Page 77 of Landing Love

Finn looked from one of them to the other and smiled knowingly.

“Did you know that chickens originally came from China?” Bill said, cutting off a thigh for his plate. “This is quite an exotic feast by ancient standards.”

“Why do you know so much about chickens?” Ann asked, unable to contain her incredulousness.

“Why shouldn’t I make it my business to know about one of the most common foods we eat? I think it’s fascinating.”

Ann smiled and shook her head. “You’re making it all up, aren’t you?”

Bill shrugged. “Maybe I am, but it would make for a fascinating fact, wouldn’t it?”

“Interesting that you use the word ‘fact.’”

“Ah, Ann. I solemnly swear to tell you the truth about the things that matter. But I can’t turn off all my nonsense like a kitchen faucet. When it comes to chickens, I can’t seem to help myself.”

“Duly noted,” she said with a grudging smile. “You can spout as much nonsense as you like about chickens.”

“Did you know chickens howl at night when they see a full moon?”

She chuckled.

“Did you know they can recite Shakespeare if you feed them cherry pie at dawn on a Thursday?”

Her laughter grew.

“You know, you can get a chicken to dance a jig if you blink at it three times while looking it straight in the eye.”

Now, she was laughing so hard, she wasn’t sure she could ever stop.

“Go on with you,” said Finn with a wave of his hand at his son, laughing almost as hard as Ann.

Not a serious word was spoken for the rest of the meal. Ann could hardly eat for laughing.

As they left the O’Donnells’ she leaned into her husband, hanging on his arm. “My life with you will never be dull. Of that I can be sure.”

“Absolutely certain. I am many things, but no one has accused me of being dull. I want to give you your surprise when we get home.”

Oh dear. “Not another cake,” she said, hand on her belly.

He laughed. “No, it’s not cake, my lady. It’s something special that I commissioned.”

Commissioned? What could it be?

“I’m intrigued. Tell me more.”

“It’s smaller than a bread box.”

She darted him a look.

“It isn’t blue.”

“Smaller than a bread box and it isn’t blue. Well that narrows it down,” she said with an arched eyebrow.

“It isn’t jewelry, if that’s what you’re thinking. This is a more personal gift.”

“I can’t imagine what it is,” she said as they climbed the stairs to the apartment.

She put Junior down in his crib where he cooed at his bunny, and she sat down at the tiny kitchen table.