Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“Sure. It was actually an Easter tradition, weather permitting.”
She looked up at him. “Huh.”
His eyes were scanning the various grassy areas, probably looking for the perfect spot to settle, so when he looked back down at her, he seemed surprised she was watching him. “What?”
“I just can’t reconcile the Dawsons with a messy picnic in the grass.”
“Who said anything about messy?” he asked with a quick wink. “My mom had a whole arsenal of dedicated picnic equipment, right down to the red-checkered blanket she had handmade from some woman out in Nantucket. The picnic baskets even had a special pie carrier, perfect for our Easter picnic days.”
“A pie carrier. Wow.”
“Maybe let’s not mention this to her,” he said, patting his decidedly non-dedicated-picnic bag. “If she still has the old picnic stuff, she’ll probably try to foist it upon me.” Kennedy touched her upper arm, then nodded to their left. “Over there. There’s a spot under the tree that looks flat.”
Kate headed toward the spot he indicated. Together they spread out the navy blanket from his bag, and she happily kicked off her shoes and settled on the blanket, watching as he unpacked the rest of the bag.
“What’s in those?” she asked as he pulled out two enormous canteen-style water bottles.
“Water, rosé,” he said, pointing at one, then the other.
“Rosé, as in wine? Can you drink in Central Park?”
“I won’t tell if you won’t.” He pulled out a stack of plastic cups. “If anyone asks, it’s pink lemonade.”
“I can’t really reconcile you drinking pink anything,” Kate said as he set a container of store-bought pasta salad alongside a baguette. “Wait, what is that?”
“Travel cheese board.”
“Whaaaaat? They make those?”
“What did you eat on picnics, Henley? Cardboard?”
“Normal food. String cheese. American cheese on white bread with off-brand mayo. Fig Newtons—name-brand, obviously.”
He pulled out a package of delicate macarons from a bakery Kate knew well. Not for herself but from buying hoity-toity gifts for clients. Kennedy caught the direction of her gaze and wordlessly handed over the package.
“Isn’t this dessert?”
He gave her a come on, we’re grown-ups who can do what we want look, and with a grin, she took the package. She went for a green one, guessing it was pistachio.
“Mmmmm.” Her eyes closed, delighted to be right about the flavor.
When she opened them, Kennedy was frozen in place, giving her the same look as he had last night when she was eating the scallops. Knowing she was playing with fire, Kate couldn’t help herself from extending the cookie toward him, surprised, and yet not surprised, when after only a brief hesitation, he leaned down and nipped a bite of cookie directly from her fingers.
Their eyes locked for a second before she forced a bright smile. “Amazing, right?”
“A little sweet,” he said, chewing, as he finished unpacking the last of the food and paper plates.
Kennedy settled on the blanket beside her, lying on one side, as he reached for the rosé thermos. He looked . . . different.
This was relaxed Kennedy. Picnic Kennedy.
She didn’t like it. She’d just barely figured out how to get over crusty Kennedy and had convinced herself that she didn’t want her heart entangled with anyone, and then he had to go and be all appealing.
Kate forced herself to look away before she did something stupid, only to look in the entirely wrong direction. “Oh jeez.”
Kennedy picked up the plastic cups and followed her gaze, going still when he saw where she was looking.
On the far side of the lawn was a couple who, while not naked or even half-naked, might as well have been. Make-out session didn’t quite describe it. It was more like . . . foreplay.
“I don’t think I’ve ever quite so clearly understood the phrase get a room,” Kate muttered, somehow unable to look away from the amorous couple. She wasn’t close enough to determine anything more than that the woman was blonde, the man brunette, but there was no mistaking the way his hand slid over her hip, the way her long hair spread above her head, unknowing, or uncaring, that it was in the grass.
Kennedy cleared his throat. “Wine?”
Kate tore her gaze away. A second ago, she was thinking, Heck yes, wine. Now her body was tingling, ever aware of his nearness.
“Have you ever?” she blurted out.
“Have I ever what?”
She nodded in the direction of the couple without looking at them.
His eyebrows lifted. “Made out in the grass?”
She smiled. “Yeah. Or, you know, kissed in public. Actually, never mind,” she said with a shake of her head. “Stupid question.”
Kennedy frowned. “Why is it a stupid question?”
“Because you’re Kennedy Dawson. I believe I once heard you use the words PDA and lowbrow in the same sentence.”
His frown deepened to a scowl. “You make me sound so . . .”
“Uptight?” she teased.
“Yeah.” He looked down at the cups, then tossed them to the side before looking back at her, his gaze going from irritated to considering. “Though, now that I’m remembering, that’s not the one word you’d use to describe me.”