Page 2 of Love By the Slice

Greg had that happy-go-lucky air about him. Ezra said “air-headed” but Ezra didn’t actually dislike him. Greg was Ezra’s opposite number in so many ways, impractical and boundlessly optimistic, whereas Ezra—like Shelly—was a realist. It was always a little jolt to the spirit when Greg said everything would work out. You could relax…and then it usually worked out.

The customer tipped her five bucks (for three pizzas? Cheapskates) and then Shelly returned to Loveless. This was likely the last, so she didn’t pull into the alley behind the pizzeria and just stopped on the street.

Except…she couldn’t see Greg through the glass store front. Was he dumping trash?

He hadn’t come back by the time she’d extracted the thermal bag, so she walked around back to where the security light shone on the alley. There, she heard voices.

“You might as well come out,” Greg was saying. “I’m not entirely stupid.”

A pause, and then Greg added, “You’re not in trouble. But it will be trouble if you freeze to death.”

A shuffle, and then Greg said, “Come inside. …no, really, come inside. No one’s going to yell at you. But it’s cold out here, and it’s warm in there.”

Shelly stepped around the edge of the building to see a skinny kid in a too-big winter coat, poised against the edge of the dumpster as though about to run.

Greg glanced at her, surprised. Shelly said, “It wasn’t a far run.”

Greg gestured to the kid. “We have one more customer.” He turned back to the kid. “Seriously, get yourself inside.”

Shelly said, “Usually we use the front door, but it’ll be okay.”

Inside the shop, the kid stayed right near the door, and Greg returned to the counter. Shelly said to the kid, “Who are you?”

Greg answered, “He’s someone hungry and willing to eat a pineapple and anchovy pizza as long as he can get it for free.”

The kid looked terrified. “I’m sorry.”

He seemed about eleven years old, maybe twelve if he were really malnourished. Shelly said, “What happened?”

Greg set down the dough he’d been tossing and pointed to the screen. While he was spreading sauce, Shelly saw the delivery order he’d cancelled. “Oh,” she murmured. “You wanted me to come back to the shop with a topping combination no one else would order, especially right before we closed, and then we’d toss it in the dumpster. That way, you’d get dinner.”

The kid edged toward the door. “Don’t call the cops.”

Greg snorted. “Grand theft pizza? I don’t think they’d care.”

Shelly had never gone dumpster diving for food. Some of her friends had, but her life had never gotten quite that low. The food pantry had always come through with something, even if it was a little gross. Those large cans of pre-fabricated stew weren’t great, but you could mix up some biscuits with them, and they’d at least keep you full enough so you could sleep.

The kid scowled. “Then why make me come inside?”

“Because no one deserves to starve and freeze to death at the same time.” Greg snorted. “What toppings do you actually like?”

The kid said, “I don’t have any money.”

“I wasn’t asking for money. What toppings do you like?” Greg side-eyed him. “And if you say anything’s fine, you’re getting anchovies and pineapples.”

The kid muttered, “Pineapple’s okay.”

“Ham, too?” Greg said.

The thing to do with scammers was send them away with nothing, not reward them with a custom pizza. Shelly said, “Why are you doing this?”

Greg said, “Weren’t you listening, either?” When he looked at her, he was grinning. “I just said no one deserves to starve and freeze to death.”

The pizza got topped up and went into the oven. Ninety seconds at the wood-fired oven’s insanely high temperature, and then it was out. As Greg zipped along the pizza with the cutter, he said to the kid, “The first thing you learn in a pizza kitchen is if you drop the pizza, not to try to catch it.”

Shelly flinched. “Third degree burns?”

“I assume second degree. Cheese sticks to you, and that sauce is boiling.” Greg looked over to the kid. “Go sit at the counter.” When the kid obeyed, he said, “What’s your name?”

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