Chapter 7 Picnic Rules
Vinny’s mother’s first-date advice was simple: feed her, be respectful, and don’t be stupid.
Maria Marino delivered it in his apartment doorway while looking at the groceries spread across his table: bread, lemons, mozzarella, basil, roasted peppers, chicken cutlets, strawberries, almonds, and two kinds of olives because he had panicked in the store.
She got Sophia’s name, age, college status, and the fact that Vinny really liked her before he finished unpacking.
Mary wandered in next, then Anna surfaced from the couch long enough to confirm the important things: public was smart, too much garlic was a mistake, and men never packed enough napkins.
Vinny argued that he was literally a food professional.
His sisters remained unimpressed. By the time Maria left for work, he had been warned about kissing breath, napkins, public places, and not acting like a man who thought feeding someone could replace listening.
Annoying advice. Useful advice. Family advice.
At Bella Luna later that afternoon, Antonia let him use the kitchen before service on three conditions: stay out of the way, clean everything he touched, and don’t turn a picnic into a catering order.
He failed the third one immediately. Antonia found enough food for five people; Gia found backup cookies.
Together they cut him down to one useful sandwich, a small pasta salad, strawberries, lemon cookies, water, napkins, and extra napkins because his sisters had gotten into his head.
Antonia made him test the sandwich and took out half the filling so it wouldn’t fall apart in Sophia’s lap.
“Make food she can relax with,” she said, “not food she has to manage.” That finally landed.
When he repacked, the basket looked less like a restaurant delivery and more like a date.
Gia noticed. “You all right?”
“Yeah.”
“You look like you might throw up in the basil.”
“I’m fine.”
Antonia handed him a small jar. “Honey lemon butter. For the bread, if you want. Not necessary.”
He took it. “Thank you.”
“Don’t bring three backup desserts.”
“I wasn’t.”
Gia opened his second bag.
He took it from her. “Those aren’t backup desserts.”
“Those are absolutely backup desserts.”
“They are insurance.”
“They are panic cookies.”
Antonia held out her hand. Vinny gave her the extra cookies.
“Thank you,” she said.
“This feels personal.”
“It is instructional.”
Gia patted his shoulder. “You are growing.”
“I hate this.”
“No, you don’t.”
He didn’t. Not really. Across town, Sophia had emptied half her closet onto her bed and hated every piece of clothing she owned.
The picnic was tomorrow, which suddenly felt much too soon.
That had sounded far away until she realized tomorrow came after sleeping, and she wasn’t sure she would sleep.
She stood in front of the mirror wearing a green sundress she liked on normal days but now seemed like too much.
Maybe it was dressy, plain, or just the wrong green.
She couldn’t tell anymore. Constance stood in the doorway with a laundry basket against her hip.
“That dress is nice.”
Sophia looked at her reflection. “You said that about the last one.”
“The last one was also nice.”
“You aren’t helping.”
“I am being supportive.”
“You are saying everything is nice.”
“I gave birth to you. I am biased toward your appearance.”
Sophia turned. “Mom.”
“What?”
“I need actual help.”
Constance set the laundry basket down. “All right. Where are you going again?”
“A park.”
“Public park.”
“Yes.”
“Afternoon.”
“Yes.”
“After church and after your paper work.”
“Yes.”
“With food.”
“Yes.”
“Comfortable shoes.”
“I know.”
Constance studied the dress. “This is pretty, but you keep pulling at the straps.”
Sophia looked down and realized she was pulling at the straps.
“So not that one,” Constance said.
Sophia sighed and changed into jeans and a soft cream sweater with tiny buttons down the front. Constance’s face changed.
“What?” Sophia asked.
“That.”
“This?”
“Yes.”
“It’s not too casual?”
“It is a picnic. Not a gala.”
Sophia looked in the mirror again. The jeans fit. The sweater was soft and not too tight. Her hair was down because Victoria had already texted that if Sophia wore a bun on a first date, she would come over and remove it personally. The outfit looked like her, just slightly braver.
“I look young,” Sophia said.
Constance smiled. “You are young.”
“I mean too young.”
“You are twenty. You are supposed to look twenty.”
Sophia touched the sleeve. “Vinny has dated other women.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t look like them.”
Constance came up behind her in the mirror.
“Better.”
Sophia looked at her mother’s reflection.
“Don’t try to look like women you made up just to hurt your own feelings.”
Sophia swallowed. That was annoying. Because it was exactly what she had done.
She had imagined Vinny with women who knew how to kiss without thinking about teeth.
Women who wore red lipstick and leaned on bars and didn’t ask if something was a date-date.
Women who didn’t stand in their bedroom the night before a picnic wondering if cream was too boring.
“What if I’m awkward?” Sophia asked.
“You will be.”
“Mom.”
“You asked.”
“That isn’t comforting.”
Constance rested her chin lightly against Sophia’s hair. “Awkward isn’t the end of the world. It is how people learn.”
Sophia looked down.
“What if he realizes I don’t know how to do any of this?”
“He probably already knows.”
Sophia shut her eyes. “Worse.”
“No.” Constance turned her gently by the shoulders. “Better. He asked anyway.”
Sophia went quiet because her mother was right. He asked anyway. He knew she was nervous. He knew she was inexperienced. He knew she needed public, daytime, room to leave. He asked anyway. Maybe he had asked knowing she needed public, daytime, and room to leave.
Sophia sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m scared.”
Constance sat beside her. “Of him?”
“No.”
“Good. If you were scared of him, this would be a different conversation.”
Sophia smiled faintly. Constance waited.
Sophia twisted the hem of her sweater. “I’m scared I’ll like him more after tomorrow.”
Her mother’s expression softened.
“And then what?” Constance asked.
“Then it gets bigger.”
“Yes.”
“What if I can’t keep it where it belongs?”
“Where does it belong?”
Sophia looked at the textbooks stacked on her desk. Her planner. Her class notes. The green notebook from her father.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“That is probably the truest thing you have said.”
Sophia leaned her head on her mother’s shoulder. Constance put an arm around her. For a minute, neither of them said anything.
Then Constance kissed her hair. “Go slowly. Keep your schoolwork. Keep your friends. Keep yourself. If he is worth anything, he will not ask you to give those up.”
Sophia nodded. Her phone buzzed.
Victoria: Outfit check. Send proof of life.
Sophia showed her mother.
Constance smiled. “She loves you loudly.”
“She loves everyone loudly.”
“No. She loves you protectively. There is a difference.”
Sophia took a mirror photo and sent it. Three dots appeared immediately.
Victoria: Smart. Hair down. Correct.
Victoria: Shoes?
Sophia sent a picture of her flats.
Victoria: Acceptable.
Victoria: Location again?
Sophia: Public park. Sunday afternoon. I will send you the exact spot when I know.
Victoria: True.
Victoria: Don’t let him pick some secluded spot under a tree where no one can see you.
Sophia laughed.
Constance glanced at her. “Victoria?”
“Yes.”
“She is checking the location?”
Sophia looked up. “How did you know?”
Constance waved a hand. “Tone.”
Sophia’s phone buzzed again.
Victoria: Also have fun. But safely. Mostly safely.
Sophia smiled at the screen.
Sophia: I will.
Victoria: And if he packs olives, that tells us something.
Sophia frowned.
Sophia: What does it tell us?
Victoria: I don’t know yet.
Sophia laughed harder this time.
Constance stood and picked up the laundry basket. “I like the sweater.”
Sophia looked back at the mirror. So did she, maybe.
At Bella Luna that night, Sophia worked a shorter shift so she could go home early and finish her paper before church in the morning.
That had been the plan. The plan didn’t include Vinny being in the kitchen testing lemon cookies.
The whole restaurant smelled like butter, sugar, and lemon zest. Sophia stopped near the pass.
Vinny looked up from the sheet pan. He froze for half a second. Then smiled. Not too big. Still enough.
“Hey, teach.”
“Hi.”
Gia, who was leaning against the far counter eating something she had clearly stolen, looked between them. “Watching you two is exhausting.”
Sophia blinked. “What did I do?”
“You looked nervous.”
Vinny pointed at Gia with a spatula. “Leave her alone.”
Gia’s eyebrows jumped. “Oh, defensive. Noted.”
Vinny immediately looked regretful. Sophia’s face warmed.
Antonia came out of the office with a folder. “Gia, stop poking them.”
“I am not poking. I am observing.”
“Observe table four.”
Gia pushed off the counter. “Fine.”
She passed Sophia and whispered, “Cookies are safe.”
Sophia looked at the sheet pan. “Are those for tomorrow?”
Vinny glanced at Antonia. Antonia looked amused but said nothing.
“Maybe,” he said.
Sophia smiled. Maybe was yes.
“They smell right.”
“I can make them smaller.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” He looked at the cookies like they might answer for him. “I keep overdoing it.”
Antonia said, “He was trying to bring two extra desserts.”
Sophia looked at him.
Vinny winced. “That sounds worse out loud.”
“It sounds like you.”
His expression shifted, careful. Hopeful.
“Bad?”
Sophia shook her head. “No. Just very you.”
He looked down at the cookies.
“Antonia is helping me scale it back.”
“Fair,” Sophia said.
Then quickly, “I don’t mean—you can bring whatever you want.”