Page 52 of Love You, Mean It

“Shhh, don’t be vulgar, I haven’t even had wine yet.”

I took a stool at the counter, sniffing the air. A familiar smell tickled my nostrils, making my mouth water…

“Before I slice into this, I want to make sure you’re okay with doubling down on bread and cheese.” He pulled open the oven. My eyes went wide.

“Oh my god, Theo…you gotVeschio’s? Are you a hero?”

“I called for pizza delivery, Ellie, I didn’t cure cancer.”

“They deliver to you?”

He laughed, shaking his head as he slid the box out and pressed the button to turn off the warmer.

“Consider it motivation to move out of that apartment.”Before I could work up a suitably fiery response—Iknewhe’d been judging my place, and what gave him the right?—he was sliding the box onto the island. “Anyway, you were so emphatic about it, I had to see if it was any good.”

“Any good?I think you forget you’re speaking to a food industryprofessional. Who’s also Italian. And probably eats way more pizza than you. You know, since I’m down-market enough to live where I do.”

“It wasn’t a gauntlet.” Theo raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m looking forward to this being my new go-to spot. But I need an answer, focaccia or pizza?”

“Ugh, I can’t believe I’m slighting the focaccia this way, but…definitely pizza.” I pointed at the bread, lowering my eyebrows menacingly. “But eat that for breakfast tomorrow, otherwise it’ll start being less good.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

We made plates and crossed to the loveseat near the dramatic fireplace, the realistic crackling sounds almost tricking me into thinking it was wood-burning. A bottle of bubbly waited in a frosty ice bucket on the intricate (and probably authentic) midcentury coffee table.

“Classy. Who were you expecting?” Theo rolled his eyes as he pulled the bottle out.

“It’s a terrible pairing for pizza, but…I thought we should celebrate. We haven’t pulled it off yet, but this party is a major step.” He carefully removed the foil and cage, expertly twisting the cork out of what I could see was genuine France-would-approve Champagne. He slid a pair of delicate flutes out from behind the bucket and poured. “Besides, my therapist is always trying to get me to appreciate the small wins more.”

“You have a therapist?” I raised an eyebrow as I set the pizza down.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know. Your family seems more…stiff upper lip. Or whatever the New England WASP version of that is.”

“All the more reason I should be in therapy.”

“Fair point.”

“Anyway”—he raised his glass, eyes softening as he gazed at me over the whisper-thin rim—“to us. I don’t think either of us would have guessed it, but we make a really good team.”

I clinked my glass against his, cheeks heating as I took a sip. The champagne exploded over my tongue, dry and crisp, the effervescence seeping into me as I swallowed. And still his eyes on mine. I took a big gulp and dropped my gaze to the pizza, praying I wasn’t actually blushing.

“On that note, what’s the plan? Do you want me to try to be more…Ted-approved at the party? I can’t promise I’ll achieve that, but intentions count for something…”

“No need. We’re past the point of winning Ted over. Besides, the folks he’ll invite to boost his ego will get a kick out of you.”

“Since I’m not about to blighttheirfamily trees?”

Theo shrugged acknowledgment.

“You’re clever, you’re attractive—the fact that you say things polite company might be thinking but isn’t expressing makes you that much more charming.”

I gulped more champagne. The bubbles fizzed through my entire body, releasing their wealth of sequestered sunlight. Theo topped off my glass, then his own.

“Then what is there to plan, exactly?”

“We have to introduce our families, for one thing.” Theo put his pizza down, angling toward me. His knee grazed mine, the heat of him palpable through the fabric.

---