Page 11 of A Good Book

“Favorites, huh?” Matt perked up as we met at the front of the car and headed into the building. “You might be right.”

“The only ones who went to college and didn’t start a war between our parents,” I said.

“You’re cutthroat.” He playfully nudged me while we waited to be seated.

My heart soared higher with every innocent touch and flirty grin. It’s how I had always imagined we’d fall in love. Well, it’s how I’d imagined he would fall in love with me. I’d been in love with him for years. I didn’t want him to see me as a sexy, short fling, blinded by physical passion. Those didn’t last. But admiration and respect were foundations that could withstand the test of time, and I wanted him to be mine forever.

A server grabbed two menus and seated us at a booth.

“Pepperoni?” Matt asked before I had a chance to look at the menu.

“Absolutely.”

“Pan or thin?”

“Thin,” we said at the same time.

“A Pepsi or Slice?” He set our menus on the edge of the table.

My grin swelled.

“Slice?” he asked.

I nodded.

“And garlic bread of course,” he added.

I couldn’t have dreamed of a more perfect first date. Matt was confident and right about all of it, like someone told him my favorites ahead of time.

“With extra sauce,” I said.

“Duh.” He rested his crossed arms on the table, the gleam in his eyes shining brighter than ever.

I don’t know why my sisters made falling in love so complicated. Why they had to battle unimaginable grief and so many tears to find their happily ever after.

“Was that all a good guess, or did you call my mom?”

Matt shook his head. “Just a good guess. I assumed your family ordered the same kind of pizza. And Sarah liked Pepsi, so I figured you liked Slice because there’s no way you’re going to be like your sisters.”

I inspected him for a few seconds before relinquishing a guilty grin. “And you like Coke.”

“Yes. But now I prefer a cold beer with my pizza. Don’t tell your dad.”

The server grabbed our menus. “Looks like you’re ready to order.”

“We are. We’ll start with an order of garlic bread, extra sauce. Then we’ll have a medium thin pepperoni, a Pepsi, and a Slice.”

“You got it.” She smiled.

“Thanks,” he said.

“You could have gotten a beer.” I played it cool, like I hung out with people who drank beer all the time.

“Nah. I’m driving precious cargo.”

We shared a look, and I knew he was referring to the drunk driving accident that shook our little town four years earlier. And while it still stung, I felt special for being considered precious cargo. The girl in the booth behind Matt walked over to the jukebox and selected, “I Still Believe.” I loved that song.

“So what kind of lawyer do you want to be?” I asked instead of belting out the romantic ballad.

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