A strange chill moved through me.
Because he was right.
Strawberry shortcake had been my favorite.
Not occasionally.
Every single time.
Other kids loved rocket pops, drumsticks, and those character ice creams with gumball eyes.
Not me.
I always chose strawberry shortcake.
From the time my mother had to lift me high enough to reach the truck window until I was old enough to walk there myself with quarters in my pocket.
But that childhood had happened thirty years earlier.
Four hundred miles away.
In Millbrook, the town where I grew up and left when I turned eighteen.
There was absolutely no reason an ice cream truck driver in my current neighborhood should know any of that.
I tried to find the obvious explanation.
“Ellie, did you tell him my name?”
“No.”
“Did you tell him strawberry shortcake used to be my favorite?”
“No.”
She looked genuinely confused.
“I didn’t tell him anything about you. He just knew.”
