Page 104 of A Pizza My Heart

“So, yeah, that’s my big news. I hope you packed more beer because this chick is celebrating tonight!” She shakes her hips, tipping the beer back again.

“We are definitely getting smashed on this six-pack.”

“A six-pack? Someone’s a big spender.” She winks. “You know, speaking of careers and such…what are you going to do now that you’re back? Slinging pizzas at Slicecan’tbe your endgame.”

“It’s not. I definitely never thought I’d be back there, that’s for sure.” I wince, hearing my own words. “Not that there’s anything wrong with working there. It’s a wonderful place and I love it, but—”

She holds her hand up. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I get it. What’d you do in California?”

“Worked for Layla’s dad at his housing development business.”

“Yeah? Did you like it?”

“You know, I actually did. Though I preferred the action of the jobsite rather than the office, it was a fun job. I wouldn’t mind doing something like that. I’d need to get my hands a little dirtier than I was, though.”

“You always were good with your hands.”

I give her a wolfish grin. “You would know.”

“I meant building things, you freak!”

“Call me a freak all you want, but we both know you’re dying to feel me touch you again.”

Red steals up her cheeks and she pushes at my shoulder. “Shut up.”

We sip our beers in silence, letting the sounds of the ocean fill the space between us for several minutes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you before.”

Her words catch me off guard.

“What?”

“Before, when we were out here and you told me you loved me. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. I should have. Maybe things would be different now. Maybe the last four years of your life wouldn’t have sucked.”

Please tell me…

“You’re not blaming yourself for my failed marriage, are you?”

She doesn’t say anything.

I groan. “Dammit, Wren. You keep saying silly shit like that and I’ll take this beer away.”

“I’m not saying that specifically. I’m just saying, if I hadn’t been so…closed-minded when it came to us, maybe things would be different.”

“I’m sure they would be. We’d be married and settled in at the blue house by now, sharing one bathroom, and you’d constantly be yelling at me to pick up my socks. Life would be fucking peachy.”

“You don’t pick up your socks?”

“Pfft, no. The floor was made for dirty clothes. I’m a ‘pile it up until I’m tripping over my dank underwear’ kind of guy.”

“The basket is right there, Foster!”

“See?” I point to her. “You’re a natural at it.”

“I could strangle you.”

“Liar.” I laugh and toss back the rest of my beer then set the empty bottle back in the cooler.

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