I stared at the pink-and-white coating.
Strawberry shortcake bars actually had been my favorite when I was a kid.
Whenever an ice cream truck came down our street, I ordered the same thing.
But I didn’t remember telling Ellie that.
Maybe she had mentioned that I liked strawberries.
Maybe the driver had guessed.
There had to be an ordinary explanation.
“Did you tell him my name?”
“No.”
“Did you tell him I used to eat those?”
“No.”
That bothered me.
“Has he asked you anything else about me?”
Ellie thought for a moment.
“I don’t think so.”
“What do you two talk about?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“He asks how I’m doing. Sometimes he asks if I had a good day.”
That didn’t make me feel better.
I crouched in front of her.
“Ellie, I don’t want you taking anything else from him unless I’m there. Okay?”
Her forehead wrinkled.
“Why?”
“Because you shouldn’t keep accepting things from adults we don’t know.”
