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Clarke hates this fucking job. The sun beats down on her as she watches people slather their tongues all over their vanilla, strawberry, chocolate, and pistachio ice creams. Customers either gruffly ask for a double scoop of chocolate – complaining that two scoops are not actually two scoops and can she count? - or flirt with her endlessly – did it hurt when she fell from heaven? Why are you gagging? – or laugh at the stupid bright blue hat that her boss insists she wear every single minute she works at the ice cream stand. She likes Lincoln well enough, but she draws the line at silly hats.
She never intended to work at the ice cream shop, but she needs the money if she is ever going to actually make it out to New York to visit Raven at Cornell. So alas, here she is, at the beginning of summer after her freshman year, watching the other UCLA students happily run into the ocean and buy fries from the burger shack a little down the path.
Fortunately, the two other ice cream shop employees make her laugh. Jasper and Monty both attend USC, and after she forgave them for this unforgivable offense, they became quick friends. Unfortunately, neither is particularly punctual, always leaving Clarke to open and run the shack on Mondays through Thursdays for the first two hours. Six in the morning until eight, she stands alone in the ice cream shack next to a near deserted beach. Only the surfers show up that early, and sometimes, she thanks Monty and Jasper’s lack of punctuality because they would only tease her endlessly while she drools as the freckled, brown-eyed surfer with great hair runs by her with his board beneath his arm, followed by a girl with similar features and a tall boy with short-cropped hair.
It’s not that Clarke is desperate, but…well, there hasn’t been anyone since Finn, and that was nearly a year ago. So she lets the handsome surfer consume her thoughts as she turns on the soft serve machines and pushes out the awning even though the sun won’t start to hurt for another three hours. Each morning, she waits patiently, leaning against the counter as the seagulls croak and pick at the trash left on the beach by litterers, for the band of surfers to pull into the parking lot and load out of the jeep she presumes is owned by the freckled man who overwhelms her fantasies. Each morning, he runs – occasionally walks if he’s tired – right in front of the ice cream shack, not a care in the world but the ocean awaiting him at the end of the sand. She can only squint at the waves that either he or his other friends ride to their end. Sometimes, she wishes she could be out there with them, free and floating on the great expanse of water, letting the waves pull her closer to shore only to counteract their efforts as she paddles back out.
This routine continues for several weeks until one morning, he does not run across the beach to the excited ocean. The dark-haired girl and lanky boy run with their boards to the ocean, but he does not follow. He doesn’t follow for another week, and Clarke’s mornings grow more drab with each feature of his she forgets. She knows it’s silly to yearn for the sight of a person whose name she doesn’t know, but he’d become her solace from the monotony of scooping ice cream from cardboard containers. Each morning when he ran to the ocean and each afternoon when he walked back to his car, running his hand through his dark hair with a bright smile overtaking his features.
After a week of head-smashing boredom, he walks in front of her again, this time with a cast on his wrist. He walks slowly after the boy and girl, no board in his arms, no joy in his gait. He sits at the edge of the water as his companions catch waves and ride and laugh, free and happy in the water while he sits exiled to the sand. It makes her heart ache. Joys in life stripped away from unsuspecting people. It happened to her family when her dad’s employers cut his hours in half. When her best friend got diagnosed with cancer. When her mother lost her first patient in ten years.
That’s the only excuse she gives herself when she walks down the beach, two hours later, leaving Monty and Jasper in charge of the shack, smiling like Cheshire cats. The sun continues to beat relentlessly, forcing ice cream from the cone to trail down her hands in streams. When she reaches him, she stands at his side, unsure of how to continue. She decides on plopping down next to him, looking ahead at the ocean when he turns his head to look at her. She sees the confusion on his face from the corner of her eyes. She focuses on the water. “I couldn't help but notice that you’re sad, and my father always said that ice cream cures all problems.” When she extends her hand toward him, her head follows to gauge his reaction. He doesn't say anything for a few moments, but then his smile overtakes his features again, and she knows she’s succeeded.
“Didn't your father ever tell you not to talk to strangers?” He takes the cone from her hands gingerly, making sure that his fingers brush against hers.
“Not after I got a black belt in karate, no.” She takes great pleasure in the surprised rise of his eyebrows.
“So you can beat me up if I get out of line?” When he licks the ice cream cone, it doesn't annoy her. Actually, it turns her on a bit. When he smirks before licking the ice cream, eyes locked on hers, she knows it’s intentional.
“I wouldn't beat a man while he’s down.” She glances briefly at his wrist, and he sighs heavily, shaking his head.
“Low blow, Ice Princess.” He laughs and holds his arm out in front of him. “It’s stupid, really. I was skateboarding with my sister when one of the wheels went into a pothole. I went flying and pushed my arms out in front of me like I was fifteen again. Once I hit the ground, I knew my wrist was broken.”
“How long do you have to wear the cast?” She reaches out to hold his cast-covered wrist in her hands, running her fingers tenderly over the material. No signatures yet.
“Six weeks.” He laughs painfully, shaking his head in defeat. “I’m such an idiot sometimes; it hurts.” He glances up at her from behind his eyelashes, “But hey, at least I met you, right?”
Thanks for the blush, stranger. Clarke tries to will the red spreading across her chest from taking its residence there. “You don’t even know my name.”
He scoffs. “You don’t know mine, but you’ve already given me free ice cream and held my hand.”
“What makes you think it’s free?” She smiles, raising her eyebrow in a challenge. “And I held your wrist. There is difference.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” He goes back to licking his ice cream, making each lick pronounced and obnoxious. But sexy, too?
“Well, I must be off. Lots of important work to do.” Clarke pushes herself off the sand, and turns away from the ocean, looking at the long path back to the useless, old ice cream shack.
“Wouldn't want to deprive ice cream lovers of their queen, now would we?” He grins widely, looking up at her from his place on the ground.
“Goodbye, surfer boy.” She laughs, starting her journey back into reality. His chuckles grow softer with each step she takes away from him. She wishes she had asked his name.
Each morning, she turns on the soft serve machines and pushes out the awning of the shack, waiting patiently for the first customer of the day. Each morning, he walks slowly toward her from the right side of the path, smiling as his friends laugh their way to the water, leaving him behind.
Reaching the ice cream shack, he leans his elbow on the counter, intently perusing the menu. “What specials do you have today?”
“Same as every day before: none.” She takes a step back and starts to pour chocolate soft serve into a cone. “But you can have chocolate. It’s my favorite.”
“Then it’s perfect for me.” His lips spread to his ears as he grabs the ice cream from her hand, lingering on her fingers and then proceeding to suggestively lick the ice cream cone. “See you around, Princess of the Cones.”
It continues like that for several weeks until he shows up with a pristine – albeit slightly sad-looking – wrist, no cast included. “Ta da!” He smiles as he sneaks around the ice cream shack from behind.
“It’s already been six weeks!” She smiles excitedly, grabbing his wrist before remembering it’s probably still sensitive and weak. She turns it in her hands, marveling at the mere presence of the wrist she’s never seen up close.
“Yes, but I can’t quite go surfing just yet. Still need to wait a few weeks.” He sighs, before smirking, a mischievous glint in his eye. “But there are other things I can do.”
Before she can ask what he means, his two friends walk around the side of the shack. The girl smiles brightly, and Clarke registers that she’s never really looked closely at the girl before. She looks a lot like him. “Hi! My brother’s told me all about you.” Clarke raises her eyebrow and watches as the girl’s apparent brother shrugs his shoulders. “I’m Octavia. It’s great to meet you.” Clarke takes Octavia’s proffered hand.
“I’m Clarke. It’s nice to meet you too.” She registers that she is also introducing herself to her surfer boy for the first time too. She thinks it’s probably ironic in some way.
“I’m Miller.” The tall boy gives her a quick smile and shakes her hand briefly before stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking down the path to the left.
“They’re going to cover for you.” Her freckled friend states happily. “We know the owner, Lincoln. He said it was fine.”
“You know Lincoln?” Clarke knew Lincoln liked the beach, but he’d always seemed to stay away from it, and these people could never get enough.
“He’s my boyfriend.” Octavia shrugs, trying to keep a smile inside. She almost succeeds. “Now, you two leave because I promised that I would make sure every flavor was edible and not poisonous, and I intend to keep that promise.” She and Miller walk through the door on the side after Clarke walks out.
“Are you sure this is fine with Lincoln?” Clarke gulps, looking at the two now working the shack. She’ll surely get fired if they’re lying. She didn’t even know Lincoln had a girlfriend.
“Don’t be such a baby.” The man whose name she still does not know grabs her hand with one of his own and pulls a surfboard under his arm with the other. Then, they start the journey down the beach. With her hand in his, it doesn’t seem so long, or so bad.
“What are we doing?” Clarke asks, but he just shakes his head. “Why do you have a surfboard?” Still no answer. She groans and huffs, exasperated. “Will you at least tell me your name?”
He smiles, amused. “Bellamy.” He doesn’t say another word as they walk together in silence the rest of the way to the ocean. Clarke just smiles, tasting his name in her mouth, whispering it softly to herself over and over again. Bellamy. That’s a good name. “I hope you wear a swimsuit underneath your cute little uniform.”
“Wait,” Clarke’s eyes beam. “Are you going to teach me how to surf? Is that what this is?” She scans his face for agreement.
Instead, he lets his head fall. “I mean, it was just an idea,” he murmurs. “We don’t have to or anything.”
“No, no!” Clarke grabs his cheeks, moving his head up. “I want to learn! I’ve wanted to learn since I first saw you catch a wave.” She pulls away when she realizes how close they are and elects for jumping slightly up and down as a grin plants itself on his face.
“Should’ve known the ice princess always cared.” He throws the surfboard lightly onto the sand and motions for her to lie down. “Let’s get started with our lessons, shall we?”
After a half hour of going through the motions, they finally get into the water. (She’d put on a bathing suit top in case she wanted to get rid of her farmer’s tan, and the athletic shorts she wore to work sufficed well enough for bottoms.) In the water, Clarke struggles to push the board under the waves, despite Bellamy’s efforts to pull down the nose of the board. Eventually, she ends up floating right outside where the waves start to pull surfers into shore. She sits on the board, knees on either side as Bellamy pulls himself on behind her.
“Ready to be a badass, Clarke?” He whispers next to her ear, and she suppresses the shiver that runs through her body. She will not give Bellamy that satisfaction.
“I always was, remember?” She scoffs, scooting slightly forward. He and his husky whispers and warm breath can keep at a distance, thank you. “Are you sure you’re ready to experience it?”
Bellamy laughs behind her and leans back slightly. “Ready when you are.” Clarke was never one to back down from a challenge, so she lies down on the board, puffing slightly when Bellamy lays down behind her, head turned back toward the ocean. “Try to catch his wave.”
So Clarke starts paddling, but she doesn’t quite catch the wave. With the next one, Bellamy helps paddle and they catch the wave, but when Clarke starts to stand she doesn’t get passed her knees before falling to the side. “It’s harder than it looks.” Bellamy pulls himself onto the board, utterly soaked and freezing. But he seems to like it, which is more than Clarke can say. Surfing always looked more fun from the shore, with her feet pushed into the sand and arms wrapped around her chest.
“Not an excuse!” Clarke insists and smiles when Bellamy laughs. “We must keep trying, sailor.”
“Ay ay, captain.” Bellamy salutes before he lies down behind Clarke. They start paddling and Bellamy manages to stand. Clarke gets to her knees again, but starts to falter like every time before. But she feels hands wrap around her waist and pull her up, keeping her steady. She lets the grin begging to get out spread across her face and she feels the wind against her cheeks. She’s shouting and cheering and keeping her arms out to try to keep balanced without putting too much pressure on Bellamy. Finally, she’s surfing.
For a total of fifteen seconds before Bellamy falls off and ruins the first wave she’s ever caught! “You ass! You did that on purpose.” Clarke insists when she bobs her head out of the water. He’s smiling. Very guiltily.
“Did not! I was too busy trying to keep you steady that I couldn’t do it for myself. Excuse me.” He splashes water in her face, and she gasps.
“Ruin my wave and now splash water on me.” Clarke shoves as much water as she can into his face, but fails miserably. So, water’s never been her thing. She’s good at other things.
“In case you hadn’t noticed,” his voice drops to a whisper but the smile on his face remains wide. “You’re already wet.”
“No thanks to you.” She smirks and pulls herself onto the board, starting to paddle away before Bellamy can hop on too.
“Don’t be cruel, Princess!” He shouts, and she can hear his arms hitting the water with every stroke he takes toward her. “I let you wear the leash.” His breaths come out more quickly, and that’s really what makes Clarke stop paddling.
He reaches the board in a matter of seconds and looks incredulously at Clarke. She scoffs and turns toward the shore, “Well, get on. I don’t have all day.”
“Forgive me, my liege.” He mutters when he pulls himself onto the board, albeit more slowly than he usually does. “Will you ever forgive me?”
“I’m open to the idea.” Clarke smiles and they paddle back to the shore in silence. Within minutes, Clarke is buttoning up her ice cream shack shirt and putting her hair up into a nice bun that will hide conveniently underneath her hat.
“Have fun?” Bellamy grins, a hopeful look in the eyes underneath his raised eyebrows. He wants so badly for her to get it. To enjoy it as much as he does.
“Yes!” Clarke jumps up and down slightly again as they start walking back. “I definitely want to try again and maybe stay up for longer.”
“That can be arranged.” He slips his hand into hers, but it’s different than the guiding he did this morning when she didn’t know what exactly the plan was. This time, it’s leisurely. Relaxed and lazy in a way she’s forgotten how to be. “We could discuss it over dinner one time.”
She glances at him. His expression gives nothing away, ever calm and casual. “If you’re going to be cryptic about it, I might as well just ask you out myself.” Bellamy smiles, looking over at her expectantly. The message is clear: I’m waiting. “Do you want to go on a date? Most likely to dinner where we can discuss surfing for maybe a half hour then decide what to do with the rest of our time when we get to that point?”
“I mean, I’ll have to check my schedule,” Bellamy trails off and giggles when Clarke shoves him. “But if I’m free, then yes, I would love to go on a date with you.”
“I mean, who else is going to get your free ice cream?” Clarke asks and Bellamy just shrugs his shoulders. When they reach the ice cream shack, Monty and Jasper are going on a speal about one of their lab experiments this year and how they might have accidentally started a very small fire, but no one was hurt and really, it was all in the name of science.
Octavia tells Clarke that Lincoln said she could have the rest of the day off because he owes Octavia a few favors and she likes Clarke, but if you hurt my brother, I will hurt you. Bellamy doesn’t hear the last part, but she thinks he probably already knows how much his sister cares.
“So what do you want to do with our day?” Bellamy nudges Clarke with his hip as they walk to his Jeep.
“We could get an early start on that dinner we’d been planning.” Clarke opens her door and plops into the passenger seat, laughing when she hears the Beach Boys playing on the radio. Of course.
“We could get started on some other things, too.” Bellamy’s thin lipped smile doesn’t conceal his laughter.
“Not until I’ve wined and dined you, surfer boy.” Clarke sighs, turning to look out the window as Bellamy starts to chuckle.
“Whatever you say, Ice Queen.”