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I hear a smile in his voice, but then again, when don’t I? “Of course,” he says. “My apologies. Continue.”
“Take me to the pumpkin patch. We’ll pick out pie pumpkins and carving pumpkins. While the pies are baking, I will watch you dig out pumpkin brains, then I will draw the face shapes I want in sharpie before I supervise you removing the designated locations.”
“That…” He clears his throat, seeming almost breathless. “…that sounds amazing. Where would you like to get breakfast?”
“Taco Bell. They stop serving breakfast at ten forty-five, but I’m almost positive you can convince them to be more inclusive for those of us who stay up late playing solo Stardew. I’ve had this nagging desire to eat a Breakfast Crunchwrap past the appropriate time. Blame the rebel in me.”
Tone much too warm for my liking, he says, “Perfect. I will see you at noon.”
“I will be half awake and mildly interested in the planned activities.”
“That’s all I can ask for. Enjoy your time with Krobus, pumpkin.”
Inexplicably, I blush.
And he leaves the call.
Chapter 12
Look up a video of a reticulated python eating a boar.
– Marcella
I think I’ve glitched.
I’m frozen in place, standing at the front door at exactly noon, staring at a modest bundle of purple, orange, and blue flowers wrapped in cream paper. It is impossible to drag my gaze off the square text on the card protruding from a plastic stick in the center.
On the one hand, how dare F-man be offering me a Stardew Valley bouquet in real life.
On the other, this man…this man who possesses all the money in the world…really has me pegged well enough to know that a handful of flowers with a cardstock-printed screen capture means more than something extravagant like all the gestures I see in fiction.
I blink, rub sleep from my eyes, discover I’m fully awake. My silly sleep-deprived brain has not fabricated this situation after eleven straight hours of Stardew, I guess.
What a dilemma.
“Do I need more heart events?” he asks, mildly sheepish.
Heaving a sigh, I reach for the bouquet, knowing I’m going to pull the card out and keep it forever in a little book with the pressed flowers. I can’t believe him. I’m going to have to learn how to press flowers now. While anger threatens to take over, I nestle my nose against the soft petals.
Seriously…
The vibrant shades hide my smile.
How dare he.
I say, “I don’t actually like watching flowers die, but this is an exception to that rule.”
Sunshine explodes on F-man’s face, eyes twinkling like oceans reflecting the blaze.
“I’m going to put these in water. Hang tight.”
He is still blindingly chipper when I return. He rambles about how much he enjoyed playing Stardew with my friends and me last night while whichever bodyguard he has with him today drives us to Taco Bell. In a cruel twist of fate, the limo doesn’t fit in the drive through, so we are forced to enter the building. At noon. On a Sunday.
As a practical celebrity.
Mothers battling toddlers stop to gape as we enter, flanked by large men in black. Polite as ever, F-man locks his hands behind his back and smiles at the menu listed over the register.
It occurs to me many moments too late that the menu is still listing breakfast.
