“Peppers,” I translated. “Or possibly olives. Basically anything with color that isn’t red.”
“A woman of classic tastes,” Hayes said solemnly. “I respect that.”
Ella nodded, satisfied with this assessment.
“What about you?” He turned those dark eyes on me. “Let me guess. Pineapple?”
“I’m not a monster.” I chuckled. “Honestly, Ella and I have pretty similar tastes.”
I should probably be more embarrassed that my palate matched a second grader’s, but it was what it was. Growing up, dinner had been whatever came easiest—boxed mac and cheese, frozen pizzas, sandwiches assembled with the bare minimum of effort. My dad had never been much of a cook, and after my mom left, we’d survived on simplicity. Some habits were harder to break than others.
Viola returned to our table, pulling out a notepad from her apron. “You decided?”
“One pepperoni pizza, one margherita, and…” He glanced at me.
“A margherita for me as well.”
“And for drinks?”
I shrugged. “I’m driving, so water for me. How about you, Ella, what would you like to drink?”
“Chocolate milk!”
Viola’s face creased into a warm smile. “Coming right up, piccola.”
It wasn’t long until she reappeared with a tray balanced expertly on one hand. “For the little miss,” she announced, setting down the pizza with a flourish.
“What do you say?” I prompted.
“Thank you!” Ella breathed, already reaching for a slice. Strings of cheese connected her mouth to the pizza in an unbroken bridge, and I grabbed a napkin before the inevitable happened, ready to intervene before tomato sauce ended up all over her shirt.
“This might be the best pizza I ever had,” I said, after taking my first bite. The flavors hit my tongue in waves—the sweetness of the tomatoes, the creamy tang of fresh mozzarella, the slight pepper of basil, all balanced on that perfectly charred crust.
“Better than Angeli’s?” Hayes asked, looking amused by the religious experience I was having.
“I never thought I’d say this, but it might be close.”
The rest of the evening slipped by without seemingly any effort at all.
I watched Hayes eat, the way he savored each bite rather than rushing through it. Watched his hands, his fingers elegant and long, the unconscious grace in every movement. Watched the way the firelight caught in his dark hair, bringing out copper undertones I hadn’t noticed before.
Ella made it through three slices before slowing down, her eyelids growing heavy despite her best efforts to stay alert. She leaned against my shoulder, warm and solid, her breathing evening out into something close to sleep. I adjusted my position to accommodate her weight, one arm coming around to keep her steady.
My body felt pleasantly heavy, satisfied in a way that had nothing to do with food and everything to do with the man sitting across from me. With the easy way this evening had unfolded despite—or maybe because of—the detourit had taken.
When Viola brought the check, Hayes didn’t let me see it, just tucked his card inside the folder and handed it back. “Don’t even think about it,” he said when I opened my mouth to protest.
I had a feeling this was going to become a thing with us.
Ella yawned, wide and jaw-cracking. I checked my phone—nearly nine. Later than I’d intended. Mari must be home by now.
“You still want to do the movie?” Hayes asked as we stood.
I looked at Ella, whose eyes were already drooping despite her best efforts. “I don’t think the little one is going to make it.”
The drive to Mari’s apartment passed in comfortable silence punctuated only by Ella’s soft snores from the backseat. My hands were steady on the wheel, but inside, anticipation thrummed through my veins like electricity. Last week had been spontaneous, unplanned. This time, we both knew what waited for us at the end of the night.
I knew I had no reason to feel this way. We’d slept together before. But something about it felt different this time around.
