Page 34 of The Warmth of Our Closest Star

“I think you owe me something first,” I said.

Peter shook his head, though he was amused.

“Seriously?” he asked. “You’d rather claim your winnings than get warm?”

“Are you trying to renege on a bet?” I asked, gasping with faux shock.

“You little shit,” Peter said, poking at my side with a finger.

Laughing and chasing each other like idiots, Peter and I made our way to the wooded area along the shore of Lake Superior. There, using a birch tree for balance, Peter helped me warm up. As he’d promised. My skin was dry enough after so that I could put my t-shirt back on. So, I did. And Peter and I found a soft area to lay and hold each other as we whispered and chuckled and said things that only lovers say when they are all alone and the world means nothing.

Because the only thing that matters right then is you and your lover.

“I’ve barely recovered from hypothermia and now you want to eat…ice?” I asked.

The brisk late morning had given away to a still and balmy early afternoon. Peter had finished giving our order to the man in the window of the little camper. When he turned to me, his smile stretched from ear to ear, I knew there was no sense in arguing. That smile from Peter could get me to agree to anything.

“Sno-Cones,” Peter said. “You can’t have summer and not have a Sno-Cone.”

“I suppose?”

“Trust me,” he said. “Once you have a Tiger’s Blood Sno-Cone, you’ll realize that every summer before today was a waste of your time. This. This is summer.”

“I’ve never had a Sno-Cone,” I said with a shrug. “So, I guess I will just trust you.”

“You’ve never had shaved ice or anything?”

“Not that I remember? No.”

“Jeez. If I’d known you came from an abusive home—”

I jabbed him in the side, eliciting a laugh.

“Just trust me,” he said. “You’ll love this.”

“What is—”

I was cut off by the vendor drawing Peter’s attention. Watching as Peter paid and then accepted the two giant balls of shaved ice in the white paper triangle cups, I was filled with questions. Did people really eat…ice? Flavored and colored ice, to be sure, but it was still ice. The vendor, the Sno-Cones, the paper triangle cups, the sugary syrup—it was all very American. I supposed that France and Canada had shaved ice treats, but I’d never encountered them in my twenty-two years of life.

Shaved ice covered in syrup seemed like a summer fair or carnival treat. Or something one would get at an amusement park. Since my family had rarely attended such events or went to such places, my experience with shaved ice was nonexistent. Sno-Cones would be something America introduced me to—like a million other things during my trip.

Peter held one of the cups out to me. A spoon was jammed into the cup alongside the giant ball of red ice.

“Here,” he said. “Try it. You’ll love it.”

I sniffed the ball of ice. Frosty air shot up my nose, tickling along the way, leaving behind familiar scents I couldn’t quite place.

“What is Tiger’s Blood?”

“Depends on who you ask what it tastes like,” Peter said, watching me intently. “But I’m pretty sure it’s a mixture of strawberry and coconut.”

Deciding that since I liked both strawberries and coconut, Tiger’s Blood couldn’t be awful, I dug my spoon into the red ball. My first bite was merely a teaspoon’s worth of the icy treat since I was unsure if I wanted a mouthful of something named after an animal’s bodily fluids. However, when I slid the spoon into my mouth and the flavors raced over my tongue, I realized Peter had been right. Again. Tiger’s Blood—and Sno-Cones—were delectable.

They were ridiculous. And I loved them immediately.

“That’s really good,” I said.

Peter beamed at me as I shoved my spoon back into the red ball of ice as the small bite I had taken melted on my tongue.