Page 76 of A Pizza My Heart

“That I was taking his daughter on a date and we’d like private seating so she can pretend she’s not at work for the night.”

“You told my dad we were going on a date? What’d he say?”

“Finally asked her out, huh? About damn time, son.”

My mouth hit the floor when he said it. Has he known all this time too? How?

But I can’t tell her that.

Instead I go with, “Well, since he let me put this atrocity up, I’d say he was cool with it.”

Her brows pinch together. “That’s it? He didn’t have anything to say about it?”

“No.”

“Nothing about how the kid who practically grew up in his house is taking his adult daughter on a date now?”

“Nope,” I lie.

“Huh.” She twists her lips together, regarding me with disbelief, as she should. “Interesting.”

“The epitome of intrigue. How about we grab our table? There’s a couple over there eying it enviously.”

“I can’t blame them. It’s a masterpiece.”

“I take all the credit.”

“But do you deserve it?”

“Does staying up until four o’clock constructing it mean anything?”

“Four o’clock? You’re kidding.”

I raise my brows and her mouth drops open.

“You’re not kidding. Holy heck, Foster. I can’t believe you.”

“And you said I’m bad at dating.” I place my hand on her lower back once again and guide her toward the structure. “We keep this dating thing up for long enough and you’re gonna see just how amazing I am at romantic gestures.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever dated anyone who did romantic gestures for me.”

“Well, not everyone can pull them off like me.”

She snorts out a laugh. “I wonder if they’d stroke their own egos for ten minutes like you are if they did.”

I lied when I said I was up until four.

Truth is, I didn’t get out of here until eight this morning after pulling a double shift yesterday. Then I went on my run, house hunted, and crashed until I texted her about our date. I’m running on about three hours of sleep, but she’s worth all of it and more.

I just wish she’d see that.

“Welcome to our slice of Slice.”

She breezes under the archway and slides into the booth. I take a seat opposite her.

She looks around, eyes lit with amazement as she takes in the pizza boxes taped to the glass walls separating the booths and the ones angled up around the light. I even took the liberty of doodling a few poorly drawn stars onto the ceiling.

“This is incredible, Foster,” she says breathlessly. “Way beyond first-date duties.”

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