Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61922 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
“Right. But wouldn’t you rather go on to Versailles? It dwarfs every château you’ve seen so far. The grounds are incredible and—”
“You don’t know how to ride a bike,” he intercepted dryly.
“Of course, I know how to ride one. It’s just…been a while.”
Winnie’s grin was unfettered and mischievous. “How long?”
I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. “Thirty-five years, give or take.”
“Thirty-five—no way.”
“Way.”
He put the kickstand up and marched to my side. “I’ll teach you. Trust me, I’m good at this. You’ll be riding hands-free within an hour.”
“Thanks, but I don’t require a lesson. And neither of us is riding a bicycle hands-free,” I added grumpily.
“If you say so, papi,” he singsonged with a wink, hiking a thumb toward the shed. “I’ll take the bike with the basket for Beau, and you can have the red one.”
I glanced at the tiny, stout mutt napping on the stoop nearby. “Why is Beau coming? Françoise and Jacques will be home any moment now, and—”
“Don’t be mean. We bonded over cheese and bread crust last night. I can’t abandon him now. Can I, Beau-low baby boy?” Winnie cooed.
Oh, dear.
It was true, though. Beau had sat at Winnie’s feet while we’d warmed up the stew Françoise had left for us, and had curled into a ball on his lap in front of the fireplace later. We’d opened a second bottle of Cabernet Franc and sat with our legs entwined, chatting about French food, thick socks, and places we’d visited that started with the letter P.
By the way, the only P places he’d been that he remembered were Pasadena, Palm Springs, Petaluma, and of course, Paris.
Don’t ask. This was Winnie, after all. There was no rhyme or reason to his methods. He was a free spirit to the nth degree. He shared his thoughts on every topic that popped into his head—crusty, warm bread was the best, Martians definitely existed millions of years ago—and told hilarious stories about Sunday drag brunches with his friends.
He painted a picture with words of sunshine, ocean breezes, bottomless pitchers of margaritas, and big-bosomed drag queens with beehive wigs and gorgeous sequined gowns who sang Judy Garland songs like the diva herself, then pumped up her breasts and asked random patrons to check her jiggle. I laughed till my cheeks hurt, idly caressing his feet as I filed nuances of Winnie into the ever-growing compartment he’d claimed in my brain.
That sounded barmy, I knew. Nonetheless, it was true. He’d broken through every barrier and carved his initials in walls I’d thought were untouchable.
Winnie was bright and beautiful, funny and silly, and utterly charming. He was the king of hyperbole, over-the-top expressions, and outlandish euphemisms. I’d never met anyone like him. Ever. We belonged to very different worlds.
Yet Winnie seemed equally fascinated by me.
He peppered me with questions about the castle ruins down the street and didn’t run for cover when I explained that the site was previously a Merovingian necropolis.
“What the fuck is that?” he’d asked, petting the snoring dog in his lap.
“The ancient burial ground of the ruling family of the Franks.”
“How ancient?”
“Two thousand years old,” I’d replied.
Winnie’s mouth had dropped open. “Shut the front door. That’s creepy as fuck and also…super interesting.”
And that was it in a nutshell. Winnie made me feel…interesting.
Me.
Go figure.
Look, I knew who I was, and I’d long ago accepted that the subjects that captivated me had a very small audience. Winnie didn’t fit the description of a budding Egyptologist, and I wasn’t the date he’d choose to bring to a West Hollywood pool party. We were polar opposites, but for reasons that made absolutely no sense whatsoever, we fit.
For now, not for always.
Not to worry…I understood. And that was why I trudged to the shed to unearth the second bicycle, mumbling under my breath, “Do not fall. Do not bloody well fall.”
After a shaky start with precarious wobbling and a minor drop into a shallow ditch, we were on our way.
We rode to the castle and made a loop around the keep. I pointed out the towers and the moat, and because I was me, I gave a brief history lesson about medieval architecture.
“The moat was the first line of defense, but you also had high towers, battlements, a drawbridge, arrow slits, and more.”
“Amazing. I call the round tower, top floors for the views, please. How about you?”
“I’ll take the next one over.”
Winnie beamed. “We can knock the wall down in between and put up a huge flat-screen.”
Rather than point out the difficulties involved in removing a castle wall, not to mention that this one was a UNESCO World Heritage site, or that I rarely watched television, I nodded solemnly. “Brilliant idea. I’m going to want a life-sized chess set.”
“Only if I can have a bowling alley.”
I pretended to consider his request. “Deal.”
I rode ahead of him, snickering as he whooped with glee behind me.