Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 105734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“Will do,” he says easily.
I climb out of his truck and hurry down the street, doing my best not to stare at the restaurant’s front door. I don’t want to look like I’m staking the place out, but it’s hard not to satisfy my curiosity. To distract myself, I pull out my phone and text Frankie back.
Me: Sounds wonderful. On my way.
CHAPTER 9
FRANKIE
It’s taken me nearly a week to figure out how to ask Sofia out again. I know it has to be something epic, something sweet and timeless to sweep her off her feet. I want to prove that I’m romantic, but also adventurous. Since we live in the city, my options on that agenda are either the zoo or the park.
We could go to the zoo and get to know each other a little better while we look at the exhibits, but there’s something about a picnic date that screams romance. So that’s what I decide on.
After texting Sofia and getting her reply, I hurry downstairs to pack a lunch. The cook is on break, but the lunch she prepared is still warm. I carve off a few slices of the chicken and grab a container and lid for the coleslaw. There are two other salads that look delicious, so I portion off a bit of each one into its own separate box. I grab two water bottles and some napkins, two cookies, and two apples for dessert.
Now all I need is something to put all the food in. I rummage around underneath the kitchen island. I don’t know exactly what’s in there or what I hope to find. A picnic basket would be nice, but I would also settle for a small cooler. But the only thing I find is cookware.
“What are you looking for?” Marlena asks, surprising me more than she should.
“I didn’t know anyone was down here,” I mutter.
“Surprise,” Marlena jokes. “Are you doing something secret?”
“No,” I respond a little too quickly, trying to look casual. “I’m looking for a picnic basket.”
“A picnic basket,” Marlena repeats, a smile brightening her face.
Now, suddenly, I’m self-conscious. She thinks I’m a fool, or worse, some kind of pansy. Her husband, my father, would never arrange for a picnic lunch. He probably took her on dates to the shooting range or some other toxically masculine venue.
“You don’t have to make a big deal out of it,” I snap.
She looks hurt, and I can see that maybe I’ve made a mistake. Maybe she isn’t judging me for wanting to take Sofia out to the park. Maybe my father and I aren’t really that far apart when it comes to how we court women.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
Marlena sniffs. I suddenly realize that she’s about to cry. I rush to her side, putting a hand on her shoulder.
“Hey,” I soothe. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“No, I know,” she says, looking away. “I wasn’t making a big deal out of it.”
“No, it’s silly, right?” I say, pointing to all the food I’ve piled up on the counter. “I just need somewhere to put all this food.”
“You’re having a picnic?” Marlena asks with a sob.
I’m not sure how to get out of this. Whatever I said to make her upset seems to have something to do with the picnic, but I can’t figure out why. Is she remembering a particular time that she enjoyed? Or one that she hated? Is there some kind of picnic-related trauma I’m missing?
“Do you have…memories of a picnic?” I try, doing my best to address her concerns tactfully.
“Your father and I,” Marlena begins, placing a heavy hand on the counter as if the house’s gravity has just shifted. “We had a picnic in Italy.”
“Okay,” I say, encouraging her to tell me more.
“It was lovely,” she moans, putting her head down.
I have no idea what’s going on. If I’ve just stumbled onto a scenario where a picnic went horribly wrong, or whether there’s something she’s not telling me, it’s obvious that there’s more to our conversation than meets the eye.
After a moment, Marlena pops back up. She wipes tears from her eyes and gives me a brave smile. “I’m sorry. You didn’t need that.”
“No,” I assure her. “It’s fine. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she asserts. “I’m just having one of those days.”
“Right,” I say, as if I have any clue what she’s talking about.
But then she puts her hand on her stomach, and it all becomes clear.
“Your baby,” I exclaim, putting two and two together.
“It’s the pregnancy hormones,” she tells me.
I exhale in relief. “Thank God. I mean, I’m sorry that you have to go through that, but I was thinking that there was some deep, dark picnic secret that you were about to reveal.”
Marlena laughs. “No. It was a lovely picnic. You should definitely take your friend on a picnic.”