"Somebody provincial," she offers innocently. It's the kind of game Byerly's usually waist-deep in, and she's usually resisting (at least a little), this kind of playful back-and-forth. But tonight, it seems easy. Irresistible, even.

It doesn't hurt that the thought of an ice-cream shop is weirdly tantalizing. Running a business based in refrigeration seems unimaginably luxurious compared to home, and it could be fun, as long as she wasn't the one making the ice cream.