Page 6 of A Pizza My Heart

“I’ll have the chicken fingers and fries, please.”

The urge to roll my eyes at the moron who just ordered chicken fingers and fries atSlice—the hottest pizza place along the coast—is strong.

“You do realize this is a pizza place, right?”

Well, at least I didn’t roll my eyes…

Another deep laugh.

“Yes,Wren, I realize that.”

I draw my eyes away from the order pad and stare at him unabashedly for the first time, not caring if his date thinks I’m trying to score with him or not.

I’ve heard my name from that mouth before, just not in a long time.

“F-Foster?”

His full lips tilt up at the corners, his smile reaching his sage green eyes. “In the flesh.”

I blink down at him, surprised as hell to see my brother’s best friend sitting before me.

He looks so…different. So very un-Foster-like.

His skin ismuchdarker, for one, probably from all that California sun. He’s sporting some serious five-o’clock shadow, a far cry from the clean-shaven twenty-two-year-old who ran off with a vacationing beauty so long ago. And his arms…they’re…definitelybig, the blue shirt he’s wearing stretched precariously across his toned body.

He looks nothing like the Foster who packed up and moved across the country several years ago, not even bothering to come back for a single visit.

So different this can’t be him…right?

I blink again.

Nope. It’s him.

Foster Marlett. Here, in North Carolina. Back after almost four years away, almost to the day.

“What… How…”Words, Wren—use them.I clear my throat. “When did you get back?”

“Just last week. Winston didn’t mention it?”

“He’s been—”

“Can you add a basket of fries to my order?” a female voice interrupts.

Ah, yes. The woman he’s here with…

I study her hard, waiting for the moment of recognition to hit…but it never comes.

The woman Foster Marlett is on a date with isnothis wife.

I glance back to him, confused as hell and looking for answers, but he’s still grinning at me like there’s nothing wrong.

Okay then.

“He’s been…?” he prompts.

Right. Iwastalking.

“Preoccupied,” I finally say. “You know Winston and his…well, extracurricular activities.”