Ethereal

Chapter 21

We stumbled out of the bar, high on its energy and laughing over the worst grilled salmon we had ever tasted. We had decided that bars should probably just stick to bar food and not venture into more elevated cuisine.

"Ooh! I know what we should do." I tried to reorient myself and locate the road that would take us where I wanted. "Follow me."

We walked down several streets until we reached the long set of wooden steps set into the side of the bluff.

Lark peered curiously down the stairs. "What's this?"

"Welcome to the Mesa Lane Steps. This will take us right down to the beach."

"That's a lot of steps." Lark looked down again.

"What—are you afraid or something?"

"Of course not," Lark retorted. "I was just making an observation."

"Wow, I didn't even notice, Captain Obvious." Lark rolled his eyes. "It's not like I've taken these steps just about every day of my—hey, wait up!"

I chased after Lark, who had clearly felt this conversation was over and had begun his quick descent down the steps.

I rushed after him, quickly falling into a rhythm as my feet graced each wooden step. After a while, the sound of waves crashing against the shore reached my ears.

The sun was starting to dip below the hills, but I could still see the beach below and the teal-blue water.

I jumped off the last step into the warm sand that glittered in the fading light.

"Only the locals know about this place because it's tucked away back here, but it's amazing," I said as I led Lark towards the natural alcove in the side of the bluff.

Here, hidden behind the ivy, was the best ice cream in all of Santa Barbara.

The Waffle Cone House was a squat, pink-colored building with exactly four chairs that sat half-buried in the sand. Most of their customers didn't eat here, though. They took their cones down the beach to the half-dozen picnic tables that had wound up by the shore. They didn't seem to belong to anyone, so locals and tourists alike used them frequently.

Several wind chimes that hung from the thatch roof rattled in the breeze, mixing with "West Coast" playing unironically from the speaker mounted on the sun-bleached pole beside us. The chimes framed the large open window right above the counter, giving the building the appearance of a food truck minus the wheels. Two teenage girls were walking away with cones piled high with vanilla ice cream, laughing as they made their way towards the picnic tables.

"What is this place?" Lark asked.

"The Waffle Cone House, duh." I prodded him closer to the building.

"Well, that much I gathered." Lark motioned to the bright yellow lettering that was charmingly lopsided above the window.

"It's ice cream, and it's delicious, and you're going to love it. Trust me." I got him to look at the menu plastered along the wall.

Lark glanced at me. "I'm going to love it?"

I nodded, turning back to the menu as I selected my flavor. I always tried to pick a different flavor each time.

"Are you aware of how few things I love? And you believe this shall make the list?"

I let out a sigh. "Can you stop questioning things for, like, two seconds? Please?"

Lark glared at me but eventually resorted to looking over the menu. Once I had picked mine out and Lark had let out a grunt signifying he had decided too, I padded over to the counter.