Not My Fondest Memory

***Check out the excerpt for book four in the Love in the PNW series, Lorelei's story. Full cover and blurb coming soon!***

Now, here I am standing in line at an ice cream shop on a Saturday evening—by myself. My two friends were busy this evening, otherwise they'd probably be here commiserating with me.

As I watch the people around me, with their timid single-scoop ice cream bowls with absolutely zero toppings, I can't help but chuckle. All these options on the menu and that's what they pick? Why even bother coming in here?

Not me. I'm not messing around with a piddly single scoop of ice cream. I'm going to do this drowning-my-sorrows thing right by getting a milkshake. Not just any milkshake either. An embarrassingly large mint chocolate chip milkshake. I don't even flinch at the ten-dollar price tag. And when they ask me if I want whipped cream on top, I say, "Absolutely. Give me a double helping, please." Go big or go home.

Tonight, I'm wearing the post-breakup, sad-girl-who's-going-to-eat-her-feelings badge with pride.

I draw stares from the surrounding patrons when I go to collect my milkshake. They're sizing me up, probably thinking I came here with someone else or someone dared me to do this, because there's no way someone of my stature would order a milkshake of this magnitude. My five-foot-two petite frame should not be able to handle this much deliciousness. And if I'm being honest, this diet-busting gut bomb shouldn't even exist with how massive it is. I wouldn't be surprised if down at the bottom of the menu there's some kind of warning label for it. (Warning: Might cause a permanent food coma.) But the option is there, and since this is a free country, I'm going to do as I please.

Proudly, I walk away from the counter, needing two hands just to carry this thing. I was considering staying in the shop to consume it, just to prove to the employees and everyone else in the store that I could handle it, then decide against it. I've had enough stares for the evening. I'm going to take this home and sit on the couch with my dog and veg out completely, lounge pants, oversized sweatshirt, and all.

On my way out of the shop, my phone buzzes with an incoming text. The urge to check it is strong. So strong that even though my phone is buried in my back pocket and it would take some effort to get, I still find myself juggling this giant milkshake in one hand to reach for it. My hand doesn't even come close to fitting all the way around the girth of the cup, so my grip is precarious at best.

I manage to pull my phone out of my back pocket and check the screen. It's a text from Chelsea, one of my friends. She's on another date from one of the many dating apps she has on her phone, and apparently, it's not going well considering she just sent me a GIF of a train wreck. I'm replying with a laughing face emoji at the same time I'm using my shoulder to push open the glass door to the shop.

Just then the door swings open fully, throwing off the delicate balance I had going. My body lurches forward, propelling me right into the person in the doorway. My phone flies out of my hand. The embarrassingly large mint chocolate chip milkshake that I was so excited about smashes between my body and the statuesque figure in front of me.

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