“No, it’s actually hilarious in retrospect.” She shrugs. “I mean, I literally put my face on every jar. So now there are thousands of little Nicole Farrarahs out there, stinking up bathroom cabinets across America.”
Tony arrives with our pizza, saving me from having to formulate a response. The slices are massive—folded paper plates barely containing the rivers of cheese and sauce. Nicole immediately grabs a napkin and dabs at a string of cheese hanging from her slice.
“So worth it,” she says after her first bite, eyes closed.
I take a bite of my own slice and nearly groan. The crust is somehow both crispy and chewy, the sauce tangy without being too acidic, and the blend of meats and cheese is perfect.
“This might be the best pizza I’ve ever had,” I admit. “Though, Texas isn’t exactly known for its pizza.”
Nicole grins triumphantly. “Right? I told you, Paulie’s doesn’t need Instagram. They have actual flavor.”
Cocoa whines softly at our feet, eyeing the pizza.
“Don’t even think about it,” Nicole reprimands. “You already ate my sandwich.”
We sit in comfortable silence, both savoring our slice.
Nicole takes another bite, then asks, “So, have you settled into California life, or are you missing the South?”
I hesitate. I’m not used to being this transparent with people I barely know. But something about the way she’s looking at me—genuinely interested, not just making conversation—makes me answer honestly.
“I miss home. My brother is still in Texas. Derrick coaches high school basketball now, and he married his college sweetheart. They have this perfect little life with a backyard and a grill and kids who call me Uncle Dom.” I take another bite of pizza to stop myself from saying more. I sound pathetic.
“That sounds really nice,” Nicole says softly. “Being missed like that.”
“Do you have siblings?” I ask, eager to shift the focus away from my homesickness.
Her face lights up. “One sister, Nora. She’s older, married, three kids under eight.” Nicole pulls out her phone and quickly scrolls to a photo. “That’s her family.”
The screen shows a holiday portrait of a beautiful blonde woman who looks like Nicole, a tall guy with a kind face, and three kids in matching outfits, all making silly faces at the camera.
“They look fun,” I say.
“They’re chaos incarnate.” Nicole laughs, swiping through more photos. “Nellie, the oldest, is basically a mini lawyer. She can argue you into the ground over bedtime. Jake builds these incrediblycomplex Lego structures and then lets his little sister destroy them. And Emma, the baby, somehow manages to be both the sweetest and most diabolical creature on Earth.”
Her face changes as she talks about them. Her hands gesture expressively, her voice rises and falls with the stories, and she laughs without trying to hide it behind her hand or modulate it to sound more sophisticated.
This is the real Nicole, I realize. Not the woman who waltzed into my apartment after her dog peed on my shoes, not the influencer wannabe struggling to film content at the park. This person—the one who knows the best hidden pizza place and lights up talking about her nieces and nephew—is genuine.
“You must see them a lot,” I say.
“Not nearly enough. They’re back in New York. But Nora and I FaceTime almost every day. Even if it’s just to watch her frost cupcakes after midnight for some school function.”
“That’s nice. My brother calls me pretty often, but it’s not the same as being there.”
“Do you ever think about going back?” she asks, tilting her head.
I stare at my pizza for a moment. “All the time. But the Comets are a great team. And my contract is solid. So…” I trail off, not wanting to sound ungrateful for the opportunity.
“So you’re stuck in California for now,” she finishes with a sympathetic smile. “We’re not all bad, I promise.”
“I’m starting to see that,” I admit, meeting her gaze.
There’s a moment—just a flash, really—where something passes between us. A recognition, maybe. Or understanding. Whatever it is, it makes the patio feel suddenly smaller.
Nicole breaks eye contact first, reaching for her water glass. “So what does your brother think of LA?”
“He thinks it’s hilarious how uncomfortable I am here. Says I need to ‘embrace the culture’ or something.”
