As they finished class, Dusk came up to give her a hug. She glanced at Patch. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
“Maybe.”
“Oh!” Her eyes brightened. “You work at that new vegan pizzeria. I love the pesto with artichoke hearts and pine nuts. Keep up the good work. Namaste.”
Margot held it in until she got back into her little Honda; then she let it out.
“You finished?” Patch said wryly as she paused to gasp a breath.
“Your f-f-face. When Dusk said namaste.”
That set her off all over again.
He watched her, bemused. “The vegan part is what got me. Vegan pizza. How is that a thing?”
“I know what you mean, but that pizza place is legit.”
“Let me get this straight, you eat vegan pizza. What about the cheese?”
“It’s actually quite delicious. I’ll take you there sometime.”
“Please don’t.” He buckled his seat belt. “Actually, sure. What the hell? Vegan pizza. Can’t be all bad.”
“Well I don’t know about you, but I’m absolutely starving after getting flown around for an hour. Dinner date?”
“When I’m with you I’m doing stuff I never thought about in a million years.”
“You say that like it’s a good thing, Mr. Donnelly.”
He grinned. “That’s because it is.”
The restaurant, Flatiron Pizza, wasn’t far or too busy. No surprise given that it was a Tuesday night. They were seated quickly and Patch deferred to Margot for ordering.
“As long as it doesn’t have any of those acai berries on it, I’ll eat it.”
She ordered them an Indian-style pizza and two iced teas.
“Indian-style?” He quizzed after the waitress walked away.
“It’s the best one they do. There is this coconut curry sauce, and the sausage is—”
“Sausage?” he brightened. “Vegans eat sausage?”
“Sorry,” she chuckled. “It’s more like tofu chorizo. Did you just go pale?”
“I might pass out. I’m eating a pizza with curry and tofu? If anyone in Boston saw me right now, let’s just say it would not be a good situation.”
“You’re so brave.”
It didn’t take long for the pizza to arrive. Margot pushed it to the center of the table. “Do you want to say grace?”
He gave her a sharp look. “Why do you say that?”
She hesitated a second. “Look. I did some more reading about you. I knew you were Catholic, but I didn’t realize you were quite so enrolled–in-a-seminary-for-a-few-months Catholic.”
“Can you see me being a priest?”
She took him in—his size, the restless brutal energy that marked his face, the beard, the magnetic eyes. “Organized religion’s not my thing, but if you led mass, I’d be in your front pew every Sunday, rain or shine.”
