This is so wild. Gabriel Vincenti is walking with me to get cookies out of a stroller.
“So, you have a kid?” Gabe’s big body takes up so much space in the hallway.
I move over slightly. “Sort of. I’m a foster parent. I take kids in on an emergency basis for short periods of time.”
“Wow. You must love kids.”
Is it really about loving kids or doing the right thing? “They need someone to take care of them.” We need to change the topic. “Are you ready for next week’s game?”
He rolls his shoulder with a smile. “Yeah. It’s going to be a semi-sweet game.”
Semi-sweet? How can winning—I stop at the edge of the hallway and foyer. “The rumors are true. You’re retiring after this game.”
Gabriel smiles. “Yeah. This will be my last game.”
Wow. Wow. “The world is going to miss you on the field.” That was so cheesy. He must think I’m the worst fangirl.
“Are you coming to the game?”
“I wish. Tickets are impossible to get, even though it’s a local game.” Daria would have loved to go to the game. We had to be careful not to mention it near Knight because he would have bought tickets at the ridiculous prices to make Daria happy.
“You should come.”
What? Gabríel Vincenti isn’t inviting me to attend his game. What do I do? There’s no way I can take tickets from a total stranger.
Think. Change the topic. Anything. I step forward and peek into the living room. A whole bunch of different people are in there talking now. Um, what? “I thought this was just a family dinner.”
“Huh?”
“There have been at least a dozen different people in here.”
“And? We have a big family. This is just a small family Sunday dinner.”
“Small? What is your definition of small?”
“About fifty, maybe seventy-five. I think Aunt Temperance only invited immediate family.”
Seventy-five. Don’t ask. Don’t ask. “What’s a big family event?”
“I’ve been to some weddings with over a thousand people.”
“A thousand people for a wedding. How?” That’s too big to even fathom. “Where do you find enough space to seat them all?”
“We have an event hall we use for weddings.”
“That’s comforting.” Not at all. Could you imagine being a bride with a thousand people watching you walk down the aisle, wondering if you’re going to trip? Yeah. No, thank you.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”
I roll my eyes as I walk into the closet.
“What kind of cookies did you bring?” Gabe leans over as I reach into the stroller.
“Leftovers.” The plastic container is wedged in there. It was another reason we brought the stroller.
“No, I mean what type of cookies. No one cares if they were leftovers. Cookies are always good on the second or third day.”
“Oops, sorry. I don’t mean they’re leftovers. We named the cookie Leftovers.”
