Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
FRANKIE
“W hat. The hell. Is pickleball?”
Danny and I have swapped lists. We’re at the kitchen table. He’s already drunk two mugs of Shelby’s coffee but looks like he could do with a third.
Mind you?—
“Does this say ‘running’?”
“Or hiking,” Danny replies, with a grin. “Great hill trails around here.”
Beyond the kitchen door, I hear urgent whispers. Nate and Shelby left the room after breakfast but now they’re back.
“ You ask,” Nate mutters to Shelby.
“No, you ,” insists Shelby. “Invalid, remember?”
“You can both do it,” I call out. “Danny and I have nothing to hide.”
“We don’t?” Danny gazes at me, alarmed. “Do we really want this to be broadcast across the entire Flora Valley community?”
“It will be anyway,” I shrug. “Chiara’s got spies everywhere.”
“Probably bugged this whole house,” agrees Danny, glumly.
His mouth does that cute pout thing. He will never know how close I came yesterday to launching myself at him and kissing him passionately. I hung on to enough self-control to avoid making a fool of myself that way, but not enough to avoid coming out with the crazy “getting to know you” plan.
I blame Chiara. It’s totally her fault that I did the most irrational thing in my life since buying my Karmann Ghia. Okay, so I do love that car. But I refuse to think too far ahead about what might happen with Danny. I don’t trust easily enough to take more than cautious baby steps. Baby hiking steps by the look of it. Because running is absolutely out of the question.
Nate and Shelby sidle into the room and take a seat each at the table. Nate stares at Danny and Shelby stares at me. Danny catches my eye, and we share a smile.
“I hate you two already,” says Nate. “Tell us what’s going on or I’ll withhold privileges.”
“Such as?” Danny inquires.
“No idea,” says Nate. “It was the only threat I could think of.”
“You’ll make a great dad,” says Danny.
“Shut up and spill the beans,” Nate insists.
Danny looks at me. “Want to do the honors?”
“Sure.” I address Nate and Shelby. “Yesterday, Danny and I concluded that there are grounds for progressing our incipient friendship to an advanced level of affiliation, and we intend to compare our compatibilities in order to affirm whether forward movement in that domain is appropriate and/or mutually beneficial.”
Nate gives me an even stare. “You’re getting to know each other better before you decide whether or not to leap into the sack.”
“Gold star for you,” I say.
“Wait— Chiara was right? You two do have feelings for each other?” asks Shelby.
Danny and I exchange another glance. Neither of us wants to credit Chiara with anything after the way she treated us, but the alternative is answering this question with a lie.
“We’re exploring the possibility,” I say, but I can feel my face grow pink. A dead giveaway.
Nate spots my blush and grins, but fortunately – for him – doesn’t push it.
“So, how are you going to get to know each other?” Shelby asks, excitedly. My sister is a sucker for romance.
This time, Danny does the honors. “Frankie had this idea that we should participate in each other’s hobbies and interests. If we don’t want to kill each other by the end, we’ve likely got a decent basis for a relationship.” He waves the piece of paper I gave him. “We listed our top four, which we’re now reviewing.”
“That’s … sensible, I guess?” says Nate. “Though I have to admit, I’m getting an Annie Get Your Gun vibe.”
“Are you implying that this will turn into a competition?” I enquire. “As in ‘anything you can do, I can do better’?”
“Well, does the word ‘competitive’ seem apt when applied to you two?” is Nate’s rejoinder.
I’m not going to look at Danny. I’m not going to look at Danny.
I look at Danny. He’s got his poker face on, which means he’s ready and waiting for the starter’s gun. Competitive it is.
“Can you bake a pie?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “Never tried.”
“Neither have I,” I say. “Happy to eat one, though. Any kind except pecan. I have strong opinions about nuts.”
“Oh, she does,” Shelby confirms. “Some kids have nut allergies. Frankie has nut hostility. You can imagine how our hippy mom felt about that!”
“No home-made granola?” Danny suggests.
“No walnut cake.” Shelby counts off on her fingers. “No chestnut stuffing, no crushed peanuts on banana splits, no peanut butter , not even extra smooth?—”
“No Smuckers at all?” Danny’s grinning at me. “Not even Goober Grape?”
“Disgusting,” is my final word.
“What’s on your lists?” Nate forces us back on track. “Unless it’s private. Or kinky.”
“No kinky stuff so far.” Danny scans my list. “Though I have my doubts about pickleball.”
“Fastest growing sport in America,” I say. “Anyone can play. All you need is a wiffle ball and a paddle.”
“Happy to say I have neither,” says Danny.
“New sports store in Verity,” says Nate. “Called Ball’s. With an apostrophe.”
“Because it’s owned by a Mr or Mrs Ball?” Danny asks.
“If only,” says Nate. “Anyway, what else?”
“Uh—” Danny scans the list. “Beer tasting! Now you’re talking. Shopping for vintage clothing, okay… Lindy Hop. What is that ?”
“A dance!” says Shelby. “Like swing and jive. Super fun.”
Danny narrows his eyes at me. “Seriously?”
“Are you suggesting I don’t look like a dancer?”
“No-o,” says Danny, evenly. “But that definitely sounds like you need prior training.”
“You’ll catch on.” My smile is only slightly evil.
“What’s Danny making you do, Frankie?” Nate asks.
“Hiking.” I’m not smiling now. “On the trails.”
“We’ll skip the scroggin.” Danny is grinning from ear to ear. “Given your nut aversion.”
“Go karting,” I continue. “Could be fun. What’s next? Karaoke!!”
I look up and glare. “Who does karaoke these days?”
“You used to love SingStar when Chiara brought round her PlayStation,” says Shelby. “You shrieked if we tried to take the microphone off you.”
“I was eight years old!”
“Karaoke?” Nate’s giving Danny the side eye. “Since when?”
“Since I ended up drunk in a bar a couple of years back. Seems I can sing.”
“Drunk singing isn’t singing.”
Danny smiles tightly. “Think you can do better?”
“And lastly—” I interrupt before this escalates. If Danny’s going to compete to the death with anyone around here, it’ll be me. “The final item on the list is … twitching…”
I squint just in case I’ve read it wrong. I have not. “Twitching?”
“Bird watching,” says Danny. “Particularly rare ones. It’s the British term but I prefer it.”
“Uh huh.” I’m not convinced he’s for real. “What kind of rare birds are around here?”
“Western tanager,” he says. “Yellow billed loon, sage thrasher?—”
“You are making this up!”
“Google it,” he says. “I started noticing birds when I was out hiking. Became a little bit obsessed.”
“This is the Durant way,” says Nate. The two of them fist bump.
“We can’t come and watch any of this, can we?” Shelby sounds disappointed.
“No!” Danny and I chorus.
“I don’t want to be a buzzkill,” says Nate. “But will you two actually have any time to help as promised?”
“Of course,” I say. “All of this will happen in our down-time.”
“Don’t worry, bro,” says Danny. “Unless we get eaten by bears while out hiking, you can rest assured that everything will be taken care of.”