Chapter 9 Shay
Shay
Why was it that whenever I made plans, they always went sideways?
I glanced in the rearview mirror. Ella’s legs swung back and forth in the backseat, her heels thumping rhythmically against the leather.
The streetlights painted amber streaks across her face as we passed beneath them—flash, shadow, flash, shadow—turning her curious expression into something out of a flip book.
“I thought we were going to the movies.”
“We are. But we’re going to eat something first.”
Her face lit up with such transparent hope that I couldn’t help but laugh. “Real food, not just popcorn and sweets. But before that, we need to make a quick pit stop.”
I figured it would be rude to inform Hayes of our canceled dinner plans over text, especially this late. I just hoped he didn’t have anything too special planned, or I’d feel bad for standing him up like this.
“Why?” Ella asked. It had become one of her favorite words lately.
“Because your cousin Shay was supposed to go on a date.”
“So we are going to see your boyfriend?” she asked, cutely wrinkling her nose.
“Not my boyfriend.” I immediately corrected her. “My… date.”
“What’s the difference?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
I caught her eyes in the mirror—wide and curious, waiting for wisdom I didn’t possess. How do you even try to explain the dating game to a seven-year-old? The strange liminal space between stranger and something more. Not that Hayes was a stranger. Hayes was… I had no idea what he was.
Ella hummed, a sound of contemplation that seemed far too old for her small frame. “Is he pretty?”
I shrugged, a small smile tugging at my lips. “He’s alright.”
I let her play with my phone as I drove, the glow of the screen lighting up her face, her expression shifting between fierce concentration and sudden, delighted triumph.
I caught myself smiling at her more than once, even though I had no idea what she was doing.
She knew to stay out of my contact list. Or at least, I hoped she did.
Ella jumped out of the car once we arrived. She spun in a slow circle, her gaze drifting from one thing to the next, quietly cataloging it all in that curious way only children possess. I took her small hand in mine as we made our way to the front porch.
When he opened the door, confusion painted itself across Hayes’s features in slow motion. His eyes moved from my face to Ella’s and back again, processing.
“Hello?”
The word came out uncertain, almost a question in itself.
“This is Ella.” I gestured down, and she offered a small wave.
I moved closer, near enough to catch a whiff of his cologne—was that a new scent?— and lowered my voice slightly. “I hope you don’t mind. Her mom—my cousin—is in the hospital, and she had no one else to watch her.”
His frown deepened, concern shadowing his features. “Is she alright?”
“She’s fine, just a sprained ankle,” I reassured him. “I really am sorry.”
And I was. I’d never admit it out loud to anyone—not to Mari, or Naomi, no matter how much she needled me—but I’d been looking forward to tonight.
To seeing what other tricks Hayes kept hidden in his repertoire.
To the possibility of a repeat performance from last week, even though that might be a bit presumptuous. We hadn’t even had our first date yet.
“I’m just thinking… I need to cancel the reservation I made for tonight. It’s no place for a kid. She’ll be bored out of her mind.” Hayes looked down at Ella, his expression softening ever so slightly. “Where does she usually like to eat?
“Oh, you still want to…”
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.” I shook my head, dislodging the surprise before it could fully form. Of course he’d be fine with my kid cousin crashing our date. Why had I expected anything different?
“She likes pizza?” I glanced down, meeting Ella’s eager gaze. “Pizza is fine, right?”
Her nod came so vigorously I worried about whiplash. Obviously. What kid didn’t like pizza?
“Let me just grab my jacket,” Hayes said, disappearing back into the house.
I felt a small tug on my sleeve, and I leaned down. Ella’s breath tickled my ear as she quietly whispered, “He is pretty.”
I pulled back slightly and gave her an approving nod. “You have good taste, kid.”
“What was that?” Hayes asked as he came back.
I straightened, schooling my expression into something innocent. “Nothing, you ready to go?”
The restaurant he chose wasn’t one of those chain places with arcade games and animatronic bands.
It was smaller, tucked into a corner lot with string lights draped across the windows and the kind of worn brick interior that felt quietly charming and welcoming.
The smell hit me first—yeast, tomato sauce, and wood smoke from the oven I could see blazing in the back corner, flames licking the edges of pizzas on long wooden paddles.
“This okay?” Hayes asked, one hand on the door.
Ella was already pressing her nose against the glass, her breath fogging the window. “They have a real fire,” she breathed.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I nudged her gently forward as he held the door open.
The warmth inside wrapped around us like a blanket. A woman with flour dusted across her apron greeted Hayes by name, her accent thick and musical, like someone who’d learned English late enough that the old language still clung to her vowels.
“Mr. Hayes, no reservation tonight?”
“Last minute change of plans, Viola.” He smiled at her, easy and genuine. “Table for three?”
She looked at me, then at Ella, and something knowing sparkled in her eyes. “Ah, I see. Come, come. I have the perfect spot.”
She led us to a booth near the back, away from the main dining area but with a clear view of the pizza oven. Ella scrambled into the seat, kneeling so she could watch the pizzaiolos work—tossing dough, spreading sauce with the backs of ladles, arranging toppings with unmatched speed.
I took the seat beside Ella, bumping my knee against hers, making her giggle.
“You come here often?” I turned to Hayes, unable to resist the cliché.
His mouth quirked. “Is that your best line?”
“I’m out of practice. There’s usually not a seven-year-old chaperone involved in my dates.”
“Is this still a date?” The question came with quiet, genuine curiosity.
I glanced at Ella, who was still mesmerized by the oven, then back at him. “I don’t know. What do you think?”
“I think,” he said slowly, “that it’s probably the most interesting second date I’ve ever been on.”
“Second?” I raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure last week was just…”
“Just what?” His eyes gleamed with something that made heat pool low in my stomach.
“Just nothing.” I shook my head. When did he get so brazen all of a sudden? He was as skittish as a newborn kitten just last week. I thought I’d have to hold him down to get a kiss, which was… certainly an idea.
“What do you like on pizza?” Hayes turned his attention to Ella.
She considered this with great gravity, lips pressed together like she was weighing a difficult choice. “Cheese. Pepperoni. Not the green things.”
“Green things?”
“Peppers,” I translated. “Or possibly olives. Basically anything with color that isn’t red.”
“A woman of classic tastes,” Hayes said solemnly. “I respect that.”
Ella nodded, satisfied with this assessment.
“What about you?” He turned those dark eyes on me. “Let me guess. Pineapple?”
“I’m not a monster.” I chuckled. “Honestly, Ella and I have pretty similar tastes.”
I should probably be more embarrassed that my palate matched a second grader’s, but it was what it was.
Growing up, dinner had been whatever came easiest—boxed mac and cheese, frozen pizzas, sandwiches assembled with the bare minimum of effort.
My dad had never been much of a cook, and after my mom left, we’d survived on simplicity.
Some habits were harder to break than others.
Viola returned to our table, pulling out a notepad from her apron. “You decided?”
“One pepperoni pizza, one margherita, and…” He glanced at me.
“A margherita for me as well.”
“And for drinks?”
I shrugged. “I’m driving, so water for me. How about you, Ella, what would you like to drink?”
“Chocolate milk!”
Viola’s face creased into a warm smile. “Coming right up, piccola.”
It wasn’t long until she reappeared with a tray balanced expertly on one hand. “For the little miss,” she announced, setting down the pizza with a flourish.
“What do you say?” I prompted.
“Thank you!” Ella breathed, already reaching for a slice. Strings of cheese connected her mouth to the pizza in an unbroken bridge, and I grabbed a napkin before the inevitable happened, ready to intervene before tomato sauce ended up all over her shirt.
“This might be the best pizza I ever had,” I said, after taking my first bite. The flavors hit my tongue in waves—the sweetness of the tomatoes, the creamy tang of fresh mozzarella, the slight pepper of basil, all balanced on that perfectly charred crust.
“Better than Angeli’s?” Hayes asked, looking amused by the religious experience I was having.
“I never thought I’d say this, but it might be close.”
The rest of the evening slipped by without seemingly any effort at all.
I watched Hayes eat, the way he savored each bite rather than rushing through it. Watched his hands, his fingers elegant and long, the unconscious grace in every movement. Watched the way the firelight caught in his dark hair, bringing out copper undertones I hadn’t noticed before.
Ella made it through three slices before slowing down, her eyelids growing heavy despite her best efforts to stay alert.
She leaned against my shoulder, warm and solid, her breathing evening out into something close to sleep.
I adjusted my position to accommodate her weight, one arm coming around to keep her steady.
My body felt pleasantly heavy, satisfied in a way that had nothing to do with food and everything to do with the man sitting across from me. With the easy way this evening had unfolded despite—or maybe because of—the detour it had taken.