Chapter 30
Duffy
The next week was a dream that started with Connor setting up a surprise picnic lunch.
But not the boring kind of picnic lunch you’d see in a movie.
My Connor would never.
I was at the office when he texted: What’re you doing for lunch today?
I glanced at my watch and was surprised to see it was already eleven thirty. I’d been so focused that I hadn’t realized lunch was on the horizon, which was weird when I was the type of person who usually started anticipating lunch by around nine thirty, ten at the latest.
I brought leftover pizza and plan to inhale it at my desk, probably in the next five minutes. You?
Connor: If you can swing it, I have a plan that includes sliders and fries.
I leaned forward in my chair. I can swing almost ANYTHING if it ends with sliders and fries. Talk to me, Cunningham.
Connor: Are you free now?
I replied: This very minute?
Connor: Affirmative
“You’re adorable,” I heard, and when I looked up, Ellie was walking toward me with a huge muffin in her hand.
She was wearing high heels with electric-blue joggers and a ruffly pirate blouse, which would make me look like a clown, but she somehow looked ridiculously cool.
“That has to be Mr. Football texting you—either that or you’re in love with your phone. ”
I shrugged and didn’t even try to hide my smile. I mean, I don’t think it was possible to make it go away, to be honest; I was too happy right now.
“This phone is my world, El,” I said with a giggle. “What can I say?”
“Okay, now I want to throw up because you’re too smitten.” She rolled her eyes but was grinning as she went back to her desk.
I returned to my phone and texted: Yes I’m free. AFFIRMATIVE.
Connor: Then come on down. I’m outside your building, by the fountain.
He’s outside of my building.
I very nearly sprinted to the elevator, feeling so rushed to see him that it occurred to me El was right—I was too smitten.
The sun was bright when I walked outside, one of those lovely autumn days where the temps hovered in the sixties and the world felt like it was being played out on the set of Gilmore Girls.
I took about four steps before I saw him, standing near the fountain, and my heart felt full as I drank him in.
There he stood, casually leaning against a no-parking sign wearing jeans, a black hoodie that matched his black baseball cap, and a pair of sunglasses. He looked tall and hot, because he was tall and hot, and my smile grew as he straightened upon seeing me.
He had two scooters with him, the kind you could rent all over the city, and a backpack strapped to his back. What the hell is he up to?
“What is all this?” I asked as I approached.
“It’s a beautiful day so I thought we could scooter over to White Castle,” he said. “Unless you’re scooter-averse.”
“How did you scooter over here with two scooters?” I asked, trying not to laugh.
“Leave it to you to think about the logistics of it instead of the romanticism,” he said, a smile in his voice even though he was giving me a fake scowl.
“Scooters are romantic?” I asked, even though somehow they absolutely were.
“Not for a normal human,” he replied, “but I totally thought it would be for you.”
“Yeah, you weren’t wrong,” I said, feeling his eyes all over me even though I couldn’t see them behind his dark sunglasses. “This is better than John Cusack with the boom box for sure. But, like, did you put one foot on each scooter? How did you do it?”
“That would be wild,” he said with a laugh. “I scootered one over, set it next to the fountain, then went back for the other.”
“Oh. Duh.” I looked down at the scooters, in awe of the intentionality he’d put into this outing. “That’s very logical.”
“I’m a very logical guy,” he said. “So are we scootering to the Castle or not?”
“Hell, yes, we are,” I said, putting my hands on the top of one of the machines. It’d been a while since I’d taken a scooter anywhere, but I’d always found them to be a fun mode of transportation. “Let’s go.”
And then we were off. He dipped into the street and I followed, riding beside him as we headed in the direction of the White Castle closest to my office. The streets were pretty busy with lunch traffic, so we didn’t really talk on the ride over, but that didn’t detract from the fun.
The fresh air, the warm sun, the smiles he shot at me as he regularly glanced over to make sure I was keeping up—it was everything.
But when we got to the fast-food restaurant, he insisted we take the drive-thru lane.
“You don’t want to eat inside on a day like this, do you?” he asked with a challenging grin as he pulled up in the line behind a minivan.
“No,” I said, pushing my hair out of my face as I stopped beside him. “But I don’t think we can take these things through the drive-thru.”
“Why not? They’re vehicles,” he said, as if it was absurd of me to doubt him.
“I don’t actually think they are,” I disagreed. “They’re more like bicycles.”
“Agree to disagree,” he said, his smirk daring me to chicken out.
“Fine. But you order first so if they yell at us, you get the heat,” I said, following as he pulled up to the speaker.
“Can I please get eight original sliders,” he said, making me giggle as he ordered like this was normal behavior. His voice was unapologetic and straightforward as he added, “Large fries and a Coke Zero.”
I struggled to order my food because I was laughing too hard, especially when I looked over my shoulder and saw three cars lined up behind us.
“This is insane,” I muttered as the person on the other side of the speaker gave us our total and told us to pull up to the window.
“I can’t believe you eat like this during the season,” I said as we moved forward. “I would’ve imagined you only eating chicken breast and eggs.”
“Today’s lunch is the exception,” he replied as he looked over at me. “I’m back on chicken and eggs for dinner.”
When we got to the window, I was shocked by how unsurprised the guy looked as he took Connor’s card.
Maybe scootering through the drive-thru wasn’t as bizarre as I’d thought.
But when the employee held out our fountain drinks, I realized it wasn’t going to work.
“We can’t carry our stuff while driving,” I said to Connor. “We’re going to have to eat here because there’s no way I can—”
“Leave it to me, Distefano.”
I watched in disbelief as he took the two fountain drinks and carefully slipped them into the side pockets of his backpack like the pouches were meant for fast-food soda. And when the guy handed him our bag of food, he shoved it into the backpack and zipped it up.
“Oh my God, you’re like a soccer mom with that backpack,” I said. “Or like a PTA mom on a zoo field trip. Did you plan this part out?”
“I might’ve,” he said, looking smug. “Never say I’m not a details guy.”
“Color me impressed,” I said. “So where should we take our food?”
“The Commons,” he said. “Come on.”
Great idea. I followed him out of the parking lot, doing my best not to beam like a lovesick fool because how perfect was this lunch?
I loved the Commons and went there whenever it was nice.
It was a big green park in the middle of the city, and sometimes on my break, I’d walk over there to just sit on the grass and read.
So the fact that Connor wanted to go have a picnic lunch with me there felt…special, as much as I hated using that word. It felt like more than just a regular weekday lunch. I followed him until he slowed on the sidewalk by a grassy area with trees.
“Want to go over there?” he asked, stopping and pointing toward a table.
“Perfect,” I said, stopping beside him.
We got off the scooters and went over to the table, and to say I was charmed as he pulled our lunch out of his preplanned backpack would be a massive understatement.
Especially when he unfolded one of those classic red-and-white-checkered tablecloths and spread it over the table.
It was cheesy and over the top, and as I watched him carefully set my food on top of it, I felt so much appreciation for him that it was almost overwhelming.
I kind of wanted to hug him for being so sweetly thoughtful, which was funny because at a glance, Connor’s appearance sent the opposite message.
He looked like an absolute athletic unit, definitely not someone who needed the protectiveness that I suddenly felt for him.
“Thanks for the invite,” I said, putting my straw in my drink. “This is great.”
“It really is, isn’t it?” he said, his eyes surveying the green space in front of him.
“Yeah,” I said. “I actually eat over here kind of a lot. Do you? Maybe we’ve both been here at the same time before.”
“Um, no,” he said. “I always want to, but it just seems—”
“Oh my God, of course,” I interrupted, feeling a little silly for not realizing. “It’s probably impossible to come here for lunch when you’re famous. I’m sure you can’t quietly grab lunch on the greens without being noticed.”
“I’m also not great with eating out by myself,” he volunteered as he pulled a slider out of its cardboard box.
“You’re not?” I asked with a laugh, because how could that be true? He was so incredibly confident, but the way he said it almost made him seem like a tiny part of him could be insecure.
Impossible.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said, pulling out his fries and tossing one in my direction. “I can eat by myself in public and I do sometimes, you jackass, but I don’t always feel like going somewhere really crowded when I do it, okay?”
“Are you shy?” I teased, wanting to make him feel better because he looked slightly uncomfortable, like he’d shared a little too much of himself. “Is that what it is?”
Honestly, that was probably one of my favorite things about him.
Connor was this wildly confident athlete, a world-famous competitor, but moments like this reminded me that he was just a human being like the rest of us.
A very regular guy who could actually be insecure about eating by himself in a crowded place.