I hold the door open for you while you look around the area. I let you walk ahead, being my tour guide of the day.

“Where’s next?” I ask. You look at me excitedly and ask, “What’s your take on gelato?”

“I’m not against it, sure.”

“That’s not the enthusiasm I’m looking for, Lisa.”

“Well, I mean, I don’t mind anything. As long as I’m with you.”

You look at me again with those eyes and I stop myself from asking what exactly that expression means, but you start to walk and guide me through the alley and outside to the shops lined up on the main road. A few shops down and you lead me to a store that looks a little bit subdued outside but obviously a little out of place in an old area, with the interior kind of reminiscent of the soft hipster shops in Portland or Los Angeles. Or maybe it IS one of those shops from Portland or Los Angeles that found its way to Singapore, I don’t know.

We look around at the counter and the options look increasingly hipster: Strawberry basil, Chrysanthemum, Sesame. My excitement dies down a bit but yours is still evident, with your eyes giddily scanning the options.

“What are you having?” You look at me with wide eyes. My eyes narrow down on a few options and motion to one that’s named Sea Salt Hojicha. “I’ll get that sea salt thing.”

You nod and order at the cashier. They start preparing two cups and for a moment I feel like I made the wrong choice: I definitely thought it was pertaining to this creamy gelato earlier until they scooped a mud-coloured gelato unto my cup. And I only know it’s my cup because the other cup contained a much more cheery looking yellow, which doesn’t look at all like a possible Sea Salt Hojicha.

I shove a few bills to your hand which you again take protests to, but I win. You take both of our gelatos, command me with those cat eyes, and, a little mesmerized, I follow you as you walk towards the standing counters near the windows. I settle to your right where you have put the yellow gelato to your end and the mud-looking gelato to my side, further confirming that a) I make the weirdest sugar choices and b) gelatos still aren’t exactly on the top of my sugar list. There are other better choices, to be honest.

I pick up my cup gingerly, but my gelato choice isn’t the one that’s capturing my attention right now, it’s the way you excitedly picked up yours. I don’t think I know anyone who’s ever been so excited about gelato, but then again I’m not sure what flavour you ordered. I look outside and I can see multiple old buildings sandwiched in between some other new establishments. I want to say it’s interesting, but I see you at the corner of my eye scooping up on your cup and I follow your cue. I look warily at my cup and wondered if it’s not too late to get a new flavour.

I was just about to put in the scoop in my mouth when I see you extending your spoon to me. I lower down my spoonful, wondering exactly what to do with that. You look at me like I’m stupid and hit my own spoon like a toast before eating your scoop. I chuckle and shove the Sea Salt Hojicha in my mouth and try to discern the flavour.

My face must have not looked too great as you graciously offered your gelato to me.

“Mine’s just mango. Do you want to try mine?”

I shake my head. “I’m good. I’m still trying to figure out exactly what this is.”

You help yourself to a helping of mine, not even bothering to ask. I’m starting to feel unsettled with the way you comfortably move into my space effortlessly like that. It’s not bad, just…takes some getting used to again.

Your face goes into this thoughtful mode and I take delight in figuring out if you probably also thought I ed up with my choice.

“It tastes like…seaweed.”

I laugh. “Yeah, it’s not exactly the best idea for an ice cream, but it’s named sea salt so I imagine it should be…sea-ish. I don’t know.”

“Yeah, I don’t even know what hojicha is. Do you want to swap? Mine’s pretty safe.”

“I’m alright. I think I can go through this.”

You shrug your shoulders and try to go through your own gelato with more interest than I do. I stare at you again, before I go through my own desert.

“What’s that?” You ask.

“What?”

“That look.”

I laugh a little. I consider if I should tell the truth.

I twirl my spoon in my ugly tasting gelato. Might as well, I already made one weird choice today. Another one can’t hurt.

“I still can’t get over how beautiful you’ve gotten,” I tell you, as I look at your lips. I can’t bear to look you in the eye when you shoot me a questioning look. The mango gelato has left a small yellow sheen on your lower lip.

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I shrug. “You just look really