MORE

Barry had told himself—promised himself, in fact—that he’d just get one sundae. A modest treat. A polite cool-down. Something sensible.

But then the waffle bowl showed up.

There it was: rich chocolate ice cream cradled in a golden, crispy shell, topped with a dramatic flourish of whipped cream and just a suggestion of caramel drizzle. Barry stared at it, paws lightly pressed to his cheeks, eyes wide with a mixture of awe, longing, and mild panic.

He had already polished off his first sundae. And now here sat a second one. Entire. Untouched. Towering. Daunting.

His spoon lay quietly on the table between them, like a tiny silver question mark.

“Maybe I got carried away,” Barry whispered to the dessert. “But it’s not myfault you looked so photogenic.”

He glanced left, then right, hoping no one was watching. He was already full, but also… he was Barry. And Barry didn’t back down from beautiful snacks.

Besides, he reasoned, you don’t come to Fentons to be reasonable.