“That’s…” Ryan glances down, and a faint grin slips out. “Meet Vera.”
“Vera?”
“She’s a tufted puffin. I brought her in six months ago after she got tangled in a fishing line. She hasn’t left.”
Okay. This is officially veering into strange territory. An attractive recluse with a pet puffin?
He must see the surprise on my face, because he says, “They’re remarkably loyal birds. And the grub’s good here.”
“Grub?”
“She gets herring a few times a day. Fresh, not frozen. I tried that once and she gave me a glare that could melt the morning fog.”
I laugh. “Vera’s my kind of woman.”
“Is that right?” he says. The grin turns into a full, warm smile. “Speaking of grub. I’m going to order something in. Pizza? Thai?”
Pizza. OMG. Months of poached salmon and steamed greens flash through my mind like a slideshow of willpower. That grilled cheese last night almost undid me. And nowpizza? “Pizza sounds perfect.”
“There’s stuff in the fridge for a salad. Do you mind throwing it together while I go into town?”
“Sure thing.”
Ryan leaves in his truck, and I steal a few more moments of sitting on the deck, my new favorite spot, before returning to the kitchen to make the salad.
I pull out arugula, cucumber, green onions, a red pepper. There’s a tomato and an avocado on the counter.
When I shut the fridge door, something catches my eye. It’s a thick cream-colored card stuck under a magnet. It practicallyreeksof wedding invitation. I pluck it off and read:Together with their families, Calista Ferguson and Matthew Hubert request the honor of your presence…
I’m just about to stick it back when the door opens and Ryan steps inside holding a pizza box. His gaze drops to the card in my hand.
“I’ve got a wedding of my own to deal with,” he says. “And I want to be there just as much as you wanted to be at yours.” He sets the box on the table. “Sorry. I don’t mean to joke.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “And…can’t you just skip it?”
Ryan huffs a short laugh. “I wish.” He slides a plate toward me. “Help yourself.”
I pick up a slice of pizza, the cheesy, greasy aroma nearly making me moan out loud. I don’t stop myself from grabbing a second slice.
Ryan can enjoy the salad. Tonight is pizza-only territory for me.
The moment the salty, umami pepperoni hits my tongue, bliss floods through me, followed by a pang of regret. I deprived myself of this…for what?
Perfect on paper, I think bitterly, taking another huge bite.
When I glance up, Ryan is watching me with a mix of curiosity and amusement.
“This is really good,” I say after I finish chewing.
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”
“I haven’t had pizza in over a year,” I admit. I wait for the judgment—Ryan doesn’t strike me as a man who endorses self-punishment for aesthetics.
“Sounds miserable,” he says simply.
“Should’ve been a warning sign, right? ‘Mo paleo, mo problems’?”
“Have another,” Ryan says, smiling.
