The problem is I’m not sure what it’s called.” I touched a buttery fingertip to my throat and looked away a moment, thinking. I glanced back at ...im. I thought I saw his eyes quickly returning from another visit to my cleavage.“Is it a sour type of cream?” he asked. “Like quark? We do have quark now.”“I have no idea what that is.”“It’s a kind of a very mild sour cream.”“Oh no no, the cream I’m thinking of isn’t sour. It’s a little sweet. And it’s always served warm.”“Warm?”“Yes. Maybe poured. Carter was vigorously opposed to my taking Sam to the dance, but Mrs. Carter intervened and allowed us some time, with my mother as a chaperone, instead of one of them. Boy, we were both very glad that she intervened. That essentially gave us about an hour of no hovering parental observation. I mean Mom wouldn't be right on top of us so we could talk about just about anything. We might even get to kiss without constant interruptions.The rest of the afternoon went by very quickly. I ran home. More

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