Chapter 69

Rosalie was as awkward about feeding the ducks as Zoey had hoped she would be. Rosalie didn’t say it outright, but her furrowed brow as she tossed breadcrumbs into the water and watched the animals quack and swarm showed how she felt: mostly perplexed. It was a very Rosalie reaction.

Zoey was just glad she was humoring her, seeing how much of a ‘waste of time’ she must view all this. Though, her shoulders definitely seemed to have loosened from their usual ram-rod straightness. And there was a hint of a smile mixed in with her vague amusement and confusion. Zoey counted that as a win.

The ravenous beasts glutted, Zoey and Rosalie strolled away from the lake, headed for the spot she and Maddy had picked out for the picnic. They took a casual pace, chatting.

“I can’t believe how easy you’re making that look,” Zoey said, nodding at Rosalie’s shoes. Heels in grass—Zoey could barely manage heels on flat tiles.

Rosalie looked down then back up, as if not understanding what Zoey was referencing, at first.

Which was kind of her point. “Your heels. How do you do it? You’re like a ... a panther.” Well, not the best comparison, but it’d been the one that popped into her head.

Rosalie raised her eyebrows.

“You’ve got this ... fluid grace. When you move.” Zoey shrugged. “It’s impressive. But you’re sure it’s not a problem?”

“I already told you why I’m wearing them.”

“You’re not that much shorter than me.” Zoey paused. Well, that was a lie. “You’re just ... fun sized,” she amended.

Rosalie glared at her.

Zoey laughed. She really wasn’t that short—only a bit shorter than the average girl. Zoey was just tall. Had been, even before Ephy’s transformation, which had added another few inches. At least, from what she could tell. She hadn’t exactly busted out the measuring tape.

“I’m the shortest in my family,” Rosalie muttered. “You’re not allowed to tease me over it. I get enough of it from my sisters.”

Zoey nodded solemnly. “Don’t worry. You’ll have me for the top shelf, now. You won’t need to ask them anymore.”

Another glare, which Zoey smirked back at—and which made Rosalie blush.

Reaching their destination—a large oak tree with a sprawling shadow—Zoey set out the checkered blanket and laid down the picnic basket.

“Hope you’re hungry,” Zoey said, sitting and stretching her arms wide, working out her muscles. They were aching from ... well, all the chaos of the past few days. “But save space for dessert. You like ice cream?”

As it turned out, this world did have that, though it wasn’t as popular as back home. Still, Maddy helped her track down a tiny restaurant near the park, which they’d be heading to after the picnic and finger-painting debacle.

“I’ve had it,” Rosalie said. “Not often. I usually watch my diet, strictly. But it’s,” she paused. “Fine.” She shrugged.

Zoey nodded in passive realization. Obviously, as part of her training growing up, Rosalie had kept an intense regiment, including food. That lean, fighting figure of hers hadn’t come about by accident. Or through a magical transformation, like Zoey’s had.

“Well. Today’s for cutting loose. We’ll make up for it tomorrow.”

Which brought up something Zoey hadn’t considered. While Zoey hadn’t been in horrible shape back home, Ephy’s transformation had left her much better off. Did it need to be maintained? Or was it an ongoing blessing—could she pig out and keep her figure? That’d be pretty awesome, but it was hard to test in any reasonable time frame. Unless she really indulged.

Rosalie hummed at Zoey’s response, continuing to humor her. She wasn’t not having fun, Zoey thought, but dates in general weren’t really ‘Rosalie’, much less ‘day-at-the-park and cute picnic’ dates. Though, Rosalie had been the one to ask, so Zoey wasn’t discouraged.

Or, kind of, she’d been the one to ask. Technically, Zoey had ... but Rosalie had bludgeoned her over the head to get her to do so. Her lips quirked at the memory—at Rosalie being upset Delta had ‘gotten the first date’.

“You ever been on a picnic?” Zoey asked. “Or is this your first?”

Rosalie paused as she considered the question. “Well,” she said. “Do outdoor banquets count? Of a political sort?”

“Did you sit on a blanket?”

“Certainly not.”

“In chairs?”

“That is the other option.”

“Well, I meant a picnic bench.”

Rosalie paused. “No. A regular table.”

“Then I’d say that doesn’t count.”

“Is that what makes a picnic? A bench or a blanket?”

“I mean, kind of?” Not really, since a picnic was really just an outdoor meal ... so Rosalie was probably right. “Or, I guess not. But yeah, pretty much.”

“At least you’re consistent.”

Zoey laughed and finished unpacking the food she’d brought. It wasn’t much: a freshly baked loaf of bread with accompanying butter and jam, cheese, crackers, and fruit. Light foods, but plenty to snack on.

“And finally...” Zoey said, withdrawing the last item and presenting it. “Ta-da. I hope you’re not a wine snob, because one, I don’t know anything about wine, especially with amnesia, and two, I’m poor, so it’s cheap.” She grinned, waggling it. “But I thought it fit the intended ambiance.”