Spies in Sandals [Book Four]

Chapter Five: Ordering Off the Menu Never Goes As Planned

Hi! Well, I was up till midnight last night writing this but I skipped school today to drive my brother back to college, so that ended up fine. And I'm praying we have a snow day tomorrow *crosses fingers* anyway, this chapter ended up being loads longer than expected, but that's not a bad thing, right? Hope you like it!! I'm pretty excited for what it sets up in upcoming chapters...hehe :D Please let me know what you think!

I don't have a pic for this chapter, but if anyone has any suggestions for a male dark-haired Italian-looking actor, feel free to comment (you'll meet the character in this chapter)

Gracias! <3 vb123321

Chapter Five

Ordering Off the Menu Never Goes as Planned

"This," I announced, spinning in a slow circle as I surveyed the area, "is not a hall."

Patrick smiled as he tucked his phone into his pocket long enough to point out a large, old building a block or two away. "That's the literal Faneuil Hall, Nat, the original historical hall. This" – he gestured around at the sprawling lot of vendors, stalls, fountains, and greenery all in the midst of a busy road – "is Faneuil Hall marketplace."

"Huh." I eyed the booths advertising jewelry, clothes, and food. "Is it, like, the Navy Pier of Boston?"

"Guess you could say that."

Patrick was already returning to his phone, clearly bored by one of the most fascinating cities I'd ever been to. We'd arrived at the hotel before noon, and while Jer had to report to the Northeast CIA agency at once, he said we could use the afternoon to tour the city, much to my surprise. I dunno what I'd been expecting – probably long interrogations or torture sessions that included being forced to listen to Emily Dickinson poems – but not sightseeing.

However, I wasn't complaining, even when I got a little nauseous from driving along Boston's crazily twisting roads that didn't seem to believe in traffic signals. Patrick regaled us with some historical facts – "these roads are said to be built on old cow paths" – that were mostly for me, since Jack and Zach already knew the city inside and out, apparently.

We'd managed to find a parking space along Atlantic Avenue and had walked up the street to the flourishing marketplace to find lunch. I didn't know what to look at – the beautiful water sparkling by the wharf to my right, the temptations from the vendors to my left, or the multitudes of people passing by on all sides. The smell of salt drifted in from the ocean, the hot sun intensifying as time passed, my t-shirt sticking to my skin.

"I need food," said Jack impatiently, snatching Patrick's phone away from him. "You've got the money – where do you want to go?"

"Give me that," he grumbled, taking his phone back. "I don't care. Find some vendor selling sandwiches or something. Zach, what're you feeling?"

Zach shrugged, his hands buried in his pockets and his sunglasses shading his eyes as he stood observing the busy street. "I'm not that hungry. Whatever is fine."

"All right, I'll find something. Give me the money."

Jack wiggled her fingers at Patrick, the other hand perched on her hip. She wore a blue tank top that matched her eyes and jean shorts that were attracting many admiring looks from young male passersby, but Patrick, to his credit, didn't seem fazed.

"No way," he said. "I'll come with you."

Huffing, Jack tossed her red hair over her shoulder in a familiar gesture and began striding toward the various booths. Patrick glanced at Zach and me, saying, "You guys can walk around this place a little if you want to. Let's meet up at that park across the street for lunch in about twenty minutes, all right?"