Page 69 of Dear Pink

“Two hundred dollars smaller?”

I take a deep breath and ready myself to explain. I should tell him the whole story, but it’s too complicated. If I tell him the Libby saga, I’ll have to walk him through the shock and watch him feel sorry for me . . . for Libby. I don’t want his pity.

“What if it’s half a million dollars?” I say.

“Can I split the money or do I have to donate the full amount?”

“Hmm. Interesting. What if you could split it?”

“Much easier,” Gabe says immediately. “I would give half to Operation Kindness and the other half to the Pet Orphanage.”

“Say it’s fifty thousand?” I counter.

“I’m still giving the cash to a non-profit?”

I take a huge sip of my room temperature coffee. “You can do anything with the cash, but nothing for you or for your acquaintances. Give it to strangers on the street, donate to a charitable organization, start your own circus.”

“The circus? No way. Unless I used the money to abolish every last circus.”

I smile at his zealous love for ethical animal practices. “Okay, no circus. Performance art instead.”

Gabe chuckles, and the sound hits me in the gut. His deep voice reminds me of his moans in my ear.

“So, I can pick anything?”

“Anything.” I bite my tongue at the expression he gives me. It’s his happy grin. He relishes this game.

“My go-to is usually animals,” he says.

“Of course, but what else . . . who else?” I watch his brain work, and I resist the urge to throw him on the table and kiss him.

“Food pantries, school lunch programs, arts programming, cancer research. Oh, there’s a student theatre company downtown that could use the support.” He holds out his hand and ticks off a finger for each one. “Health clinics, FASD research, Red Cross, Guide Dog Foundation, Sierra Club.”

I can’t help it. I laugh at him.

“What?” he fake whines. “This is serious. It’s imperative we spend this hypothetical money.”

“What if I told you the money isn’t hypothetical? What if you had . . . fifty grand in your pocket?”

“I would certainly leave a huge tip for this breakfast.” He glances at the glass stand on the counter. “And order a piece of pie.”

“Pie with brunch?”

“Pie is an ‘anytime food.’”

“Like chocolate?” I tease.

“Yep. And apples.”

“Can’t argue with that logic.”

He jumps from our table and leans over the long Formica bar. He waves over the first person he sees. “May we have two pieces of pie? Chocolate and apple.” He turns around, grinning from ear to ear.

“My favorite ‘anytime’ flavors,” I say, watching him slide into the booth.

Our pies arrive, and we both put a piece in our mouths.

“Sooooo delicious,” we say in unison and laugh.

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