Page 31 of A Pizza My Heart

“Why are you asking, Wren? Do you not think it went well? We laughed and talked a lot. I mean, the date lasted over two hours. Usually dates that aren’t going well tend to end shortly after they’ve begun.”

Helping herself to the leftover fries in my second basket of the night—again, totally our new normal—she winces.

I shift around in my chair, my curiosity and agitation rising. “You’re worrying me here.”

“I’m just saying I wouldn’t be so quick to label that one a ten.”

“Enlighten me on where it went wrong.”

Leaning forward, she claps her hands together like she’s been waiting for this moment all night long. “Well, for starters—”

“Starters? There’s more than one reason?”

She nods, pursing her lips. “Yep. The first thing was the fact that you didn’t pick her up.”

“Stop.” I hold up my hand. “That was an agreed-upon thing. When I suggested we meet at six, she said she’d be coming straight from work. I said that was fine and that was that.”

“And you didn’t think to, oh, I don’t know, move the date back an hour, hour and a half so she could head home to change and get all pretty for you?”

“I-I…” I hesitate.

Well, shit.I didn’t even think of that. I probably could have pushed the date back an hour, giving her time to go home first, but why didn’t she respond with that when I asked? Or a time that would work for her instead of the usualOh, I don’t carething? I would have been more than happy to accommodate her.

Probably because you just jumped to saying it would work for you because you were eager to get to Slice and didn’t consider her, moron.

“Okay, fine. I’m a dumbass. Strike one. What was my second offense?”

“Your second offense was that you didn’t wait for her to order your drink.”

“How is that an offense? I was thirsty.”

“So you get water. You don’t move on to flavored beverages without your guest. That’s rude.”

“That’s stupid,” I argue.

She shrugs. “Stupid, but true.”

“Fine. My second strike. What’s my third?”

“This one is glaringly obvious.”

“Not to me, apparently.”

“Foster…did youlistento yourself at all during your date?”

“No, but I’m guessing you did.” I lift my brows. “Creep much?”

“Do my job much?” she mocks. “But, yes, I took some notes for you.”

My mouth drops open when Wren actually reaches into her apron to pull out her notepad. Guess my comment about notes earlier in the week stuck.

“At six fifteen, you—”

I bark out a laugh, interrupting her. “You notated thetime?”

“What?” She blinks innocently. “I’m a very thorough notetaker.”

“Clearly.”

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