Page 23 of A Pizza My Heart

I waggle my brows at him. “I see the looks you give Beth.”

He clamps his lips together, shaking his head. “I don’t know what you’re going on about. Get back to work,” he mutters as he virtually sprints away from me, clearly not wanting to discuss this any further.

“Who’s Beth?” Foster asks, staring after him.

“Our crew manager. I’ve had this feeling for a few months now that they’ve been secretly seeing each other, and he just all but confirmed it.”

“Your dad is dating? How does that make you feel?”

I snort a laugh because he sounds exactly like the grief counselor I saw after Mom died. “Well, Dr. Marlett,” I tease, “it’s kind of weird considering I’ve only ever seen him with my mother, but I want him to be happy, so I’m okay with it.”

He nods, running a hand along his stubble-lined chin but not saying anything.

I guess he can somehow relate to the situation my dad is in—dating again after sharing a life with someone for so many years.

“How does it makeyoufeel, the whole moving-on thing? I mean, you were married and now you’re not.”

He scoffs. “Layla and I weren’t together for nearly as long as Simon and Molly. That’s not a fair comparison.”

“True, but you built and shared a life together. No matter how short-lived it was, it still counts for something.”

He laughs sardonically. “Trust me, I amwell awareof how much it counts. Ask my wallet if it counts, or my fucking credit score.”

I wince at the harshness in his tone. “It was that bad?”

“You don’t even want to know.”

“I was surprised when you got married, you know. Not because it was so sudden, but because you were never Mr. Settle Down, always playing the field. And…what did you used to call it? ‘Keeping your options open.’”

“Trust me, if I could go back and change things, I would.”

There’s an overwhelming sadness in his voice and I want to ask him so many questions, but I know now isn’t the time.

Besides, when Foster’s ready to talk about it, he will. He never hides anything from me for too long.

Stealing a peek at him, I notice how tensely his shoulders are set, how tightly his jaw is locked together, a tic forming from the pressure.

He looks so angry, so heartbroken—but also so determined to not make the same mistakes again, which suddenly makes him dating so soon after his divorce admirable.

My eyes land on his hand, the one he’s still running over his stubble. I wonder if it’s a nervous twitch or something. Or maybe he’s just fascinated by his ability to grow facial hair. I know I am, because this isdefinitelya new look for him.

It suits him, makes him look older. Wiser.

Or maybe that’s just the crushing reality of life.

Either way, he looks good.

He looks…Holy crap. No way.

“Foster?”

“Birdie?”

“Is, uh…is today laundry day or something?”

He glances down at his shirt, red stealing up his cheeks. “Fuck,” he mumbles. “I wore this yesterday, didn’t I?”

I laugh. “You really didn’t notice?”