"I have an idea," I say after we drive the length of Main Street for the third time looking for one. "I'll jump out and get some food, and we can take it back to the inn."
"Won't Lola have a heart attack if we bring back outside food?"
I smile because she totally would. "She won't see us. Trust me."
"All right." Buzz stops to let me out. "Call me with the pickup location."
"Will do."
"Where are we going?" Buzz asks once we get out of his car.
We're back at the inn, and I'm armed with a brown paper bag full of food from the diner, but we're not heading inside.
"Follow me." Our boots crunch across the frozen ground. "It's a surprise."
"Does it involve blow jobs?" he asks, jogging to catch up to me.
I smirk,lovingthat's where his mind went.
It doesn't, but I don't want to say that.
"Possibly."
After a few minutes walking, we reach the clearing, and the old tree house comes into view. "I am not blowing you in there. Your dick will be like a popsicle."
I chuckle. "I wasn't seriously planning on a blow job, doofus. We can eat and talk."
"Outside? But it's freezing."
"That's why I bought this," I say, lifting the Mr. Heater Little Buddy I picked up from the hardware store.
"You're crazy."
"Just add it to the list."
We climb into our old tiny tree house, and I power up the heater as Buzz takes out all the food. The heater makes a soft whooshing noise, but it's going to take a few minutes before it warms the frigid air.
We sit cross-legged facing each other, our knees connecting.
Buzz chooses the lobster roll and starts devouring it. It shouldn't be so sexy, but it is.
I'm happy Mom's bombshell announcement hasn't affected us. Guess it's a good thing we have some experience atcompartmentalizing our crazy families away from our personal lives. But maybe we've done a little too good a job of it. Apart from Buzz asking how Mom is doing after my phone calls, we haven't talked about it.
At all.
I don't know whether he's spoken to his dad, or told Howie, and most importantly, I don't know how he's feeling.
That changes.
Right now.
42
Buzz
"We need to talk," Court announces as I finish my lobster roll and eye off the remaining spread.
I balance the grilled cheese on my lap, pick up a bowl of tomato soup, and take the lid off. It's steaming. Good. I am freezing cold. I curl my fingers around the warm container. I'm always down for a crazy adventure, but a mid-winter picnic in our old tree house when the temperature is barely above thirty isn't the most practical, well-thought-out idea.
