Page 39 of A Game Plan for Love

Her mouth opens and closes, like a fish out of water, but she’s saved from response when my friends return, and Sawyer hands her a snow cone. She digs in, and I lift a brow, waiting for her response to my questioning.

She points at her full mouth and shrugs.

Nora sits at the table with a wicked smile and a massive tower of ice cream covered in rainbow sprinkles. I survey the suspects. Which one of them gave her two scoops?

“Maren got metwoscoops and sprinkles!” Nora yells.

That was an easy investigation.

“We said one scoop,” I say, glaring at Maren.

Maren sits beside Nora, unfazed by my disappointment.

“Maren said ‘I don’t have to listen to Decy’ and got two scoops. I tried to tell her it was against the rules,” Nora garbles, mouth full of ice cream.

Addie and I look at Maren. “She cheered and said ‘No rules!’”

“Sounds like my daughter,” Addie sighs, “You can have the ice cream,”—Nora and Maren cheer—“if you eat all of your zucchini for dinner.”

Nora sticks her tongue out in disgust.

“Oh, I love zucchini!” Jack says, “Grows great in the greenhouse.”

There’s a pause where Nora inspects Jack for any potential lies, finds nothing, then turns back to Addie.

“I’ll eat the zucchini,” Nora mumbles, then takes a massive bite of ice cream.

Addie shifts to mouth,Thank you,to Jack from behind Nora’s back.

He winks, and as everyone eats their ice cream, Nora tells them about summer camp, and our Olive Garden date. Everyone ‘oh’s’ and ‘ah’s’ as she tells her stories, and I watch, as Nora wraps every one of my friends around her small finger.

The same way she did with me.

CHAPTER 11

Fallin’ For You – Colbie Caillat

Addie

“Whatvegetabledoyouwant to eat this week?”

Nora darts around the produce area, weaving around the cart to look at the selection of veggies with thinly veiled disgust. The vegetable section is packed with people, and Nora continues to run off and look at different fruits, asking what each is and how they taste.

She skids to a stop in front of my cart, and I rip back the metal before it hits her in the gut.

By some miracle, she’s chosen to wear pants and a pink T-shirt rather than the princess dress that’s starting to emit a sour scent. I washed it twice this morning, and the odor still lingers, no matter how much detergent I throw at it.

“Zucchini.”

Did my daughter just say she wanted zucchini?

“You want to eat zucchini for dinner this week?” I repeat, just to make sure I’m hearing her correctly.

After hertwoscoops of ice cream last night, she came home and ate her vegetables without any complaint, but I thought it was a one-off. She was tired, her energy spent telling everyone about her stickers and her date to Olive Garden with Decy.

I have no idea where she came up with the nickname, but he beams every time she calls him that, and something in my chest warms at the sight.

“Jack likes zucchini,” she hums, turning to face the display where the zucchini lives.

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