“Yes. I’m starving!” He starts walking, and I have to jog a few steps to catch up. When we reach the door, he opens it and walks in, letting it shut halfway on me.
It’s fine. Maybe he’s not into stereotypical gender roles. I’m perfectly capable of opening my own door.
Inside, I pause in the doorway to look around. The brick walls and wood-planked ceiling are a modern industrial style. Small tables line the window looking out over the river, and there’s a long bar with tall, wood-backed chairs running parallel to them.
Roger is standing near the hostess stand. He looks flushed and a little sweaty, and he doesn’t say anything to the young woman at the stand.
I frown. “Are you okay?”
He scrunches his face. “I might’ve had a little too much to drink before I left,” he says through gritted teeth, holding up his thumb and forefinger on the wordlittle.
I lean in closer. “Are you...drunk?”
He shakes his head. “No.Pssh.What? Noooo, not drunk. Just needed a tiny bit of liquid courage.” He reaches out and his beefy hand lands on my shoulder. “I haven’t done this in a really long time, and you’re just so pretty.”
My eyes dart over to the hostess, who gives me a stunned but sympathetic look.
I glance back at him. I guess I understand where he’s coming from. Sort of. But this was an ill-advised way to handle the nerves.
“I’m fine.” Roger waves me—and what I assume is the double of me that he’s seeing right now—off. “Cup of coffee, and I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?” I ask. “We can reschedule this.”Or not.
“No! No, no, no, we already got the tickets, and you look hungry, so—” He slams a hand down on the hostess stand, and I flinch.
“We’re here for the tour!” he says, much louder than necessary.He gives a thumbs-up to the woman behind the stand, who is not three feet from us.
“Uh, sure, follow me,” the woman says.
She leads us through the restaurant, back to a section where several small tables have been pushed together to form one long one. A group of people are already seated, and a tall, lanky guy stands to greet us when we walk in.
“Hey, guys! Here for the tour?” he asks.
I look over at Roger. He’s blinking so slowly I wonder if he’s trying to stay awake.
I look at the man and plaster on a smile. “Yes. Here for the tour.”
“Great, we’re just about to start.” He motions for us to sit down, and when we do, Roger nearly misses the chair. He catches himself—barely—and I wince, fire rushing to my cheeks.
I grit my teeth. Minnie is my flesh and blood, so I won’t kill her. But Miles?
Miles is getting pushed off the rocks.
I resist the urge to tell everyone at the table that this is a first date and this man is essentially a stranger to me. Instead, I give the tour host my full attention.
“Welcome, everybody! My name is James, and I’m your host for the very best walking pizza tour in Chicago. I’m going to tell you a little about the history of different pizza places here in the city,” James says. “You’ll get to taste four of my favorite Chicago pizzas in four very distinct styles, starting with the brick oven, thin-crust artisan pizza of Robert’s.”
As if this is a play they’ve rehearsed and that was their cue, the waitstaff appears with several pizzas, which they set on the tables in front of the group.
I glance over at Roger, whose chin is resting on his hand, and I know there is no way this man is going to make it walking around the city for three and a half hours.
I lean across the table. I have to whisper-shout his name twice to get his full attention. “Roger.Roger? Are you sure you’re—”
He burps and covers his mouth, and the woman next to him shoots me a look. I try to apologize to her with my eyes, when Roger picks up a plate and hands it to her. “Hey, can you get me two slices of that one down there? The one with everything?” He motions to a pizza at the other end of the table.
The woman slowly takes the plate, glances at me, and I look away, pinching the bridge of my nose.
All I hear on a loop in my mind iskerplunk.
