Page 65 of Ancient History

I had leftovers waiting for me in the fridge, but I’d been eating them all week. It was a law of diminishing returns. “It’s dinner time, so yeah.”

“Let’s grab something to eat. My treat.”

“We can go Dutch.” The tow truck bill had to be considerable.

“I left my wooden clogs in my car. No, my treat. My house is in the opposite direction of your place. And besides, going Dutch implies this is a date.”

Had I implied this was a date? Hutch laughed it off before I could get fully embarrassed.

“Excellent.” Hutch made a triumphant fist. “I know just the place.”

19

HUTCH

Iwilled my stomach not to growl in excitement as Amos parked. CJ’s was located at the corner of two residential streets. Since it wasn’t in downtown Sourwood, it was sometimes overlooked. That made it the town’s best-kept secret, and also the perfect place for two closeted teenagers to secretly meet.

The guy and girl at the register tossed pizza slices into the giant ovens behind them. If I worked here, would I ever get tired of pizza? That seemed biologically impossible, but stranger things had happened.

Behind the glass partition were several pizzas with different toppings ready to be ogled by hungry customers. They were most known for their mac ‘n cheese pizza, but it was too decadent for me. I liked mac ‘n cheese, and I liked pizza, but not together.

“We’ll take four slices of mushroom pizza,” I said. The kid behind the counter made a face, proving my point. He was a kid, not yet an adult.

After we ordered, we slid into a red booth by the window. Maps of Italy decorated the paper placemats and the walls.

We looked around, admiring all the details of a place that was preserved in amber. Aside from the Facebook and Instagram decals on the window and the sign advertising free Wi-Fi, the place hadn’t changed.

“I haven’t been here in forever,” Amos said. “I’ve gotten so used to getting it delivered.”

“Remember when I got you to try red pepper flakes?” I fiddled with the shaker, ringing it like a bell.

“I do. That was a cruel joke.”

“A cruel joke?”

“You said they tasted like red bell peppers. You said nothing about them being hot.”

“I dared you to try one flake, and you tossed a handful into your mouth.”

“I was hungry!” Amos’s eyes bulged out of his head, the same reaction he had to trying the flakes.

I couldn’t stop laughing. He was so animated, so full of life. I’d been living the past ten years in a world of gray.

The girl serving us, who I recognized from gym class, dropped off our order, each slice on a different paper plate.

I slid the napkin dispenser Amos’s way.

“You’re taking off the best part.”

Amos ignored me as he dabbed at the layer of oil atop his slices.

“The oil is what makes the pizza so good.”

“The pizza still tastes great.” He laid out a fresh napkin to hold the oily, wadded up ones. The man had a gift for taking simple foods and turning them into a process.

“Cheers.” We held up our slices and let the tips touch, which sounded much dirtier than it was. I bit into a literal slice of heaven. “There truly is no substitute for New York pizza.”

“What’s pizza like in Nashville?”

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