The Masked Singer

[Chapter Fifty Seven]

Chapter Fifty Seven

Mitch takes us to a small ice-cream parlour that's conveniently deserted. He opens the door for me as we walk inside. My eyes do a quick survey of the parlour, skimming over the small seating area in the back corner and the large counter and display counters of ice-cream.

The place is painted a frozen blue colour and complimented with large white tiles and styled with different shades of blue.

I walk past Alex and over to the counter and begin surveying the tubs in front of me. My eyes dart from tub to tub, looking at the different colouring and extras mixed in with the ice-cream. When Alex stands next to me, he places his hand on the lower section of my back. I look up at him and watch as his eyes hungrily scan over the tub's labels.

"What ice-cream do you want?" asks Alex.

"I'm still thinking," I say.

"I've already decided what I want." He grins happily. He almost reminds me of a hyperactive kid, except there isn't a bounce to his step – just an excited look on his innocent face.

"And what would that be?" I ask, slightly curious. There are two types of people in the world, those who choose chocolate, and those who opt for vanilla instead.

"I'll take two chocolate waffle cones," Alex says to the person standing behind the ice-cream counter. The young teenager nods his head, even curves his lips into a simple smile as he begins work on the ice-cream cones.

I watch as he nervously shuffles to the side to grab the ice-cream scoop out of the hot water container and then back in front of us so that he can begin scooping the ice-cream for the cones. It always surprises me how effortless it looks when someone scoops and moulds the ice-cream into a perfect blob. Every time I try scooping ice-cream, my hands get sticky, the spoon slightly bends and I manage to flick small pieces onto the kitchen counter – I'm surprised I get any in the bowl.

The server puts the cones in the plastic serving tray on the top of the counter when he's finished – and the prospect of almost being able to enjoy the ice-cream makes me smile. Alex moves to the till to pay the man for the ice-cream cones, so I take it upon myself to collect the goods.

Like natural, I pick the largest one and lick it – clamming the cone as mine.

"Does it taste alright?" Alex holds his hand out.

"Chocolate always tastes amazing, how can you doubt it?" I say as I hand the cone to him.

Alex is hesitant at tasting it, but when the ice-cream's first melted drop starts sliding down the cone, he's quick to start eating it.

"It's nice, isn't it?" I grin wickedly. His eyes don't leave the cone, but he nods his head quickly while still maintaining eye contact with the melting ice-cream.

"Let's sit down," he suggest. I'm shocked to see how well he manages to wander over to the seating area without tripping over something. Within one fluid motion, he takes a bite into the ice-cream and slips into a chair.

I'm quick to join Alex at the table, but in the seat directly opposite him. I begin eating my ice-cream and looking around the room so I'm not awkwardly just staring at Alex. However, the shop is rather small and it only takes me a couple of minutes to get familiar with the surroundings and notice the finer details. My eyes land back on Alex and the air turns stiff but filled with cheap classical music – which kind of makes the situation bearable. It could be silence.

Alex is the kind of person to bite into the food and quickly consume it. I've never been able to bite ice-cream, and I don't understand how people possibly manage to do it – my teeth are tingling at the thought of the coldness.