Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 84670 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84670 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
“Did you move here recently?” The woman appeared to be in her early thirties, her hair cut into a cute bob, while the man beside her was younger.
“About six months ago.”
She nodded and waved her hand. “You really should go to the zoo. It’s one of the top ranked in the entire country. Plus, the Festival of Lights is the best. They’ve decorated the entire zoo in millions of little lights.”
“Plus, there’s Fiona,” the man said, as if it were obvious.
“Fiona?” The name alone sent a chill down my spine. I doubted he was talking about my ex-wife.
“Fiona, the baby hippo,” he continued.
“Well, she’s not a baby anymore,” the woman corrected. “But she was born a preemie. No one thought she was going to survive, but she beat the odds. She’s got so much spunk. She’s the city’s cutest princess, and now she has a baby brother named Fritz.”
Holy shit, this whole city is devoted to hippos.
Rome wrapped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me in close. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure he learns all about Fiona and the zoo.”
The couple smiled and nodded before turning to their station again.
In the lowest voice I could manage, I leaned into Rome and asked, “Is it all that great?”
He had to understand. Originally, he’d been an outsider like me.
“Yeah, it is,” he whispered.
Okay. Apparently, I needed to check out this zoo.
“Don’t worry about it. I still don’t get their obsession with chili. It’s not my thing.”
“No, no,” I interrupted, pulling out of his hold. His hand was burning through my shirt, and I couldn’t breathe. “I like the chili. Especially the coneys with the giant mound of cheddar cheese. That makes sense. I didn’t know about the zoo and the hippo.”
“You’ll learn.” Rome paused and took another drink of his wine. “Next week is Thanksgiving. You headed back to see your folks?”
I shrugged. “Probably.”
Actually, no. I had no intention of heading home to see my family. Being away from my family had given me a surprising sense of freedom, like being able to relax for the first time since returning home after college. I wanted to spend a quiet Thanksgiving alone. Possibly make a tiny Thanksgiving dinner for me. That was it.
But I couldn’t admit that to Rome and put up with his snickering at me.
Or worse, a pity invitation to whatever his holiday plans were.
No, this white lie was much safer.
“What about you? Going to Rhode Island to see your parents?”
“Not this year. My parents are going to be in Denmark.” He paused, his brow furrowing. “Or the Netherlands? Norway?”
“Those are three very different countries, Rome.”
“No shit,” he scoffed. “But I don’t remember. They’re going out of the country at the end of November through all of December. My mom wants to travel, and Dad is in the mood to check out the Christmas markets in a bunch of European countries. I think the plan is to catch up on New Year’s Eve. For Thanksgiving, I’m going to wrangle some friends together for dinner. I think Declan is cooking up some kind of big Christmas extravaganza for his fiancé and their daughter. It’s going to be Joy’s first Christmas, and I think Declan is worried Parker is going to be sad about missing his friend, who also happens to be Joy’s mother.”
There was a hell of a lot to unpack in that. Before I could wade into that mess, the instructor rounded us up to roll out the dough. The impending holidays were forgotten as we bickered about the correct thinness of the dough. Once it was perfect, we argued over cutting the noodles the proper width.
As Rome was slicing the dough for noodles, I got the water in the small pot boiling and heated the other pan to melt the butter used in the Alfredo sauce. We fell into an easy rhythm, our bickering turning to teasing as he tossed in the noodles to cook while I stirred the butter, garlic, heavy cream, and parmesan together to make a nice cream sauce.
The scent of the cheese and garlic bubbled together to make my stomach growl. This smelled so good, and Rome was bouncing on the balls of his feet next to me, dying to dig his fork in for a taste.
“How much longer?” Rome whined.
“Soon. The noodles need another minute. You get the colander ready and grab the plates.”
Rome softly squealed and snagged the two blue plates that had been set aside for us and added the colander in the sink. After one last test of the firmness of the fettucine, I had him pour the noodles into the sieve while I stirred the sauce. As soon as he had a proper nest of pasta in the center of each plate, I poured a portion of the rich, creamy white sauce on the fettucine. It smelled like heaven. As good as anything I’d eaten in a restaurant.