Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“I’ll have that,” Gianna says. “Does it come with fries?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Great.”
“What about you, sir?” Raffi asks.
I slide the menus to the edge of the table. “Let’s keep it easy and make it two.”
“Awesome. I’ll get that in. In the meantime, you’re welcome to start your fireplace if you’d like. Just flip this button,” she says, pointing at a red switch. “Open the valve right there gently and then press the igniter.”
“Thanks, Raffi,” I say.
She nods. “It’s my pleasure.”
“Have I ever told you that I love fire?” Gianna asks, turning on the fireplace. “In high school, I collected lighters. My mother found them eventually and told my dad who was convinced I was doing heroine or something, and all hell broke loose.” She opens the valve … a little too wide. “It was a bad couple of weeks for me after that.”
“Hey, that valve is a little—shit!” A whoosh roars from the center of the table as soon as Gianna pushes the igniter. Flames shoot to the sky in all their blue and orange glory, sending waves of heat in all directions. “Turn the valve down.”
Her giggle is all I can make out on the other side of the blaze.
I lean to the side, the heat frying my face, and lower the intensity. “Is this your way of telling me you’re a pyromaniac?”
“I swear,” she says, still in a fit of giggles. “I did not mean to do that. You should’ve warned me.”
“Raffi said gently. You just flung that thing open like you knew what you were doing. I was letting you have it.” I can’t help but laugh, too. That giggle is infectious. “I’ll always take your side, but I can kind of see your dad’s point with the lighters.”
She taps a napkin beneath her eyes. “He probably was right in retrospect. I was a little wild as a child, and having lighters was probably—definitely—a bad idea.”
“You’re like my sister Evie. She could burn a place down with an ice cube. The last thing she needs is a match.”
“How many sisters do you have?” she asks.
“Two. Elodie and Evie. Evie, by the way, is a big Gianna fan.”
“Oh, I love her. She’s my favorite sister of yours.”
I laugh. “What about you?”
“Just Lucia.” Her brows tug together. “I wouldn’t say she’s my best friend because that’s Astrid and Audrey. But Lucia and I are close in a different way.”
“Yeah, you’re family. I get it.”
She makes a sound as if that’s not quite right. “Maybe. We grew closer when our parents died, and we had to deal with all of that together. And now it’s just her and me, you know? We don’t have an extended family because our parents were never home long enough to facilitate one.” She takes a quick sip of her tea. “So maybe you’re right. Maybe it is because we’re family.”
I clear my throat as a heaviness sinks into my chest. “That will happen with my sisters and me, too. Probably sooner than I want to think about it.”
“Why?”
“My dad has dementia.”
The words drop between us like a lead balloon. It’s the first time I’ve said those words out loud to someone without the last name Bennett. Saying them aloud to Gianna feels like I’ve let something out of a box that I can never put back, and I’m not sure how I feel about that.
She reaches across the table and places her hand on mine. “I’m sorry, Drake.”
I roll my palm over and lace our fingers together once again, giving them a gentle squeeze. Then I pull my hand away.
“Thanks,” I say. “He’s in the early stages, and we’re all still trying to adjust. It’s hardest on my mom, of course. But she’s handling it like the champ she is.”
“That would be awful. My grandmother had dementia, and it’s tough. My parents moved her into a nursing home close to us, and she lived there for years.” She takes an uneven breath. “When Mom and Dad died, they were just gone. But it was like we lost Grandma over and over. It’s heartbreaking.”
“Guess I have that to look forward to.”
She winces. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“No. I’m glad you did. Now I won’t feel bad calling you when I’m sad.” I smile. “Can I ask what happened to your parents?”
“Yeah. They were on vacation and driving in the mountains. A deer jumped the guardrail and ran right in front of them. They were in heavy traffic, going about eighty, the police think. And Dad had nowhere to go.” She frowns. “I was nineteen.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you.”
She sits back as Raffi returns with our burgers. Our drinks are refilled, extra napkins placed on the table, and then we’re alone again.
We eat quietly for a while, tucking into our meal and our thoughts. I hate that the levity of our conversation was ruined, but I’m glad we shared our experiences. It’s nice to know she understands what I’m going through, and I’m happy to know more about where she’s coming from. It helps.