Our eyes meet.
And just like that, my brain forgets how to function.
Cool. Cool, cool, cool.
I walk slower this time, careful with every step, hyper-aware of the boards beneath my feet. The last thing I need is to wipe out again.
“Look who’s back,” one of Joel’s friends says as I approach.
“And handling those pizza boxes masterfully,” another adds.
All five men look up at me. They are all too good-looking for their own good. But I can’t stop looking at Joel.
I take a deep breath, pasting a smile on my face. “I’m so proud of me.”
I set the pizza boxes down on the table.
“As you should be,” one of the men says. “No casualties this round.”
“Shame,” another says. “I wanted to see a repeat performance.”
“Don’t tempt fate,” I tell him. “It may be your shirt I ruin next time.”
My eyes meet Joel’s. He still hasn’t said anything. “Hi, again,” I say.
“Hey,” he says.
That’s it. Justhey.
But thewayhe says it, low and steady, sends a shiver of pleasure through my body.
“I, um…” I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “I put in an order of Ooey Gooey Cinnamon Roll Sticks for you. They’ll be up soon.”
He smiles. “Thanks.”
I shift my weight, suddenly aware that I’m just standing here, lingering, while his friends watch us like hawks. For once, none of them say anything.
“Well,” I say. “Enjoy your—”
“Sit,” Joel says.
I blink. “What?”
He nods toward the empty chair at the end of the table. “Sit for a minute.”
I glance around the pizzeria, then back at him. “I’m working.”
“Just for a minute,” he repeats. He’s not smiling. Not really. But there’s something warm in his eyes, something so damninvitingthat I want to sayyes.
Which is ridiculous. I do not sit down with customers in the middle of my shift.
“Okay,” I hear myself say.
I slide into the chair, telling myself it’s just for a minute.
Just long enough to get my heart rate under control.
Just long enough to prove that I can be normal around him.
