Page 28 of A Fowl Match

“Spot on. And of course I am a foodie.” He takes a huge bite of lasagna to prove his point. “I figured some things out about you too.”

“What’s that?”

“You habitually wear messy buns when you’re comfortable. Your hair is always falling into your eyes, which aids your proclivity to be clumsy. And you don’t let people pass your barriers. Some may try to get close to you, but they don’t know what’s going on underneath it all. I still don’t.”

He is spot on. It’s all true. A little too true. I do put up my walls with people. I don’t like to share everything I’m struggling with. I’d rather put on a smile and keep going.

“You’re right.” I shrug, twirling my fork between my fingers. “So, about this treasure hunt. What’s your plan of attack?” I say between mouthfuls of salad. “I don’t think there is a way to plan for something like this.”

“Well,” he pauses to finish chewing a breadstick. “I think we need to come up with a list of potential clue ideas. Do some research. We can think about how to solve riddles on the spot. So at least we’re a little prepared for what is to come.”

“I didn’t realize you were so good at planning things out,” I say while taking a sip of ice water.

“I was an accountant for eight years. So some could say I’m good with numbers, budgeting, and planning. It all sort of compiled together with my experience.”

“Oh, I had no clue that’s what you did. So, If I ever need small business advice I can come to you?”

“Yeah, I could help. Only because we’re friends now. If you asked me a few days ago I would have said no.” I chuckle and shove his arm.

We both grab seconds as we continue to chat. And I grab a pen and notebook to jot down ideas as we strategize. This is going to be a long night, but I don’t mind it.

“Let's start brainstorming. If you were Constance, what kind of places would you hide things?” I say.

“I don’t know why I have this feeling they’re going to hide the last clue in the chicken coop.”

“Oh! Good point! They always seem to incorporate some type of animal into the mix.” I scribble down that idea. “I also have a feeling they might put a clue in my shop, in a flowerpot or something, since all the stores are free range.”

“That sounds like something they would do. Especially since there are so many plants. It would take forever to find which one had the clue. It would be almost impossible.” He takes a bite of salad as I scribble this idea under another bullet.

“Hey! I don’t have that many pots.” Dustin gives me a knowing stare. “Okay, I do have a lot of pots and plants.”

“Oh. My. God. If I died right now. I would die a happy man. This could be my last meal.”

“Dramatic much.”

“This is the best cheesecake I have ever put in my mouth,” his eyes widen, “but don’t tell my grandmother I said that.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” I put my fork down on the empty plate. “How old are you? Thirty? I think she can handle it.”

“Excuse me, you can’t disrespect her cooking like that, not unless you never want to eat it again. She will not take kindly to insults.”

I chuckle. “Well then my lips are sealed.” I motion to my mouth, zipping it shut.

“Can I have the recipe?”

“Absolutely!”

After a few moments of comfortable silence he asks, “I have a random question, who calls you Vivi? I always hear Olive call you by the nickname. Where did it start from?”

“It’s actually not that interesting.” I smile, “I guess it had a funny start. Owen (Olive’s brother) has a daughter, her name’s Octavia. She’s two. She couldn’t pronounce my name when they brought her into my flower shop. She would call me Vi. And it turned into Vivi. Olive started using the nickname. Everyone picked it up within a few days. They’ve called me that ever since.”

“I like it. Short and sweet. Just like you.”

“Aw…shucks. You’re making me blush.”

His phone starts ringing. The sound breaks through the silence. “I gotta take this, it's my grandpa,” he says and I nod. “Hello?—Hello?—Hello?—Hello?” he says into the phone over and over again. “Yes. I’ll be home soon. Okay. Bye.”

“Is everything okay?”

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