AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

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Carol almost laughed at herself. She felt like her thoughts were ridiculous and, really, she was glad that she was the only one privy to them as long as she kept them to herself.

She was on a pretend high school date with Daryl and she was practically feeling like she really was in high school again—like she'd been transported to another time and place. She laughed to herself, and thankfully Daryl simply took it as a positive response to what he was saying, when she thought that even the air seemed to smell different and the night sky seemed just a little brighter and clearer than it normally did.

The Dairy-O, itself, was little more than a kitchen. It was an ice cream dive that sold fast food and ice cream served nearly any way you could imagine that you might like to eat it. Living Springs liked to keep their establishments fixed up enough that the condition of any one establishment wouldn't be bad enough to bring down the property value on others, so the Dairy-O was kept in a state of cleanliness and repair, but it hadn't been upgraded or expanded since the fifties when it had been built.

Inside the building, diners could cram into any one of the six tightly arranged tables. Outside the building, picnic tables were on offer with a little more space between each of them.

On a Wednesday night, two hours before closing time, the Dairy-O was remarkably empty. Still, Carol had no trouble convincing Daryl that an outside table was nicer than an inside one—especially since the night air simply seemed cleaner and fresher than it normally was.

It was only an impromptu ice cream.

It was only the first banana split that Carol had eaten since before she'd married Ed.

It was only a picnic table under the street lights surrounding the Dairy-O.

It shouldn't have seemed so oddly magical, and Carol was a little embarrassed with herself that her mind would run away with her so completely over something so ridiculous.

Luckily, Daryl couldn't read her mind and he had no idea what she was thinking. He didn't know that her heart had nearly pounded out of her chest, in the most ridiculous way possible, when he'd jokingly instructed her on how to create the perfect bite of banana split—a bite that included every possible flavor of the concoction—and then had held it out to her, hovering his red plastic spoon just at her lips. He didn't know that her breath had caught, like she was back in high school and on some kind of first date that she would have taken very seriously back then, when he'd urged her to take the ice cream and smiled with genuine satisfaction when she'd humored him.

Daryl didn't know that Carol couldn't recall anything that had tasted as good as that specific bite of ice cream.

She was letting herself get swept up in a moment, and she knew that. She knew, too, that letting herself get swept up was dangerous.

"I mean—I get what Miles is doin'," Daryl said. "And it's romantic. I understand that. The whole—you might as well give us your blessin' because we're gonna be together any damn way, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it. It's romantic, but I'm just sayin' that, realistically? That's prob'ly not the foot he wants to get off on with Janie's daddy if he's serious about the long term."

Carol rested her head on her hand and her elbow on the table.

"You've really thought about this," she mused, noticing the remnants of ice cream on Daryl's lips from his last bite. She scolded herself—whatever it was inside her that had decided to come along on this date—when she felt the compulsion to reach out and wipe his lips…or, maybe, even to kiss them clean. She sat back, her face warm at her own thoughts, so that he wouldn't notice the blush that she was certain trailed across her cheeks. She ignored the puddle of warmth she felt growing elsewhere over something as simple as a kiss.

"I told you," Daryl said. "I like the book. I like these kinds of stories."

"Men don't like romances," Carol said with a laugh.

"Maybe the men you been hangin' around with don't like romances," Daryl said. "And—maybe it ain't somethin' they talk about. But—shit—that's only because someone decided that…that men don't like romances. What the hell isn't there to like?"

Carol considered his question.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I never thought about it. Ed didn't like romances."

"If you'll forgive me for bein' so fuckin' forward," Daryl said, "I'm not sure that I consider Ed a good yardstick by which the hell to measure all the men in the whole world."

Carol nodded her head and shrugged.

"You go with what you know," she offered.

Daryl stared at her a moment—hard enough she glanced away from him. Then he turned his attention back to the ice cream. Carol smiled to herself when his spoon appeared in front of her face again, an inch from her lips.

"You finish it," Carol said.

"Finish it? The whole damn thing? Hell—you ain't barely eat more'n the bite I give you before. Take it."

"I really shouldn't…" Carol said. Daryl made a face at her, and she accepted the bite.

"Calories?" He asked.

"Are you mocking me?" Carol asked, in response to his tone of voice.

"No," he said. "At least—hell, I don't mean to. It ain't my business—and you can tell me to go to hell, if that's what you want—but is Ed the reason you're obsessed with calories?"

Carol's stomach turned.

"I think—my father always thought that there was a way that women ought to look," Carol said. "He would say that a woman who took care of herself looked a certain way. And a woman ought to take care of herself for her husband. No man wants a woman who lets herself go."

"And I'm guessin' Ed agreed with that sentiment," Daryl said.

"Ed was very particular about how much I weighed," Carol said. "Through the years it was up and down. I gained and I lost…and he let me know about it. Every pound. Every inch."

"That's stupid," Daryl offered, half muttering the words.

"You say that," Carol said, "but that's just now. Ten pounds and you might feel different."

"If I gained ten pounds, am I still the same person?" Daryl asked.

"Of course," Carol said.

"Then—if you liked sittin' here talkin' to me an' eatin' ice cream with me…or whatever…don't you reckon that you'd still like to do that if there were ten pounds more to me?" Daryl asked.

"It's not that simple," Carol said.

"I don't think it's that complicated," Daryl offered.

"What about—what you're attracted to?" Carol asked. "That has to be taken into consideration."

"To some degree," Daryl said, nodding his head. "I'll give you that. You like what you like an' you don't like what you don't like. Still—I would hope you're attracted to more'n someone's shape. And if it was that big a deal, hell, I'd just say maybe we don't go get banana splits together. Maybe we take a walk together, instead. It's a nice damn night, after all, either way. But I wouldn't be thinkin' that I could go and have banana splits and expect you not to eat any of it."

Carol smiled to herself.

"I worry about…things," Carol offered.

"I see that," Daryl said. "Things that Ed told you to worry about. Maybe your old man, too, but Ed…he's behind a lot of it."

"Ed's not the only man who has the same opinions…" Carol said.

"Maybe not, but he ain't the authority for all men, neither, if you catch my drift," Daryl said.

"You don't mind ten pounds," Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Not that I'm aware of," he said. "Speakin' of old men—and thinkin' about Miles' dumb ass thinkin' that Janie ain't never gonna be wantin' to be back with her family again…your old man still around?"

Carol shook her head.

"Neither one of my parents," Carol said.

"Got somethin' in common, then," Daryl offered. He picked at the ice cream with his spoon, and then he finally cleared his throat and looked back at Carol. "I didn't—ruin the mood, did I?"

Carol laughed to herself. She shook her head.

"No, Daryl," she assured him. "You didn't ruin the mood at all."

He smiled, clearly relieved.

"Good," he said, offering her another carefully constructed bite of the melting ice cream masterpiece.

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In keeping with the idea of a high school date, Daryl opened the truck door for Carol and offered her his hand. She felt her cheeks run warm, but she accepted the gesture as she slid out of the seat. Daryl closed the truck door and walked her toward her door, his fingers holding tight to hers.

Carol's heart was beating hard enough that it was almost painful. The part of her that was silly, and at risk of letting her be entirely too reckless, wished that the trip to the house was longer. Something tugged inside of her and made her want the night to keep going on, somehow, exactly as it was going.

She hated the thought of losing the magic of the night—the magic of the strange, warm feeling that had settled in her belly.

"Home again, home again, jiggety-jig," Daryl teased as they reached the door. Standing under Carol's porch light, he smiled sincerely at her. "Thank you for havin' ice cream with me."

"I enjoyed it," Carol assured him quickly, finding her keys. "Thank you for taking me."

"I'm sorry if I ruined your other plans," Daryl said.

Carol shook her head.

"It was a nice surprise," she assured him.

"I'm sorry if—eatin' the ice cream this late stressed you out," Daryl offered. "I get it. I saw it. It's a real worry for you. Anxiety. I don't mean to make light of that. We all got our things. I just hope—that it weren't too bad. Not bad enough to wreck the whole night."

Carol's cheeks burned warm again and she shook her head.

"I think I'll survive," she offered. "And—thank you for understanding. But you don't have to apologize to me for everything, Daryl."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"And you don't gotta thank me for everything short of not droppin' dead from just up and stoppin' breathing," Daryl offered. "But—I guess we do what comes natural to us."

Carol thought she understood what he meant. There was still a great deal that she didn't know about Daryl. She felt like she hardly knew anything at all about him, really. That thought made her chest tighten and her stomach follow suit.

There was still so much she didn't know about him.

She reminded herself that he wasn't trying to keep anything secret—or, at least, she didn't think that he was—and anything she didn't know was only because she hadn't asked. Friday night, in fact, was meant as a time for Daryl to let her get to know him a bit better.

The part of her that felt every bit as intoxicated with the night as she'd felt with the glass of wine that she'd drank hours before—before Daryl had even picked her up—wanted to get to know him more in the moment. That part of her tended to forget that there was any danger in the world.

Daryl squeezed the top part of her arm affectionately. He rubbed his thumb over her arm, keeping his distance somewhat.

"I picked up the books tonight," he said. "But—I'd still like to stop in for coffee in the morning."

"We're always open," Carol said. She tensed. He was trying to figure out how to say goodbye. Maybe he wanted to kiss her, and he wasn't sure how to go about it. She focused on steadying her breathing. "Does it make me sound—terrible—if I tell you that…some part of me wants to invite you inside? For a drink or…maybe to talk some more?"

Daryl smiled at her. He shook his head.

"Don't make you sound nothin' bad at all," Daryl said. "Even if you were to invite me in for—whatever else…not that I'm sayin' you did—I wouldn't think nothin' bad about you. Either way, though, I would—I guess I'd say that I'd politely decline the offer."

Carol's stomach twisted and her heart seized.

"Oh," she said.

Daryl renewed his smile.

"That don't mean I won't come for coffee in the morning," he said. "Or that I'm not cookin' them steaks on Friday."

"Then I don't understand," Carol admitted. Daryl nodded his head somewhat.

"You want the truth?"

"Always," Carol said.

"You tensed," Daryl said. "You're—anxious. And that's OK. Good, maybe. The point is—if I was to come in now? For conversation, or a drink, or…whatever? You'd overthink it. Worry about it. Prob'ly regret it in the morning over coffee." Daryl cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry…" Carol offered, feeling the words in more ways than one.

"No," Daryl said. "I mean it. Don't be. It's OK. It's—good. I just…" He broke off and shook his head. "I'm not comin' in. That's all. Not tonight. Another night. One when—I'm sure you ain't gonna regret it over coffee."

Carol felt her throat tighten oddly, and she swallowed against the feeling of suffocation.

"I'm sorry," she said again.

"Please don't say you're sorry anymore," Daryl said. "Because—I'm not. I had a good night. Best damn ice cream date I've ever been on. Did you hate it?"

Carol felt some of the tightness release.

"No," she said. "I didn't hate it at all. I had—a wonderful time."

"Then let's leave it at that," Daryl said. "And—I'll swing by…for coffee. In the morning."

Daryl excused himself, turning to walk back toward his truck. Carol called out to him quickly and drew his attention back.

"Daryl—I think…if we were on a high school ice cream date that went so well, don't you think a goodnight kiss might be in order?"

Daryl smiled to himself and quickly retraced his steps. He answered her only by kissing her—hard. The kiss was, admittedly, much more than any high school kiss on a first date probably would have been, but Carol wasn't complaining about the lack of verisimilitude behind the pretend high school kiss. She returned the kiss and, when it broke, she bid Daryl goodnight again. This time, after she'd unlocked the door and stepped into the house, she watched him head for his truck—and she was pretty sure there was just a touch more bounce to his step than there had been when he'd started in that direction earlier.

She felt that same bounce, herself, as she slipped into the house and closed the door behind her, telling herself that the slightly dizzy sensation she felt was simply from being unaccustomed to having so much sugar—of the literal or the figurative variety.