My heart melts. Those are possibly the sweetest five words I’ve ever read. I try to cover my reaction, but I can see that Mario knows something is up. I tell myself that researching Frankie is just as important as finding the underlying cause of what’s going on at Central Bites. Maybe even more important. Because Frankie can get me in to see Francisco, and that’s who makes the real decisions. Francisco Corello will know who killed Danny, if he didn’t attend to it himself.
“Change of plans,” I announce.
“Picnic lunch in the park?” Mario reads.
I stuff my phone into my pocket, mortified that he knows. “That’s none of your business. It’s for the story.”
“Okay,” Mario agrees.
“Just stay here and get as many photos as you can,” I demand.
“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 benice, 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?
