Page 51 of Autumn at the Cat Cafe
Shakespeare in middle school? He really was a smart guy. “Mom never liked the name or character of Cleopatra. Although Cleo is a cute nickname.”
“Via suits you better.”
She thought so too.
“What literary work is Theodora from?” he asked.
“A movie from the 1950s. My grandpa is a movie buff.”
“Ah. And Fergus? Movie? Book?”
“Dad’s best friend from elementary school. Ferguson Shinglehoffer.”
He froze, still holding the pumpkin. “Seriously?”
“Very. But Fergus is just Fergus. No -son.”
“Fergus suits him,” he said. “He’s rather imposing.”
“Don’t let the lumberjack exterior fool you. He’s a big smush on the inside.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Your turn to explain your name, Leonardo,” she said, moving the cart to another pile. Maybe the pickings would be better here. Not that the other pile was bad, but none of them appealed.
“Constance—my mother—thought it was regal. Little did she know I’d spend my entire childhood and a good chunk of adulthood being asked where Raphael, Donatello, and Michelangelo were.”
She grinned. “Did you ever watch the cartoon?”
“In college. I wasn’t allowed to watch TV growing up.”
“Really? NoSesame Street?”
“Nope.”
“Bugs Bunny?”
“Nyet.”
“Spider-Man?Batman?Superman?”
“Nada. I did watch some of those in school, behind my parents’ back, of course. I was such a rebel.”
Via grinned and examined the pumpkins again. She could hear Sir purring in the catpack.
Leo picked up another less-than-perfect pumpkin. “What about this one?”
She looked it over. “It will do.”
He placed it on the cart. “I had no idea you were such a picky pumpkin picker.”
“A picky pumpkin picker in Pumpkin Paradise, you mean.”
“A picky pumpkin picker in Pumpkin Paradise picking the plumpest of pumpkins.”
She laughed. “I don’t think I can top that.”
“You probably shouldn’t. We would be here all day trying to out-pumpkin-pick each other.” He pointed to another one, slightly bigger than the other two on the cart. “Does this one meet your standards?”
