Page 3 of Love By the Slice

The kid replied, “Rowan.”

Shelly wondered for the first time if Rowan were a boy or a girl. Not that it mattered, but the kid wore jeans and a flannel shirt under a worn winter jacket, and the shoulder-length hair that poked out from beneath the winter hat could go either way. As Greg plated a slice for the kid, Shelly said, “Wait, do you have other people at home waiting for pizza?”

Rowan looked down. “Just me.”

Greg pulled a slice, then said to Shelly, “I get to make one extra pizza per night, for me, so if you want a slice, grab it.”

Shelly pointed to Rowan. “And if that’s supposed to be a few days worth of meals?”

Greg hesitated, then looked at the kid.

Rowan said, “School’s back in two days.”

When Greg seemed confused, Shelly said, “Free breakfast and lunch. Yeah, you can keep my slice and have it tomorrow for breakfast.”

Now Greg looked guilty at having one of the slices, except there wasn’t really any way he could have known, could he? Shelly said, “You didn’t grow up like Ezra and me. It’s okay.”

Rowan scarfed down a slice, then grabbed a second. Where were the kid’s parents? Shelly glanced at the computer. “It’s real close to midnight. Probably not getting anyone else.”

Greg said, “I’m going to wait until twelve-thirty before closing. Ezra and Lacey won’t have the food truck back until then, anyhow. Oh, I forgot.” His eyes swiveled toward the computer. “Ezra doesn’t want you delivering after midnight.”

Shelly huffed. “Because I’ll turn into a pumpkin?”

“Because of the drunks driving home from their parties.” Greg shrugged. “You’d probably be fine, but Ezra’s word is law. How are you getting home, Rowan?”

“Walking,” the kid said around a mouthful of crust, then swallowed. “I’m not far.”

Greg was just…so sweet. He could have left the kid to huddle by the dumpster, waiting for a pizza that never came. He could have ignored Ezra’s whole “drunk drivers after midnight” thing. Although, for that matter, “How are you getting home?” Shelly asked.

Greg said, “Driving.”

“So it’s okay for you to drive around with the drunks,” Shelly teased, “but not me?”

Greg looked momentarily baffled. “Yes. I’ll be fine.”

Shelly said, “We could spread out our coats and have a sleepover in the pizzeria,” and then, when Greg went from “baffled” to “shocked,” she added, “Ezra and Lacey, too. If it’s too dangerous for me to drive, it’s too dangerous for them.”

Rowan was halfway through the third slice, but slowing down. The kid swallowed a huge mouthful and said, “You could watch TV all night.”

Greg said, “Oh, right,” and then poked around on his phone until he’d found a livestream of Times Square in New York City. “We should at least watch the ball drop.”

Shelly snickered. “I know we were kidding before, but do we have champagne in the shop?”

“No, but take this.” He tossed her a plastic kazoo in its clear plastic wrapper. “We need to ring in the New Year.”

Rowan laughed as Greg tossed him a second one. “And you?” Shelly prompted.

“I only got two.” Greg shrugged. “I didn’t know we’d have a guest.”

Shelly handed it back, but he shook his head.

Rowan stopped eating, looking a little pale. Shelly got a paper cup of water and set it on the counter, and the kid downed it. Life could be brutal. It wasn’t fair.

No orders were coming in, so Greg began closing duties but didn’t put anything totally away. (Shelly knew from Ezra never to say, “It looks like nothing more will come in tonight” because that guaranteed six orders in the next ten minutes, all of which would be complicated and which would require deliveries to the furthest reaches of their delivery zone, evenly spaced like compass points.) Greg closed up the cases and wiped down the pizza peel, but casually, so as not to attract the notice of any wandering mischief.

Rowan said, “One minute.”

They stood in front of the phone. Shelly said, “Since we don’t have champagne, should I shake up a soda and crack it open at midnight?”

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