Page 107 of A Pizza My Heart

He has a piece of my heart.

A piece that’s always been his.

A piece I don’t want back.

The doorbell blares through the house and I freeze, panic tingling its way up my spine.

Calm down, idiot. It’s just Foster.

“Exactly!” I yell to myself.

The front door flies open and Foster rushes in, Mike at his heels.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” His eyes scan over me as he charges forward. He cradles my head in his hands, looking me over with a frown. “Are you okay?”

I pinch my brows, swatting him away, not wanting my hair to get messed up by his fingers…yet.

“What? Yes, everything is fine. Go ahead and just come on in, Foster.”

“I heard yelling. I was worried.”

Oops.

“Oh, that. You, uh… The doorbell! It just scared me. I wasn’t expecting the noise. I dropped my spoon in the sauce and it was a whole thing.” I wave him off. “Not important.”

“Right,” he says, obviously not believing me.

I drop to my haunches and run a hand behind Mike’s ears. “Thanks for dropping my date off. We’re gonna have a fantastic time, Mike. I hope you like Alfredo and blueberry cheesecake.” I stand and pat Foster’s chest. “See you later.”

He catches me around the waist as I walk away, shoving his fingers into my sides, tickling me until I’m squirming and screaming for help.

“Are you done being a smartass?”

“Yes!” I concede. “Stop it!”

He stops his assault and buries his face in my neck, pressing his lips to the sensitive skin where neck meets shoulder.

“Mmm…sunscreen and honeysuckle.” He nibbles at me and I giggle, loving the way his stubble brushes over my skin. “I missed you.”

“Missed me? You just saw me at Slice earlier this afternoon.”

“But that was like five whole hours ago.” He shoves me away from him. “No, I lied—I didn’t miss you. I’m still mad at you.”

“Why?”

“For leaving me with Drew. She’s a blubbering mess right now.”

“Pregnancy hormones will do that to ya.” With a laugh, I pad toward the stove, stirring my sauce and turning down the heat on the noodles.

“Right,” Foster says, taking a seat at my small dining table. Mike takes off for his spot on the couch, ignoring us. “But why did she have to start crying over the ‘itty bitty baby salt packets’? She felt bad for them because they didn’t have a place in the salt shaker with the rest of the salt. She probably spent twenty minutes opening packets and dumping them into a giant jar before Winston fired her.”

I gasp. “He did not! He doesn’t even have the authority.”

I pull open the fridge, grab us each a beer, and slide one his way.

“That’s what I told her, but she wouldn’t listen.” He twists off the top and takes a drink. “She just screamed at him some more, telling him he can’t fire her because she’s pregnant. Your dad had to ‘rehire’ her in front of everyone because she wouldn’t quit crying and customers were threatening to walk out because of your brother.”

I lean against the counter, shaking my head. “I could maim that insensitive jerk.”

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