Under the Billionaire's Shelter - Jamie Knight Page 0,6
picnic.
“As should be expected.”
Apparently, Polly took my words as permission and as soon as her feet touched grass, she was back over, trying to hug me. I was too fast for her and was up off the blanket and taking a slow lap around the perimeter of our island in the sea of green before she was within arm’s reach.
Brigid was too busy laughing to even attempt to collect her spawn. No matter though. I didn’t figure a toddler could outlast me, particularly at that speed.
Sure enough, before long she started huffing and puffing, then took the most adorable belly flop, her little legs no longer cooperating with the rest of her body. This necessitated another bout of heartfelt giggling, Polly able to see the humor of her own situation.
“Nice bit of self-awareness,” I said, as Brigid scooped up her very amused daughter.
“I do my best with her.”
Lunch finished, Brigid and I set into dessert with the ferocity of an avenging army. Brigid got a dabble of whipped cream at the corner of her sweet mouth, and I wanted so much to clean it away for her. With my tongue, if possible. I chained the wolf howling within, remembering my civilized side.
“I would like to show you something,” I said, as we cleared up our respective spots.
“On your bike? I don’t think we’ll all fit.”
“It’s within walking distance.”
“Won’t it look, well, odd? Walking down the street with ‘pick-ah-nick’ baskets?”
“Afraid Ranger Smith will catch us?”
“Among other things.”
“Trust me, love. Wicker baskets are far from the weirdest things people have seen me with.”
“Oh, do tell.”
“Let’s just say the boys in blue tend to look askew at a Norse longbow and full quiver of arrows. Even if you are only taking them in for storage at your range. Revolvers, fine, but the weapon used to fell King Harold at the Battle of Hastings? Far too deadly.”
We made sure to keep our six feet apart as I led her to the Crow’s Nest. I descended to the lower level first, maintaining social distancing as well as showing Brigid the best way to tackle the riddle of the stairs.
There really was a trick to it; you just had to know where to put your feet. All safe at the bottom of the chasm, I held the door for Brigid as she got gloves and a mask.
“Letting the ghosts in?” Ola asked.
“Not quite.”
“This is amazing!” Brigid marveled, gazing about the deceptively large shop.
“Bigger on the inside, jellybean,” Ola said.
“Why do you call me that?” Briged asked.
“Your hair,” Ola said.
“My hair?”
“Bright red. Look like strawberry jellybean.”
“Or raspberry,” I pointed out.
“Jelly-been!” Polly exclaimed, clapping.
“I thought I would try something new.”
“It looks really good,” I said.
“Agreed,” Ola opined.
“Oh, I’m sorry, and you are?”
“Ola Hallegrim, Brigid McHaggis. Brigid, this is Ola, my dear friend and the best music vendor in the state.”
“Stop, you make me blush.”
“I speak only the truth.”
“Which can be biggest problem.”
“Agreed,” Brigid concurred.
Splitting up, and staying at least six feet away from each other, we perused the finely crafted racks. Brigid was mostly just amazed that such places still existed.
“I would like to play some of these if I had a record player.”
“That’s always useful.”
“Yuth-ful,” Polly parroted.
“She learns fast,” Ola called from behind the counter.
“Oh, you have no idea. I have my own narration when going through the park. She knows lots of words but her favorite is ‘birdie.’”
The scene was somewhat sullied by the arrival of the Death Bringers. My own term for people who recklessly went out, taking no notice of the social distancing measures, and didn’t seem to even consider any protective measures, such as masks or gloves, like those Ola insisted on.
“Get on mask and glove or get out,” Ola ordered.
“Says who, Helga?” the lead prick demanded.
“Me and Louis,” Ola said, putting a Louisville Slugger down on the counter.
They were clearly shaken but not about to back down. The “bro code” forbade it. She was just a girl, to them, after all.
“Who are you going to get to swing it?”
“Me.”
All heads turned as one as Ola tossed me the bat. The Death Bringers held their ground as I approached, machismo and stupidity gluing them in place.
The lead Death Bringer tried his best, even turning slightly before he swung his punch. I barely felt it. It would take a lot more than that to bring me down.
“My turn,” I said, leaning down several inches so we were eye to eye,