They found Annie sitting at the maid's station, writing on a notepad obviously borrowed from Mrs. Greer.
"Hullo," she smiled cheerfully when she saw them. "I'm just working on my list. You haven't changed your mind, have you?"
"Certainly not!"
Oliver felt mildly affronted that the girl apparently had so little faith in him. But then, he'd always emphasized how important and busy a man he was. This change in him would take a while to sink in, no doubt.
"Then…could we really have a picnic in the garden? For lunch? I think that would be relaxing, and you said we all need to rest."
Oliver chuckled. "You make a very good argument, Annie. Not that you need one. What do you think, Grace?"
The woman beamed. "I'll speak to Mrs. Pugh. Why don't you come with me, Annie, in case you have any special requests for the menu?"

Mrs. Pugh was very willing to accommodate Annie's requests for lemonade and sandwiches and cream puffs. She was not, however, entirely sold on the idea of a picnic.

"It's going to rain within the next hour, you mark my words. When you get to my age, you can feel it in your bones," the cook insisted, darkly.
Grace relayed this warning to Oliver.
"Mrs. Pugh was quite adamant…but honestly, the sky could hardly be bluer. And this is the first thing Annie's asked of us. I'd hate to say no."
"Of course we're not going to let her down! What Annie wants, Annie shall have. Mrs. Pugh is a cook, not a meteorologist."
Grace chuckled. "In that case, we'll meet you in the garden. I hope you like lemonade."

Drake had provided them with a picnic blanket, and a large wicker basket full of provisions. Oliver had had no idea that such things were anywhere in his house. He could not remember the last time he'd done something so frivolous as have a picnic. But he quickly saw the appeal, with Annie and Grace as his companions. He spread out the blanket on the neatly-mown grass, and Grace and Annie unpacked their picnic feast.

"This was an excellent idea, Annie," Grace smiled as she poured the lemonade. And clearly she meant it; she was practically glowing with happiness. She was awfully pretty in that summery dress, too, Oliver couldn't help but notice.
"I agree. Although I must admit, I'm not used to sitting on the ground this way."
He felt a little ungainly and undignified, and as though he was surely too old to be sitting like this. His knees always seemed to get in the way, which was never a problem when he dined at the Waldorf. But this was worth it. His pride was nothing when it came to pleasing Annie.

All the same, he did feel quite overdressed for this casual activity on this sunny day. He'd at least had the foresight to take off his jacket, but even his crisp shirt now felt too formal, and rather oppressive in the day's warmth. After a moment's thought, Oliver unclipped his cufflinks and began to roll up his sleeves.

He caught Grace's eye quite by accident. She was staring at him. At his forearms, specifically. When she suddenly realized he'd caught her doing so, she quickly averted her gaze, blinking rapidly – but she couldn't hide the color rising in her cheeks. Oliver tried to control his own expression, but it was very difficult not to feel smug.

He had never thought of himself as particularly attractive. In the past, he'd assumed that any interest he received from the opposite sex was purely on account of his fortune. But there was no mistaking that look in Grace Farrell's eye… Suddenly, Oliver felt like a king.

"Would you like a sandwich, Mr. Warbucks?"
"Oh – yes, thank you, Annie."
He took one, and tried to refocus. That became easier when, after a moment's silence, he noticed that Annie was looking a little uncertain. She finished chewing, then spoke.
"Mr. Warbucks…just to check… Am I back with you to stay?"

Oliver could have kicked himself. Why hadn't he clarified earlier? He supposed he'd assumed it was a foregone conclusion. He glanced across at Grace, and saw a similar regret reflected in her eyes. He answered quickly, speaking as clearly as possible.
"Well, yes, Annie. That is, if you'd like to stay."
The instant, obvious relief on the little girl's face tugged at his heart. Oh, thank God.

"I would! I really would. I know I said no the last time, but…well, that was before." Annie looked down at her plate. "I think my folks would be glad to know I was being looked after by really swell people. And there's no one I'd like more in the whole world than you, Mr. Warbucks. And you, Miss Farrell," the girl added, looking earnestly at both of them.
Grace smiled tremulously. "Oh, Annie… You know, if you like, you can call me Grace."
Annie beamed. "Really? Alright! It's such a pretty name."

"Well then, now that that's all sorted out…" Oliver chuckled, trying to cover how affected he had been by this exchange. "Why don't you tell us what else is on that list of yours? We have a whole week to fill up, you know."
"Oh, a few things. But do you have any ideas? You should really get to pick some, too."

"I have an idea," volunteered Grace, her eyes still bright. "Now, I haven't exactly run this by Mr. Warbucks, but I don't think he'll mind…"
She glanced across at him, and Oliver could tell that Grace was well aware he'd find it difficult to say no to her.

"My thought was… Is there anything you'd like to change in your room, Annie? Now that you're here permanently, I mean. To make it feel more your own. Furnishings, flowers, bedclothes, color scheme?"
Annie's brow furrowed in thought. "Not really… It's the nicest room I've ever had! Although…"
"Yes?"
"Well, maybe the dressing room, off to the side… Could…could that be pink?"

Grace looked to Oliver, a mixture of hope and a certain domestic delight glittering in her eyes. He could not have refused her, even if he'd wanted to.
"I'm sure that can be arranged," he smiled, shrugging and making a show of giving in. "I'll have Saunders fetch some paint samples – you can choose the shade – and then, once the walls are stripped and prepared, I'll help paint it myself."
Annie gawped. "You, Mr. Warbucks?"
Grace looked surprised too, and Oliver felt the foolish urge to impress them.
"Me. I am the son of a railyard worker, Annie; I can certainly paint a wall. In fact, why don't we all do a little bit together, with help from the staff? It could be a team effort."
"That's a wonderful idea," Grace nodded, beaming. "I'll speak to Saunders about the paint, once we're back inside. But first, I need to try some of Mrs. Pugh's cream puffs…"

She had just taken her first bite when there was a sudden – a very sudden – roll of thunder. No sooner had they all looked up in alarm than the quickly darkening sky opened above them.

It was a downpour. Annie squealed, and they all leapt to their feet as quickly as possible. Grace made an attempt at gathering up their plates, but there were too many things to pack, and the rain was coming down too heavily.
"Leave it!" Oliver shouted over the tumult. "We'll fetch it later. Come on!"
He grabbed Annie's hand, and then Grace's, and together they set off at a run. Oliver set his sights on the nearest tree, and pulled them underneath the cover of its branches.

Standing beneath their makeshift shelter, dripping wet, they all looked at each other in shock. Then Grace started to laugh. Next Annie started giggling, and soon they were all laughing, quite hysterically. Grace's hair was plastered to her head, and he could feel his own wet shirt sticking to his shoulders. It was ridiculous, but Oliver couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so…free.

"We should have listened to Mrs. Pugh," Grace gasped amid her laughter, pushing her wet hair back from her face.
"I don't know what you mean, Miss Farrell. I, for one, am having an excellent time. The best picnic I've had in years!"
Annie laughed at this bravado, and Oliver found that he wanted to impress them both again.
"Now look, I have a plan. All we need to do is run from tree to tree. There are plenty of trees between here and the house. We'll be home and dry – well, home in any case – before we know it."

So that was how they did it, running madly through the pouring rain clutching each other's hands. Laughing; stopping to catch their breath beneath each tree; Grace trying to shelter Annie with an arm around her shoulders. By the time they had dashed up the terrace steps and into the house, all three of them were soaked to the skin.

Drake met them, carrying an umbrella.
"It's a bit late for that, Drake," observed Oliver drily, and the girls burst out laughing again.
Drake clearly didn't know what to make of the scene before him: Mr. Warbucks soaked through, but making jokes instead of raging? Miss Farrell looking far less composed than she usually did, but also ten times happier? Apparently all the butler could think to say was, "You make a good point, sir."
"Drake, have one of the maids run Annie a bath, and another set out some dry clothes," Grace managed, finding her composure again with some effort. "And make sure there are fresh towels for all of us."
"Yes, Miss," nodded Drake, and hurried on his way.

"Annie, you go straight upstairs to your bath, now. We don't want you catching cold!" Grace insisted, reaching out affectionately to stroke the child's bedraggled curls. "Mrs. Greer and the maids will look after you."
"Alright. Thank you both for a really excellent picnic!"

They chuckled fondly as they watched her go, water pooling with each step on the marble floors behind her. Oliver turned to face the woman he was now alone with, and when he did, he found that he felt suddenly short of breath. He hadn't noticed while they'd been focused on getting out of the storm, but Grace looked…well, like something out of a particularly heated dream.

Her cheeks were pink from the cold, and from running across the lawn. Her hair was wet, but somehow still beautiful. Her blue eyes were bright with laughter. The bare skin of her neck glistened with raindrops. And her dress, which had been a flimsy thing to start with, was now clinging to her body. In a way that was definitely going to feature in his dreams.

Oliver had always considered himself a gentleman, and he had every intention of continuing that way. But he allowed himself one moment to stare, before dragging his eyes back up to her face.
"Uh…I suppose we-we should go and dry off, too," he stammered, feeling like an adolescent.
"I suppose so," Grace agreed, looking down at her sopping skirt and swishing it slightly. "Thank you for today, Oliver," she smiled up at him. Then she quickly looked around to double-check they were alone, reached up on her tiptoes, and kissed his cheek.

Oliver watched her go until she was out of sight, not giving a damn about his own uncomfortably wet clothes.

I am absolutely done for.

And the funny thing was, he didn't mind a bit.