Sundae My Prince Will Come Read online

  “We’ve been making gelato, and it’s still got a few more minutes left to churn,” I told Mom when she came into the kitchen. Suddenly, I realized I was reluctant to leave. For the first time in years, I actually wanted to stay at Once upon a Scoop. “Lanz and I will finish it, and I’ll meet you at home after? Go relax, Mom! Take a bubble bath.”

  “A bubble bath,” she repeated, like she’d forgotten there was such a thing. “That sounds amazing.” She looked from one of us to the other. “Okay. Make sure you lock the door again on your way out. Keep your cell on.” She kissed me and waved to Lanz. Then she was gone.

  A few minutes later, the gelato finished churning. I grabbed an ice cream scoop, but Lanz placed his hand over mine. “Never use a scoop with gelato.” He produced a special paddle from one of the bags he’d brought with him. “Always una pagaia.” He dipped the paddle into the thick, creamy cloud of gelato and dished us up a big bowl to share.

  “Let’s try eating it out front,” I suggested, grabbing spoons for us. “We can pretend we’re customers.” We walked out into the parlor, and I gasped. Outside the shop’s windows, we could see a fiery pink-and-gold sunset. “Look at that. The rain’s finished.”

  “Let’s eat outside,” Lanz suggested. “Gelato is always served at a warmer temperature than ice cream. The beach will be the perfect place for it.”

  “The sand’s going to be wet from the rain,” I protested.

  “Isn’t sand always wet?” Lanz laughed. “That is the whole point.”

  Really, it wasn’t the sand, it was the idea. Sunset, beach, boy. A not-Ethan boy. Oh boy.

  I locked up the shop and Lanz carried the bowl of gelato and our spoons to the beach. When we reached the sand, he slipped off his Vans and I kicked off my flats. We found a spot to sit that was relatively dry. The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the last of its glittering golds onto the water. Only a few people milled about in the distance.

  “Well. Aren’t you going to try it?” Lanz asked, nodding to the gelato. Before I could protest, he lifted the spoon to my mouth.

  Rich, satiny vanilla ribboned over my tongue with almost impossible softness. “It’s like eating a cloud,” I murmured, “but the flavor’s so … intense.”

  “My father says that ice cream is a nice first date. But gelato … gelato is love at first sight.”

  I kept my eyes glued to the water, not daring to glance his way.

  Then he pointed to the waves and whispered, “Delfini! Look!”

  The fins broke the surface a hundred yards from shore—a pod of dolphins frolicking in the white caps.

  “They’re bellissimi. Beautiful.” Lanz followed their path through the waves with his eyes.

  “Yes. They are.” I scooped another creamy spoonful from the bowl. “It’s funny, but the whole time I’ve worked at the parlor, I’ve never eaten ice cream—or gelato—” I grinned. “On the beach.”

  “But why?” he asked. “In Verona, there is no ocean. But if there were …” He smiled. “It is hard to think of working at all when a view like that is before you.” He gestured to the expanse of ocean.

  “I never thought about it that way.” I dug my toes into the cool sand. “I’m surrounded by tourists all day long, but I’m so used to living here I don’t always see how pretty it is.”

  “So. Maybe you take time for it more often now.”

  “That’s … not easy for me.” I shrugged. “I have tunnel vision. A lot of times all I can think about is dance.”

  “And … changing your mind is not easy for you, either.”

  “What do you mean?”

  He studied the sand, seeming uncharacteristically shy. “I have been waiting for you to change your mind. About me.”

  My heart slammed into my throat. “What? I—I’m not sure I understand.”

  He brushed a hand through his hair. “You do.” He shook his head. “You don’t want to like me. I am trying to learn why.”

  Agh. Why wasn’t this simpler? “Lanz. It’s—”

  “The joking. I know.”

  I was blushing furiously now. Talk about awkward. “No … no. It’s not the joking. You catch me off guard. It’s distracting, and I don’t let myself get distracted. Ever.”

  “So. You want me to thank you, then? For not ignoring me entirely?”

  I flopped back in the sand, laughing. “I give up! You’re impossible!”

  He grinned. “A compliment from you at last.”

  I rolled my eyes and sat up. “Will you let me say this?” He made the motion of zipping his lip. “Thank you. So here’s the thing. I never thought I’d like working in the parlor again, but since you started helping … it’s been fun. And …” I smiled. “I got pointe shoes today!”

  “You did?” He beamed. “Fantastico!”

  “It feels amazing. And it’s because of you. Introducing me to your mom and everything. A lot has happened because of you.” I gulped down my nerves and pushed on. “Which is why I, um, I need to tell you I’m sorry. You’ve been nothing but friendly to me, and I’ve been—” I dropped my eyes. “Well, I don’t think I’ve been very welcoming.”

  He leaned closer, until one of his curls brushed against my forehead. “Until today. Maybe you’ve decided you can like me after all?”

  I knew what he meant. He meant friend “like.” Of course he did. He was sitting so near to me, though. Suddenly, my head was swimming. Maybe it was the warmth of the sand, or the humidity in the air, or the simple fact that it was the first time I’d ever been so close-up to any boy other than Ethan. Whatever the cause, I understood why I’d been keeping him at a distance. Lanz made me feel things that no one else ever had before. Scary, surprising things. Enticing things. I didn’t know what to do with that, or what it meant.

  “Maybe I can,” I whispered.

  “You better not be feeding me formiche, or anything else in the insect family.” I started to lift the edge of the blindfold, but Lanz grabbed my hand and placed it firmly in my lap.

  “No peeking for the taste test.” His scolding tone held a note of laughter. It was Sunday, and we’d come to the parlor an hour earlier than usual so we’d have quiet time for this.

  “You use your sense of taste and smell only,” Lanz continued. “The best way to select flavors, my father says, is with feeling. And for your information, pistachio gelato with chocolate-covered crickets is delicious. I tasted it myself at the international gelato festival last year. But …” I could hear his smile. “Since you are faint of heart, no bugs for you today. Instead …”

  I heard the clinking of a spoon, and then a strong but welcome scent wafted under my nose. “Licorice,” I guessed.

  “Good.” He held the spoon to my mouth. “Now taste.”

  The rich licorice ice cream zinged over my tongue, but there was another more delicate flavor. “Is that a flower?”

  “Violets,” Lanz said, sounding impressed. “Now for another ice cream.”

  A creamy, chocolate scent filled my nose. “Yum. That’s a yes already.” I opened my mouth and tasted mellow hazelnut mingled with richer, bittersweet chocolate. “Delicious. What is it?”

  “An ice cream called Baci,” he said. “Italian, for kisses.”

  “What?” a familiar voice said. I yanked off my blindfold. Ethan stood in the doorway of the parlor’s kitchen.

  I dropped my hands, sure my face was glowing. I scrambled up from the stool I’d been sitting on. “Lanz was just testing some new flavors out on me.” I frantically grabbed a sponge to clean off the counter and made myself look extremely busy.

  Ethan looked back and forth between Lanz and me, his face thoughtful and serious. How long had he been standing there? A nervous flutter struck up in my stomach. What could he be thinking?

  “Hey, you.” Finally, Ethan smiled and reached for my hand.

  “Hey yourself.” As my fingers brushed his, the universe righted itself, and the simple comfort of his hand in mine washed away the dizzying bewilderment
I’d felt only a few minutes before.

  “Ethan.” Lanz clapped him on the shoulder, then said, “It is VIP time, yes?” It hadn’t taken long for Lanz to fall into our morning hang-time mix. Now he pushed through the kitchen doors, offering cheerful hellos to Tilly and Andres, who were already waiting at our table.

  “Do you feel okay?” Ethan asked me. “Your face is red.”

  “Is it?” I said offhandedly. “It’s hot outside.” Except I hadn’t been outside for the last hour. Nice one, Malie. We stood in silence, neither one of us seeming to know what to say. Weird. I couldn’t think of a time when we’d run out of things to say to each other before.

  I was guiltily relieved when Tilly stuck her head around the door to break our conversational deadlock. “You guys hanging with us or what? Your mom’s already opening the shop, and if you don’t hurry, she’s going to rope you into work.”

  Ethan and I left the kitchen and joined our friends at the table by the front window. Andres, I saw, had already polished off a banana split. I laughed and rolled my eyes at him, and within seconds, I felt the in-sync-ness of our group again. Phew. Back to normalcy.

  “Okay, peeps, we have a new mission,” Tilly announced. “Find Lanz a date.”

  Or not.

  “Tilly, per favore—” Lanz laughed, his cheeks flushing.

  I coughed. “What?”

  Tilly stared at each of us in turn, as if she couldn’t believe we could be so oblivious. “For the school’s spring carnival? It’s in two weeks. We go with dates, ergo, Lanz needs a date.”

  “Va bene, Tilly. I am fine without a date.” Lanz met my eyes for a millisecond and then he looked away. “I don’t even know what this spring carnival is.”

  “Basically a school-wide beach party,” Andres said as he dove into a second sundae. “It’s at the Marina Springs pier. There are games and rides. A surfing contest. It’s a blast.”

  “Except when you’re stuck scooping ice cream,” I said. “I have to work the Once upon a Scoop booth.”

  “Not this year,” Tilly said. “Don’t even think about ditching us. You talk to your mom, or I will.”

  I swear, if Mom hadn’t just disappeared into the kitchen, Tilly would’ve already started in on her.

  “I’ll talk to Mom, but I’m not holding my breath.” I hated watching the carnival from the sidelines, but with Mom’s stress level in the red zone, I didn’t have much hope of her relenting. “If I don’t go, then Ethan and Lanz can hang out, and Lanz won’t need a date.” I felt a mysterious relief as I said it.

  “But … Tilly’s right,” Lanz said. “You should come, Malie.”

  “See?” Tilly nudged me. “It’s unanimous. You’re coming. So. Lanz. Date.” She scanned the parlor, looking for prospective candidates among the dozen or so kids from school hanging out there. It was a cloudless day with record-breaking heat, and it seemed like half the town had decided to head for the beach. Of course, everyone was getting ice cream first.

  “I know somebody,” Ethan said. “Eve Hunter. She’s one of the Invention Convention kids. She’s great—funny, smart.” He turned to Lanz. “I can introduce you.”

  “I didn’t know you knew Eve.” I glanced at Ethan in surprise. “She’s in my bio class.”

  Ethan shrugged. “Sometimes we’re in the lab at the same time. Anyway, Lanz, what do you say?”

  “If Lanz said he doesn’t want a date, he doesn’t want one,” I said. “Don’t push him into it.” Every eye at the table turned to me, questioning. Why had I just said that? What was it to me if Lanz asked someone to the carnival? I wished that somebody would change the subject. This whole date confab was getting on my nerves.

  A second later, Lanz broke the silence. “Sì. Yes, I will meet this Eve. If she likes, I will take her to the carnival. Only … there is a problem. What if she doesn’t want to go with me?”

  “She will,” we all said together. We’d all seen the way girls looked at Lanz as they passed him in school. Even now there was a group of girls eyeing him over their milk shakes, giggling and whispering to each other. His personality and his smile were infectious, and he had the accent working in his favor. There wasn’t a single girl who would’ve said no to Lanz Benucci.

  My stomach flipped at the thought. I stood suddenly. “You guys figure it out. I have to get some toppings from the kitchen.”

  Ethan stood, too, giving me a peck on the cheek. “I’m heading out. Lanz, I’ll introduce you to Eve on Monday.”

  Lanz nodded. “Grazie.”

  As I walked to the kitchen, Tilly dropped into step beside me, her eagle eyes scoping my face.

  “Spill it.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said lightly.

  “What was that weirdness over the whole Lanz-bringing-a-date thing?” She stuck her hand on her hip. The goddess braids crowning her head added to her no-nonsense demeanor. “We’re talking about the carnival, not an arranged marriage.”

  “I was not being weird!” I protested as I poured fresh blueberries into a metal display bin. “I just think it’s ridiculous to force him to ask somebody. I mean, if there was a girl he was interested in … fine. But shouldn’t it happen more … organically?”

  Tilly snorted. “Look who’s talking. If Andres and I hadn’t coupled up, you and Ethan never would’ve gotten together. Your first kiss only happened because you guys got so bored watching us kiss.” As if on cue, Andres snuck up behind Tilly and tickled her waist. She squealed and ducked away from him.

  I stiffened. “It wasn’t that predictable.” Only … had it been? I remembered the awkwardness I’d felt when Tilly and Andres had taken their friendship to the flirt level, and how many times Ethan and I had ended up as a twosome, more by default than by chemistry.

  “All I’m saying,” Tilly went on, “is that you two didn’t happen organically, but look how it turned out. You’re two peas in a pod. You couldn’t be any more alike if you tried.”

  I felt oddly unsettled by her words. The way she described Ethan and me, our relationship sounded about as exciting as a pair of worn socks. Was that the way it was supposed to be? Ethan was my first and only boyfriend, so I didn’t have much else to go on. Except for Tilly and Andres. I glanced at them now. Andres had his arm slung loosely around Tilly’s shoulder while she scrolled through her phone. He smiled down at her in this half-adoring, half-amused way. Every few seconds, she’d nudge him playfully with her shoulder.

  “You’re right. He should ask someone.” I said it partially because I wanted the conversation to be over, and partially because to say anything different would’ve been nosing into Lanz’s business more than I had any right to. “It’s a good thing,” I added, with as much conviction as I could.

  Tilly rolled her eyes. “One minute Miss Negativity, the next Miss Matchmaker. Mal, do me a favor. Next time the cray-crays come knocking, don’t answer.”

  I laughed and headed into the kitchen. A few minutes later when Lanz came back to start a new batch of lemon gelato, I found myself casting glances in his direction, wondering what he was thinking about. Or who. Had he had a girlfriend before in Italy? If so, what had she been like? Probably laid-back, with a great sense of humor, like Lanz. Nothing like studious Eve. Or—I thought with a sinking feeling—like me.

  I crossed the floor in a series of bourrées, keeping my ankles as tightly knit as possible while taking the tiny steps on pointe.

  “Lift your chest,” Signora Benucci said. “As if you are a puppet with a string at the center of your rib cage.”

  I pulled my rib cage upward, tightening my abdomen to support my posture.

  “Strong ankles … and where is your weight? Not in the back. Centered. Centered.”

  I’d been on pointe for two weeks now, and I was slowly getting used to the redistribution of weight on my toes and arches. In a way, I felt like I was relearning every position. Step, step, step, lift, lift, lift. I tried to ignore the pain in my toes. They were throbbing, but I hard
ly cared.

  Dancing pointe brought me one step closer to dancing professionally someday. I had a long road before me, and knowing that only made me want to work harder.

  Now Signora Benucci clapped her hands, signaling the end of today’s lessons.

  “How are your feet?” she inquired as I slipped off my pointe shoes.

  At home, I’d broken in the toe boxes by crushing and bending them against the floor and my hands. Then I’d fitted the shoes with gel toe pads and sewed on the ankle ribbons. I’d been adjusting them over and over again until they felt right. Over time, I knew, I would learn how to customize each pair I owned, but with this first pair, it was trial and error.

  “They’re all right,” I said to Signora Benucci, trying not to wince as I put on my street shoes.

  She smiled knowingly. “It will get easier. You’re progressing nicely.” Then she shook her finger at me. “Don’t let what I just said blow your head into a balloon.”

  I nodded, then paused, not wanting to ask the question burning in my chest, but knowing I had to. “Signora Benucci, the auditions for Cinderella are next week, and—” I stopped, too nervous to continue.

  “You’re wondering if you might audition.” Her eyes bored into mine, and I held my breath, waiting. “I spoke to the board of directors. It wasn’t an easy task, but because you were already a long-time student here, they agreed to let you audition.”

  “Really?” Relief made me giddy. “I can’t believe it! Thank you so much.” Then a worrying thought struck me. “Are you sure I’m ready?”

  “Malie, I wouldn’t have asked the board to make an exception in the first place if I wasn’t confident in your abilities. You will be as prepared for the auditions as any other student here.”

  “But my pointe technique—”

  “Is still being refined,” she finished for me. “The same is true of all the other dancers here who’ve just begun pointe. The judges are aware of that. And the principal role in Cinderella has been choreographed with that in mind.”