Love by the Slice (Valentine’s Sweethearts)

Chapter Eight

CHAPTER EIGHT

SHELLY NOW HAD more information than she knew what to do with, so to burn off energy, she stacked soda cans into the cooler at Loveless Pizza.

“Rowan doesn’t know I know any of this,” Shelly told Greg. “Well, maybe he knows I know some, but it doesn’t matter. I started asking questions when I made a delivery to someone who knows the school. It turns out Rowan’s living with his grandfather.”

Greg didn’t break rhythm while tossing a pizza. “Why?”

“No idea. It’s been about a year. Anyhow, his grandfather got injured and hasn’t been able to work. It’s a whole legal mess.” Shelly stocked the last of the colas and moved on to the Moxie. “He’s applied for disability and worker’s comp, but it’s taking forever, and they’re fighting it, and in the meantime he’s working under the table, but the company is arguing that if he’s working under the table then he’s not really injured, and the only ones getting money are the lawyers.”

Greg huffed. “Gotta hate that.”

“Well, it’s the mill, so what do you expect?” Shelly rolled her eyes. “Anyhow, that’s the situation. Rowan spends a lot of time on his own.” She shook her head. “And that’s that. Someone from the school did reach out, but of course they can’t say anything for real.”

Greg said, “I told you it would work out.”

She huffed. “It hasn’t worked out yet. Finding out what’s wrong doesn’t mean they’ve solved it.” The last Moxie went in, and Shelly started shelving root beers. “There are social services they could be accessing, and the school is going to put them in contact with that. Plus, the state Office of Child and Family Services is going to get involved, and they can help a bit more.”

Maine wasn’t rolling in cash when it came to offering services, but they had to have something, didn’t they? Mom never got anything, but Mom also lied through her teeth.

Greg said, “What kind of injury?”

“No clue. It happened on the job, and he says he can’t work anymore. They say it didn’t happen on the job, and he can.” Shelly shrugged. “I’ve got no idea who’s telling the truth, although based on experience, I’d have to say the paper mill has more reason to lie than he does.”

“Dad had a guy, claimed he broke his arm on the equipment.” Greg snorted. “Cameras showed nothing. Turned out he broke it skiing, came to work hurt, and wanted us to pay.”

Shelly said, “Your dad owns a machine shop. If the guy got his arm caught in a metal press, wouldn’t he not have any arm any longer?”

Greg said, “Disarmed?”

Shelly replied, “Working single-handedly?”

Greg said, “Yes. Except no. The reason to lie is money. The question is who’s lying, or is it both of them?”

Shelly said, “Either way, it’s Rowan who suffers when there’s no food or laundry detergent. The only one I care about in this equation is the kid.”

Greg said, “Of course.”

At least Greg wasn’t hand-wringing about whether giving a kid some dinner might mean someone else ate dinner who didn’t 100% deserve free food. That attitude had kept her and Ezra hungry too many times. So what if you give someone food benefits and they weren’t truly at the end of their rope? They still needed to eat. Shelly figured the benefits you got were so paltry, why not widen the net as far as you could so as to catch as many people who needed the help?

If you had a hundred life preservers on your rescue boat, who cared if one of the people could have swum to the boat just fine on their own? Get them out of the water.

Ezra had worked his way out of the life he’d been born into. Shelly was on her way to doing the same. Just because they’d done it on their own, though, didn’t mean Rowan needed to wait six years and then do it, too.

Greg said, “There are people who get paid to figure out who needs help and who doesn’t.” He shrugged as he kept prepping toppings. “I’m just alive to pay taxes so they can do it.”

Shelly snorted. “Seems that way sometimes.”

With all the sodas restocked, she returned the remaining cans to the stock room.

By the time she returned to the kitchen again, orders had come in, and Greg was filling them. With a sigh, she found her jacket and car keys.

She said, “I’m keeping my ear to the ground. If there’s any other way we can help, I want to.”

Greg said, “You’ve done so much.”

Shelly said, “I don’t trust that’s enough. I want to do more.”

Greg said, “And…? How can we help?”

That was always the question, not just how to help but how to help without making things worse. Sometimes if you reached out, the parent got so frustrated that they took it out on the kid. But even so…even so…

She sighed. “What else is there?”

Greg said, “Do you want to—” and then stopped.

Her attention snapped to him. “Want to…what?”

When she looked at him, he gave a mischievous smile. “Maybe go out somewhere?”

She said, “Go out somewhere…and…do what?”

He shrugged. “Anything you want. A movie. Dinner. A hike.” His suggestion of a winter hike confirmed for Shelly that Greg was spitballing. He hadn’t thought this through at all. “You’re always so tense. So if we went out, maybe you’d relax a bit.”

She snickered. “We could sneak out to one of the other pizzerias and scope out their weak points?”

“I know all their weak points. Their delivery driver isn’t amazing, and their cooks aren’t brilliant.”

Shelly pointed at Greg. “Or humble?”

“Not in the slightest!” He awarded her a very cute smile. “And with that settled, let’s do something fun.”

She said, “Pick a place.”

He said, “Tell me what you want, and we’ll do it.”

Shelly’s mind raced through five hundred possibilities. It would have to be a day they were both off. And a time she didn’t have classes. And when the weather wasn’t a mess. And not expensive. And not outside.

What even was left? She blurted out, “There’s a Pompeii immersive experience exhibit at the college?”

He started. “Wait, really?”

“What did you expect I would say?” She folded her arms. “We sign up for a time slot. I get in free with my student ID. And afterward, maybe we get ice cream.”

Greg said, “Deal!”

She opened the app and suggested days and times until he found one next week that worked. But shouldn’t he be suggesting these things? Why was she doing all the work when he was the one who’d asked her out?

No matter. Giggling, she said, “Should I tell everyone you’re taking me to Italy?”

Greg exclaimed, “That’s going to raise the bar super high. If I take you to Italy in January, what am I going to do for Valentine’s Day?”

Shelly laughed, but then another order came in, and Greg resumed tossing a dough. About to clap back that he could take her on an immersive trip to Middle Earth, she hesitated. No, she’d come up with this date. Even if it didn’t top Italy, let him come up with the next one.