103. As Sweet Like An Ice Cream

The sky had long surrendered to nightfall when Josh pulled his car to a gentle stop in front of a small café nestled at a sleepy street corner. From the outside, it seemed nothing out of the ordinary—just another cozy little place lost in the city's map of hundreds. Yellow string lights dangled under a weathered white canvas awning, swaying faintly in the breeze. A modest chalkboard beside the entrance announced the day’s specials in colorful, looping cursive: “Homemade waffles & caramel drizzle — Try our choco mint surprise!”

It could’ve been any café. But the moment Josh pushed the door open, and the tiny brass bell above it gave a cheerful ring, Ashley felt it—a warmth that wasn’t just from the indoor heating or the soft lighting. It was subtler than that. Gentler. Like stepping into someone’s fond memory.

Inside, the atmosphere felt like a lullaby. Soft pastel colors embraced the walls—muted pinks, mint greens, dusty blues—giving the room a delicate charm. Small tables dotted the room, each adorned with a tiny glass jar filled with fresh flowers. The scent of vanilla lingered in the air, blending with warm caramel and the rich sweetness of waffles on the griddle. Gentle acoustic music played from a speaker in the corner—something soft and soothing, the kind of song no one remembered the lyrics to but everyone recognized.

Ashley stood quietly, momentarily overwhelmed by the comfort of it all. A few patrons sat scattered across the room, couples speaking in soft murmurs, a lone man reading a book by the window. For a moment, it felt like time had slowed down.

Josh turned to her, smiling. “Figured dessert wouldn’t hurt.”

Ashley tried to smile back, and she did, but only half of it reached her eyes. “You always know when to spoil someone,” she said, her voice low, unsure whether it was a compliment or a warning.

Josh only shrugged, unfazed. “Old habits.”

He walked up to the counter where a young woman in a pastel apron greeted him with a grin. Ashley stood back and watched. Josh pointed animatedly at the glass case of ice cream, his gestures light, almost boyish. The girl giggled at something he said. He grinned, tapping the display glass like a child trying to pick a favorite toy.

It was always like this with Josh—effortless charm, that easy familiarity with strangers. It used to make her feel lucky. Now, she wasn’t sure what to feel.

He returned moments later with two generously filled cups. Strawberry cheesecake with almond topping for him. Choco mint with cookie crumbs for her.

Ashley raised an eyebrow as she took the cup from him. “You still remember my favorite flavor?”

Josh’s smile was quieter now. “There are some things I’ll never forget.”

She didn’t reply. She simply took a spoonful—and closed her eyes the moment it melted on her tongue.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “This… this is amazing.”

Josh laughed, the sound deep and unguarded. “Told you.”

They didn’t linger inside. After paying, they stepped out and walked the two short blocks to the nearby park. The night air was warm enough that Ashley didn’t need her jacket, though she pulled it tighter around herself anyway. The wind carried a hint of moisture, tugging at the strands of her hair and brushing her cheeks with something that felt almost like a memory.

The park was peaceful. The artificial lake in its center shimmered under the glow of changing lights from the fountain. Purple turned to blue, then gold, in slow, fluid pulses. Instrumental music played softly from unseen speakers—something orchestral, with the faintest touch of melancholy.

They found a wooden bench facing the lake and sat. Around them, the world felt distant. An elderly couple strolled hand in hand. A group of teenagers giggled as they posed for pictures by the fountain, their laughter echoing faintly across the water.

Ashley leaned back, ice cream in hand, and let out a quiet sigh. “This... is comfortable,” she murmured.

Josh looked at her, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “Glad you think so.”

“The ice cream,” she added quickly, her tone teasing.

Josh chuckled, raising a hand in mock surrender. “Noted.”

They lapsed into a companionable silence, one not marked by awkwardness but something gentler, quieter. Ashley ate slowly, letting each spoonful dissolve on her tongue. She watched the lake, the way the colors rippled across the surface like painted silk, and felt something soften inside her.

The night wasn’t perfect. Nothing was. But it wasn’t painful either.

When she finished the last of her ice cream, she set the empty cup beside her and looked at him. “Are you sure no one will follow us here?” she asked, not entirely joking. “I mean… from the past.”

Josh looked at the water for a moment, then turned to her. His voice was steady. “If they do, I’ll face them. But I won’t let them touch you again.”

Ashley wanted to believe him. God, how she wanted to. But trust wasn’t a coat you could put on the moment it got cold. It was something worn thin by storms, patched up over time. She wasn’t ready to wear it again—not yet.

But she didn’t say that.

Josh leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “You know,” he said, voice lower, softer, “back in Seoul, I used to imagine moments like this. Just us. No noise. No drama. No... spectators whispering things that weren’t theirs to say.”

Ashley’s gaze remained on the lake. “And now you think you can fix everything with ice cream?”

He chuckled. “No. But it’s a sweet start, right?”

Ashley exhaled through her nose, a quiet snort that might’ve been a laugh. A faint smile curved her lips, almost despite herself. “A little.”

There was something honest about it—this moment, this simplicity. No grand declarations. No fireworks. Just the quiet possibility that maybe, maybe, the wreckage could be rebuilt, slowly, piece by piece.

Josh glanced at her again, his expression unreadable. “Ash.”

The way he said her name made her heart twitch.

“I know I’m not in a position to ask for anything,” he continued. “But someday… if your heart opens again… I hope I’m still someone you’ll consider.”

She turned to him. There was something raw in his eyes—not just fear, not just hope, but something older. Regret, maybe. Or longing.

“I can’t promise anything,” she said honestly. “But I’m not closing the door either.”

Josh gave a small nod, as though the words were a gift. “That’s more than enough.”

The fountain behind them changed to a soft pink, casting a rosy glow across the lake. Mist from the jets rose in fine droplets, carried by the wind to brush against their faces like a gentle blessing.

Josh reached out and gently ran his fingers along Ashley’s arm. It wasn’t possessive. It wasn’t even romantic. It was a touch of acknowledgment—of presence, of being there.

Ashley didn’t pull away.

Her heart was still full of noise—confusion, pain, hesitation—but tonight, for the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel like she was clinging to the edge of something just to survive.

She was sitting. Breathing. Being.

No running. No pretending.

Just the night air, the sound of water, and the warmth of someone who had once known how to hold her without breaking her.

She looked at the lake one last time. The lights continued their dance across the ripples. The mist hung in the air like a secret not yet spoken.

She held an empty ice cream cup in her hands, listened to Josh’s soft laughter beside her, and for the briefest moment, she felt at peace.

And for now, that was enough.