Repainted {Camila/You}

10

Surprisingly enough, the air back on the street seemed warmer with Camila by my side. We walked slowly, and every few seconds our bodies would bump into each other, then back into place like two school children in a line. I wasn't sure where we were going, but I let my feet lead.

"Are you tired?" I asked finally, clouds of steam coming from my mouth.

"No, but I'm so, so cold," she tucked her hands deep into the pockets of her large white coat.

"Here," I pulled her hoodie over her head and rolled my eyes when I saw how nervous she looked that I was standing so closely, "Try not to look so afraid, Camila. I'm not planning on robbing you any time soon."

"No!" She blurted out, "No, it's not that, my bad. I just..."

"You just what?" I resumed my spot by her side as we continued walking.

"Do you want to get ice cream?" She changed the subject with ease, her voice filled with so much enthusiasm that I almost forgot it was nearly thirty degrees outside.

"Now?"

"I know a place that isn't far from here. They have the best banana ice cream I've ever tasted."

"Banana?"

"It's my favorite flavor for everything, really," she giggled excitedly, licking her lips for extra emphasis, "you've never told me yours."

"Cookie dough," I admitted, "Anything with dough in it."

"That's good to know." As we walked, small flurries of snow began to fall, leaving only the tingling feeling of ice on skin as they touched my skin. I hadn't noticed we moved closer to each other until we'd arrived at the Ice Cream parlor, a small shop surrounded by a large parking lot.

"How did you find this?" I asked, clearly impressed. Growing up in the city, I thought I knew all the best hangouts, and there weren't very many.

"Promise you won't get all weird when I tell you?"

"Why do you always think I'll react to things you say, Mila?"

She looked stunned, "It's just a bad habit I have, I don't mean to."

"I'm not going to change how I am with you based off of things you say," I chose my words carefully, "Yes I want to know how you found this place, it's amazing."

The outside of the shop was covered in what looked like chrome, it's plastic designs in checkers and vibrant colors reminiscent of a scene out of Grease, "I knew someone and one day, as a surprise he took me here. Because I didn't get the part of Sandy Dee in the school's rendition, mostly."

"Was it Grant?" I asked, mainly out of curiousity. Mainly. She nodded, sighing lightly, "We probably shouldn't have."

"I'm not upset," I said, we were inside now, the interior of the building just as vintage as the exterior. We walked to the counter and sat at two neon pink bar stools, "We're making new memories here, deal?" She smiled at me gratefully, before resting her hands on the counter.

There was light pop music playing over the speakers, but it seemed so much louder in the silence. I looked down at the table, scratching at the linoleum to avoid conversations with the Latina. It was a bad habit of mine to not speak when in the company of others, especially when there was already tension. We had a lot to talk about, but I wasn't sure if now was the right time. It would have to wait; for now I was just happy to be in the presence of the girl.
I watched as an older lady materialized from a door that most likely belonged to the kitchen. She wore a pink apron, stained with what looked like grease, and her dirty blond hair was swept up into an updo. True to her stereotype, there was a pencil tucked behind her ear.
"Isn't it a little late for such lovely ladies to be out and about?" She chuckled at her own joke, pulling a pad from her pocket, "What can I get for you two?"
Camila glanced up at me, "I love the strawberry milkshakes. What do you want?"
I reached over and grabbed the drink menu, scanning it once, "I'll take the Peanut Butter Milkshake."