He Called Us Rival Brides, We Went Home Together novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Candlelit Picnic

Lydia's rehearsed picnic collides with Avery's competitive version on the Common until Duncan turns up with a harp.

Lydia's picnic plan was card number nine, and it required a moon.

"There's no moon at four in the afternoon," I said.

"That's why I brought candles," Lydia said.

We sat on the Common on Tuesday, under an oak, on a plaid blanket the size of a bath mat.

Lydia had arranged a tray of cut strawberries, a loaf of bread and a thermos of tea.

She had also lit seven candles in glass jars.

Behind us a school group crossed the path in a double line.

"Why are we doing a date?" I asked.

"Because Duncan's newsletter says nobody has seen us on one," Lydia said.

"We were on a boat," I said.

"We were on a boat with his name on it," Lydia said. "This one is ours."

I had my own version of the date, and it was in a duffel bag.

I unpacked it between the candles and the bread: a stopwatch, two paper cups and a bag of dice.

"What's that?" Lydia asked.

"A date I can win," I said.

"There's no winning on a date," Lydia said.

"That's why most dates are bad," I said. "Roll."

Lydia looked at the dice for a moment.

Then she picked them up, because she was polite, and rolled a six and a one.

"Seven," I said. "Loser feeds the winner a strawberry."

"That's not romance," Lydia said. "That's a dare."

"It's a dare with a strawberry," I said.

She fed me the strawberry, and I held eye contact the whole time so she would know I meant to win.

A breeze came across the grass and blew out three of the candles.

"It's fine," Lydia said quickly, and relit them with a lighter from her purse.

Her purse clinked, because she had several more lighters in it.

"Why do you carry four lighters?" I asked.

"Because candles are unreliable," Lydia said.

"Then why use them?" I asked.

"Because a candle says I planned this for you," Lydia said.

"So does a lighter," I said.

"A lighter says I planned for the candle to fail," Lydia said.

The wind blew out five candles at once, and a flock of pigeons walked onto the blanket.

There were eleven pigeons, and one of them took the bread.

"Hey," I said. "That's our bread."

The pigeon did not argue.

It stood on the loaf, which was in a paper bag, and began to eat the bag.

Lydia stood up, took off her shoe, and held it by the toe.

"I'm not going to hit it," Lydia said. "I'm only showing it that I could."

"It's a pigeon, Lydia," I said. "It doesn't read."

"Everyone reads a shoe," Lydia said.

I got up too and ran at the pigeon with my arms out.

It flapped to the next blanket, where a man in a suit lifted his sandwich over his head.

I was still holding the bag, and it was empty.

"I won the bread," I said.

"It's in the pigeon," Lydia said.

"I still won," I said.

A woman on a bench began to laugh at us, a real laugh, and then another woman did.

Lydia laughed too, with her hand over her mouth, and her shoulders shook.

Then a pair of flat black shoes, folded in tissue, fell out of her purse onto the blanket.

I picked one up and turned it over, and it was a size nine.

"Those are my size," I said.

"I carry spare shoes," Lydia said.

"In a nine?" I asked.

"In several sizes. In case," Lydia said.

"In case of what?" I asked.

"Of someone's heel," Lydia said.

I held the flats and remembered a regatta where one of my rowers lost a heel.

I had lent her my own shoes and walked a mile in my socks.

I had never once thought to carry spares.

"Thank you," I said.

"They're for emergencies," Lydia said.

Her face had gone pink, and she looked at the grass, not at me.

I did not put the shoes on, but I put them in my bag.

Something in my chest went warm, so I looked around for the pigeon to be annoyed at it.

Then we heard the harp.

It started at the top of the path, a slow, ringing glissando, and the school group stopped walking.

Duncan came across the Common in his gray suit, followed by two men carrying a folding chair each and a woman carrying a harp.

She wore a white dress, and the harp had a gold frame and must have weighed forty pounds.

"I was told you'd be here," Duncan said.

"By whom?" I asked.

"By the newsletter," Duncan said. "I wrote it this morning, and then you came. It's wonderful."

"You wrote it so we'd show up?" I asked.

"I wrote it so you'd have a reason to," Duncan said. "I know how you two are. You can't help it."

He set a chair on each side of our blanket and sat in the middle, on the edge, which crushed the last candle.

The harpist started a waltz.

"Go on," Duncan said, delighted. "Compete. I'll judge."

Lydia looked at me, and I looked at Lydia.

The pigeon stood on the next blanket, finishing the last of our bread, and I think we both felt it watching.

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