noticeable. I was sure people would hear the faint crinkle whenever I moved. My mind twisted it into a threat: They’ll know. Everyone will know.
The line shuffled again. A boy in front of us licked his cone too enthusiastically and ended up with ice cream on his chin. His dad laughed, ruffled his hair, and handed him a napkin. Such a simple mistake, so easily forgiven. Why couldn’t mine be like that?
My chest tightened. I rocked on my heels again, trying to be subtle, but every motion felt exaggerated. My body wasn’t cooperating. The pressure wasn’t easing; it was building, hot and insistent, sending little jolts down my spine.
Just a few more minutes. Just a few. You can do this.
Samantha squeezed my hand suddenly, a grounding jolt. “Hey,” she whispered, voice playful but warm. “What’s that face for? You look like you’re calculating rocket trajectories, not picking an ice cream flavor.”
I gave a strangled laugh. “Just… thinking,” I muttered, which sounded pathetic even to my own ears.
She tilted her head, leaning close enough that her hair brushed my shoulder. “Mmm. Thinking about cookie dough? Or thinking about whether you can hold still long enough to enjoy it?”
Her teasing wasn’t cruel — never cruel — but it was a direct hit. I flushed scarlet and looked away, eyes on the horizon where gulls swooped over the beach.
The ocean stretched endlessly blue and calm. The opposite of me. I was all tight knots and jittering nerves, a storm no one else could see.
The line crept forward again. One family stepped aside with their dripping cones. We were only three spots away now. My heart hammered faster, not with relief but with dread. Every second dragged, but every second also brought me closer to the edge.
I tried to distract myself. Count the seagulls. Smell the waffle cones. Think about Samantha’s strawberry swirl. Anything but the heat pooling inside me. But my body betrayed me with every subtle shift.
And then, in the middle of a laugh from the group ahead, it happened.
The first slip. A quiet, unstoppable warmth that spread faster than I could react. My breath caught in my throat as panic clawed up my chest.
No. Not here. Please not here—
I clenched, trying to stop it, but my body had already decided. The release came soft but final, a slow flood I couldn’t deny. My legs stiffened. My whole world shrank to the sensation, to the horrifying certainty of what I’d just done.
The sounds of the boardwalk blurred together. My ears rang. My face flamed so hot I thought steam might rise from my skin.
No one was looking. No one gasped. Life went on around me — but inside, I’d cracked wide open.
And Samantha, of course, knew immediately.
Her thumb stroked my hand again, firmer now, grounding me. Her voice dipped close to my ear, gentle but threaded with playful warmth. “Oh, sweetheart… was that the little emergency I thought I saw coming?”
I groaned, my voice catching. “Sam…”
“Shh.” She gave my fingers a squeeze, eyes still forward, casual as though nothing had happened. “No one knows. Just me. And I’m not upset. Promise.”
Her calmness steadied me, even as my stomach twisted. Around us, the world carried on — cones were handed out, sprinkles were shaken onto sundaes, kids tugged at their parents’ arms. My disaster was invisible to them.
But not to her. Never to her.
My breath came shallow, stuck halfway in my throat. The noise of the boardwalk wasn’t noise anymore — it was a wall closing in. Every laugh, every shuffle, every seagull cry was sharpened, pointed straight at me.
I didn’t dare look around. If I did, I’d see their stares. I’d see the knowing looks, the way their mouths would twitch as if to hide grins, the way their eyes would dart to my shorts. I didn’t need proof; my brain had already decided the whole world knew.
My fingers dug into Samantha’s hand. My knuckles ached, but I couldn’t let go. It was the only thing tethering me in place, the only thread holding me upright.
Maybe they can smell it. Maybe the sound carried. Maybe I look obvious—
The thoughts spiraled, each one worse than the last, building faster than I could swat them away. My face burned hotter with every imagined scenario.
A boy behind us tugged at his mom’s purse, whining about sprinkles. The purse rattled, something clinking inside. My ears twisted it into something else: a judgmental laugh, a whisper, a they know.
I tried to shift my weight, to disguise the stiff way I stood, but the move only made me more aware. The soft bulk against me. The damp heat spreading slowly, carefully contained but undeniable. Every nerve screamed it was visible, even if logic whispered it wasn’t.
“Hey.” Samantha’s voice was low and steady, slipping past the noise like warm water over stone. “Breathe.”
“I…” My throat closed around the word. I shook my head minutely, eyes fixed on the chalkboard menu I couldn’t read.
Her hand squeezed mine again. The faintest laugh touched her lips, gentle and deliberate. “You’re acting like you’re on stage. Spoiler: nobody’s looking.”
I swallowed hard. I wanted to believe her. Needed to. But my chest was a cage, my heart battering against it.
She leaned in just enough for her hair to brush my cheek. “I can feel you buzzing,” she murmured. “Like a little beehive in my hand.” Her thumb stroked the back of mine, slow and rhythmic. “Let me be the calm, okay?”
I clenched my eyes shut for a second, just one heartbeat, and the world tilted. The pressure in my belly had already passed, but the panic it left behind was still pulsing.
When I opened my eyes again, we were next in line. The family ahead stepped aside with a cloud of waffle-cone sweetness.
My chest tightened all over again. Now everyone’s looking. The girl at the counter will look. She’ll know. She’ll see it right on my face.
I shifted again, desperate for any semblance of normal posture, but my body betrayed me. The subtle crinkle. The phantom dampness. My skin burned with it.
Samantha tipped her head, her sunglasses hiding her eyes but not her smile. “Alex,” she said softly, the way you’d say sunshine or sweetheart. Just my name, but it wrapped around me like an anchor.
I couldn’t answer. My voice would crack.
She squeezed once more and whispered, “Trust me. I’ve got you.”
The girl at the counter called, “Next?”
And my stomach plummeted.
The girl behind the counter leaned forward, hair tucked under a visor, her pen poised over the notepad. “Hi there! What can I get you?”
Her smile was bright, practiced — the kind you gave to dozens of sunburned tourists every hour. But to me, it was a spotlight. My throat clamped shut, my tongue heavy.
“I—uh—” My voice cracked, brittle and too loud. The words shriveled before they left my mouth.
Her brows lifted, waiting politely.
“I…” My chest seized. Every option on the chalkboard blurred together, black and white squiggles in the sun. I couldn’t pick out a single flavor. I couldn’t even remember what ice cream was.
Heat rushed into my cheeks, down my neck. My hands shook, still clutching Samantha’s. My free hand twitched at my side, useless.
Samantha leaned in, her voice warm and breezy, as if she were commenting on the weather. “Two cones, please — one scoop of chocolate, one of strawberry. Extra napkins.” She smiled easily, her words flowing like a practiced script. “Thank you.”
The girl scribbled, nodded, and turned to scoop. No hesitation. No second glance. No suspicion.
I stood frozen, heart hammering, as if the whole world had stopped to dissect me. But nothing happened. The line shifted, the family behind us murmured about sprinkles, the seagulls cried above. Nobody stared. Nobody laughed.
Samantha’s hand brushed my arm, steadying. “See?” she murmured, lips just near my ear. “Handled. Smooth as can be.”
I swallowed, my throat dry as salt air. “…I couldn’t—”
“Shhh.” She pressed her finger lightly to my wrist, her sunglasses catching a gleam of sun. “You don’t have to. That’s the point.”
The counter girl returned, setting two cones down with a smile. “Here you go! That’ll be seven fifty.”
I reached for my pocket automatically, fumbling, but Samantha was already sliding a bill across the counter. Quick, simple. I barely caught the flash of her wrist before the girl was making change.
“Thanks!” the girl chirped, moving on to the next order.
And just like that, we were done. Transaction over.
The cones were cool and perfect in Samantha’s hands. She passed me mine with a grin, her tone light, teasing, but edged with warmth. “There. Chocolate for my brave boy.”
I stared at the scoop, dark and melting at the edges. My palms still tingled with heat. Brave? The word rang strange in my head. I hadn’t felt brave. I’d felt… small. Helpless. Caught in a flood of nerves I couldn’t swim out of.
But when I finally licked the cone, the chocolate was sweet and grounding, melting across my tongue. Samantha’s hand brushed against mine again, just enough to remind me she was there. Always there.
The boardwalk noise softened around us.
We slipped out of the line, cones in hand, into the slow tide of boardwalk wanderers. The air smelled of fried dough, salt, sunscreen — all swirling together under the heavy sun.
I licked the chocolate again, but my tongue felt clumsy. The sweetness registered, but faintly, dulled under the hum in my chest. My pulse was still too high, my ears still too tuned for whispers.
Every shuffle of flip-flops, every laugh from a passing group, every crinkle of a paper bag made me flinch. My mind turned each ordinary sound into a verdict, a signal that someone had noticed.
The cone dripped faster than I could keep up, a dark rivulet threatening my fingers. I hurried to lap it away, but my hand was already sticky. My chest twisted again — a mess on top of a mess.
Samantha strolled beside me, calm as ever, strawberry cone in hand. She was half-turned toward the sea, watching the waves crash beyond the railing, sunglasses catching flashes of light. Her whole presence was easy, unbothered, as though she hadn’t just rescued me from crumbling into the planks.
“Slow down,” she said, not even looking, her voice lilting. “You’ll give yourself a brain freeze if you keep attacking it like that.”
“I’m—” My words faltered, thin. I swallowed, tried again. “It’s dripping.”
“Mhm.” She finally tilted her head toward me, smiling over the rim of her cone. “Napkins, remember? That’s why I asked for extras.”
I glanced down. She’d tucked a few folded napkins into the crook of her wrist, casual, like she’d known I’d need them before I did.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. My hand still trembled as I reached for one. The paper stuck slightly against my damp fingers, but it was grounding — a small fix, a small tether.
We walked a few steps more. Children darted past with balloon animals. A man played guitar near a bench, notes drifting into the air.
The ordinary-ness of it all pressed against my panic, softening its edges. No one stared. No one whispered. No one cared about me at all.
But I did. I cared too much. My chest still hummed with the echo of fear, the sense of having slipped, of being caught out.
Samantha nudged her shoulder against mine gently. “Chocolate mustache,” she teased, her tone light.
I blinked at her, startled, swiping quickly at my lip with the napkin. She laughed softly, shaking her head. “Missed it. Here.”
She reached over with her own napkin, dabbing the corner of my mouth. Quick, casual, almost playful. To anyone watching, it could have been nothing — a partner’s affectionate gesture. But to me, it sank deeper. Heat bloomed under my cheeks again, but different this time.
Her sunglasses tilted, and I imagined her eyes on me, steady and knowing.
“Better,” she said simply, licking her cone again.
I swallowed, the chocolate finally starting to taste like chocolate again.
We wove through the crowd, our cones in hand, but I felt like I was moving through molasses. Everyone else had a rhythm — flip-flops slapping in unison, laughter flowing like music, hands juggling snacks and drinks without spilling a drop.
Meanwhile, I was all thumbs. My cone tilted, chocolate edging toward my knuckles again despite the napkin. I dabbed, wiped, licked, but never quite caught up. My fingers stuck together. My palm itched. It was like trying to hold onto sand while the tide pulled it away.
A little girl in pigtails skipped by, clutching her cone with effortless grace. Sprinkles glistened on top, perfectly balanced. She giggled at something her brother said, carefree.
My chest pinched. I couldn’t even manage this without fumbling.
“Careful,” Samantha murmured, her tone airy, like she was pointing out seashells. “You’re making that poor napkin work overtime.”
“I’m fine,” I muttered, too quickly. My voice sounded smaller than I meant.
Her head tipped slightly toward me. I couldn’t see her eyes behind the sunglasses, but I felt the weight of her attention — gentle, not pressing, just there.
Another drip streaked down my cone, warm against my hand before I caught it. My breath stuttered. The stickiness seemed to spread, climbing up my arm, magnified with every step.
The boardwalk tilted in my mind, full of eyes and whispers. Did they see? Did they notice the way I kept fumbling, the way Samantha had to dab my mouth for me? My chest tightened again, my steps slowing.
Samantha adjusted her cone to her left hand and slipped her free fingers into mine, sticky or not. Her grip was steady, unbothered, and she gave the faintest squeeze.
“Messy is allowed,” she said simply, as if reading my thoughts.
The words sank under my skin, warm, unsettling. I licked the cone again, more careful this time, but my hand still trembled around it. The chocolate tasted richer now, though the knot in my chest hadn’t fully loosened.
Around us, the boardwalk noise pressed in — the clatter of arcade machines, the hawkers calling out for rides and cotton candy. Every sound seemed sharper, more immediate. I couldn’t tell if I was fading into the noise or sticking out like a sore thumb.
Samantha’s thumb brushed over my knuckles, once, then again. A rhythm, small but grounding.
“You’re thinking too loud,” she teased softly, her lips curved around the edge of her cone.
I blinked at her, startled, but she only grinned faintly and licked her strawberry scoop, leaving a pink smear at the edge of her lip. She didn’t wipe it right away. She just walked, easy, unconcerned.
I glanced at her cone, then back at mine, sticky napkin plastered to my palm. My stomach flipped. She made it look effortless. I made it look… childish.
The thought burned, but beneath it, a tiny part of me softened at the squeeze of her hand.
The farther we walked, the more the crowd seemed to swell. Every corner brought another wave of voices, another burst of laughter, another swirl of smells that made my stomach tighten instead of settle.
My cone was shrinking too fast, the drips winning against my half-hearted licks. The napkin was soaked through, useless. My fingers itched to toss the whole thing into a trash bin, but the thought of wasting it, of admitting I couldn’t even manage ice cream, made me flush hot all over again.
Samantha slowed, tugging my hand gently to the side of the flow. “Come on,” she said, her tone light, almost musical. “I know a better spot than weaving through elbows.”
We slipped free of the crowd like a fish darting sideways out of a net. She steered us down toward a cluster of benches facing the ocean, just beyond the line of boardwalk shops.
The noise softened there, the air clearer. A breeze tugged across my skin, carrying the salt and spray of the waves. The ocean roared steadily beyond the railing, endless and certain.
Samantha guided me to a bench shaded by a wide umbrella. She didn’t make a show of it, didn’t force the pause. She just sat down first, patting the spot beside her like it was the most natural thing in the world.
I lowered myself slowly, my knees stiff, my cone still dripping into the mangled napkin. My heartbeat hadn’t fully settled, but it was easier here, out of the swirl.
Samantha stretched one leg out, resting her cone in her free hand, sunglasses tilted up just enough that I could see her eyes now. Bright, steady, familiar.
“Better?” she asked.
I hesitated, staring down at my sticky fingers. “Maybe.”
“Mm.” She leaned slightly closer, her shoulder brushing mine. “Close your eyes a second. Just listen.”
I blinked at her. “What?”
“Humor me.” She nudged me gently with her elbow, still smiling.
I closed my eyes, reluctantly at first. The world shifted. The chatter faded into background, muffled. The steady crash of the waves pressed closer, louder. A gull cried overhead, distant but clear. The wind brushed across my cheek, cooler than I’d noticed before.
“See?” she murmured, her voice lower now, almost blending with the surf. “Doesn’t have to be so loud up here.”
My shoulders loosened a fraction. I licked the cone again without thinking, and the chocolate finally hit my tongue as chocolate, not guilt or noise.
When I opened my eyes, Samantha was watching me, head tilted, smile soft. She reached for the napkin crumpled in my fist and replaced it with a fresh one from her stash, as though she’d been waiting for the right moment.
“There,” she said, dabbing a bit of chocolate from my wrist with her own napkin. “Much better.”
I swallowed, the warmth creeping back into my chest — not panic this time, but something quieter, heavier, more confusing.
She glanced at my cone, tilted dangerously toward my lap now, and let out the smallest laugh. “You know,” she said, voice playful, “you look like you’re trying to wrestle it instead of eat it.”
I groaned, sinking into the bench. “It’s melting too fast.”
“Mhm. Or maybe,” she leaned a little closer, eyebrow arched, “someone just has two left hands today.”
Heat flushed up my neck. I opened my mouth to argue, but she slipped her hand over mine before I could. Smooth, deliberate. The sticky napkin squished between us, but she didn’t flinch. She just curled her fingers around mine and tilted the cone upright with steady ease.
“There,” she said softly. “Now we don’t have to fight it anymore.”
The breath caught in my throat. I should’ve pulled back, should’ve insisted I could manage. Instead, I just sat there, frozen and flustered, while she guided the cone closer to my mouth.
“Go on,” she coaxed, voice dropping into that teasing singsong she knew unraveled me. “Big bite. Before it drips again.”
I leaned in and took a clumsy lick, chocolate smearing against the corner of my lip. Her grin widened instantly. With her free hand, she reached into her bag, produced a tissue like magic, and dabbed me clean before I could even react.
“There’s my messy boy,” she teased, her tone fond, not mocking. “You always make the ice cream work harder than it has to.”
My ears burned hot. “You don’t have to—”
“Shh.” She squeezed my hand, still holding the cone steady. “I want to.”
The words slipped straight under my ribs, cutting through the leftover panic. My chest loosened in a way that made me dizzy, and suddenly the ocean felt closer again, the air easier to breathe.
She took a lick of her own cone, casual, then turned the one in my hand slightly toward me again. “Better pace yourself, though. We’ll be here a while. Can’t have you getting a tummy ache this early in the day.”
I huffed, somewhere between embarrassed and oddly soothed. The warning sounded half like a joke, half like something she really meant — and I couldn’t decide which part made me squirm more.
But when she tipped the cone toward me again, I leaned forward without thinking.
She tilted the cone again, patient, waiting until I took another bite before she pulled it back. “There we go,” she said, brushing a fingertip over my cheek as if checking for more drips. “Not so scary when you let me help, huh?”
I shifted on the bench, flustered. “I could’ve… I mean, I was managing.”
Her laugh was soft, warm, almost indulgent. “Mhm. Sure. That’s why you looked like a deer caught in the boardwalk lights two minutes ago.”
I groaned and ducked my head, but she wasn’t letting me hide. She tugged lightly at my wrist, coaxing me to look up again. “Hey,” she murmured. “You did just fine. I know it felt big. But no one saw. No one even noticed.”
Something in her tone — not scolding, not dismissing, just steady — made the last of the panic crack and drain out. My shoulders sagged against the bench.
“That’s it,” she praised, squeezing my hand again. “Deep breath. The worst is already over.”
I obeyed almost without thinking, sucking in a shaky lungful of sea air. The briny tang of salt and sun hit my nose, grounding me further.
“Good boy,” she said, so quiet only I could hear it under the ocean’s roar.
My ears burned hotter, but the words melted into me all the same, heavy and sweet.
She shifted closer, hip pressed against mine now, and raised the cone again. “Open up,” she teased, sing-song like before.
I rolled my eyes, but my mouth opened anyway, and she chuckled at the sight. “See? Easy.” Another small dab of tissue at my chin, another smile, and I was helplessly sinking into the rhythm of it.
Nibble. Tease. Dab. Praise.
Each piece small on its own, but together they wove around me like a net I didn’t want to wriggle free of.
By the time the cone was whittled down to its final soft point, Samantha tipped it toward me like a prize. “All yours. One last big bite.”
I hesitated, embarrassed by the weight of her eyes on me. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Of course I am,” she said without missing a beat. “What’s the point of summer if I can’t spoil you a little?”
My face flamed, but I leaned in and took the last bite anyway. She clapped her hands softly, mock-ceremonial. “Ta-da. You survived the Great Ice Cream Battle of the Boardwalk.”
I couldn’t help it — a laugh bubbled out of me, shaky but real.
Samantha’s grin softened. She brushed the last smudge from my lip with her thumb and let her hand linger just a second too long. “There’s that smile,” she murmured. “Told you it was still hiding under all that worry.”
I swallowed hard, warmth spreading through me that had nothing to do with the sun.
Samantha balled up the sticky napkin and tucked it neatly into the paper sleeve from her cone. “Crisis averted,” she said with a playful little flourish, as if she’d just completed some heroic rescue.
I shook my head, but a reluctant smile tugged at my mouth. “You make it sound like I nearly drowned in sprinkles or something.”
“Well,” she leaned closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “you did look like you were about to go under. But lucky for you…” she tapped her chest with mock pride, “…I’m a certified lifeguard of melty desserts.”
A laugh escaped me before I could swallow it down. And just like that, the shaky tightness in my chest loosened another notch.
She gave me a satisfied nod, then stood and brushed sand from the back of her shorts. “Come on,” she said, holding her hand out to me. “Let’s walk a little. Stretch those legs. We’ve got more summer to steal before the sun sets.”
I hesitated only a second before sliding my palm into hers. Her grip was warm, steady, and she gave it a playful swing as she pulled me up from the bench.
The boardwalk air felt lighter now, the noises of gulls and laughter blending back into background music instead of sharp distractions. I realized I was breathing easier, each step less like a stumble and more like part of the rhythm again.
Beside me, Samantha grinned and bumped my shoulder. “See? You’re fine. Just needed a snack and a little TLC.”
I rolled my eyes but didn’t let go of her hand.
The boardwalk stretched ahead, crowded but easy, a patchwork of stalls and game booths glowing with neon signs even in the late afternoon light. The smell of fried dough, salt, and popcorn mixed with the briny sea air, making everything feel sticky and alive. Samantha’s hand was still in mine, swinging casually, and though part of me still buzzed from the earlier panic, I let myself drift with her rhythm.
We slowed near a booth lined with bright rubber rings and glass bottles. The man behind the counter barked in a singsong, “Step right up, three tries for a prize!” and Samantha’s eyes lit mischievously.
“Oh, we have to,” she said, tugging me closer.
I balked. “Samantha—”
“Nope,” she grinned, already fishing a couple crumpled bills from her pocket. “It’s boardwalk law. You can’t walk past a ring toss without trying. Besides,” she leaned closer, her whisper warm in my ear, “I think you’ll look adorable concentrating.”
I groaned, but she pressed the rings into my hands. The plastic felt slick under my sweaty palms.
“Alright champ,” she teased, folding her arms. “Show me what you’ve got.”
The first ring sailed wide, clattering uselessly against the wood. The second nearly bounced off a bottle’s neck before skittering away. By the third, my ears were hot, and I could hear Samantha’s stifled giggles beside me.
I lobbed it too hard. It ricocheted high, landing on the booth floor.
Samantha clapped with exaggerated enthusiasm. “Wow! Nailed it. If the goal was to scare the bottles.”
I buried my face in my hands. “That was humiliating.”
“Humiliatingly cute,” she corrected, and then, without missing a beat, she leaned toward the booth attendant. “Can I just buy the little dolphin plush anyway?”
He shrugged and handed it over, and she pressed it into my arms like a consolation trophy. “There. Winner.”
I looked down at the ridiculous sky-blue dolphin and muttered, “You bribed the system.”
She smirked, looping her arm through mine. “Call it good parenting. Sometimes you need to let the kid walk away with a prize.”
The word kid made my stomach flip in a way I couldn’t quite name. Heat flushed up my neck, but when I glanced at her, she was just smiling, swinging us back into the stream of strolling families and couples.
For a while, it was easy to let myself be carried by it all — the scattered bursts of laughter, the clatter of games, the sea breeze lifting strands of Samantha’s hair. I hugged the plush to my chest without realizing, its silly stitched smile meeting mine every time I looked down.
But the quiet tug in my belly hadn’t completely gone away. Just a faint reminder, like the whisper of an old worry. What if it happened again? Here, in the open? What if Samantha wasn’t quick enough to cover for me next time?
I swallowed, the thought souring the taste of salt in the air.
“Hey.” Samantha’s voice broke in, soft but certain. Her thumb brushed against the back of my hand, grounding. “You’re making that face.”
I blinked. “What face?”
“The one that looks three steps ahead and ten shades too worried,” she said, bumping her shoulder into mine. “Relax. You’ve got me. Always.”
The words sank deep, loosening the knot I’d been clutching. I exhaled slowly, my grip on the dolphin plush softening.
We drifted to the edge of the boardwalk, where the rail overlooked the sand and the ocean beyond. The horizon was painted in gold, the waves catching fire as the sun leaned lower. Samantha leaned against the railing, her arm sliding comfortably across my back until her fingers hooked at my shoulder.
“See?” she murmured, tilting her chin toward the glittering water. “Perfect end to a messy little day.”
I let my head tip slightly against her. The gulls wheeled overhead, the air warm and alive, and for the first time since the line at the snack stand, my chest wasn’t tight. My worries weren’t gone — just tucked gently under her touch, safe for now.
I squeezed the plush closer and let the last of the sunlight wash over us, a fragile but real peace settling in my bones.
The End of Summer of Soft Sunshine – Chapter Three – Ice Cream & Tiny Mishaps
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