Chapter Ten
Dominic
Nicole leads us down a side street, away from the busier stretch of shops, and suddenly the scent of garlic and tomato sauce hits me like a welcome punch to the senses.
“Welcome to Paulie’s,” she announces. “Best pizza in West LA. And the even better part? No one comes here to take photos of their food. They actually eat it.”
The storefront is unassuming with a red-and-white striped awning, a slightly faded menu taped to the window, and a neon “OPEN” sign that’s missing the “N.” But the line of locals stretching out the door speaks volumes.
“Looks promising,” I say, genuinely impressed. This place feels like it exists for the people who already know about it.
“I promise it’s worth the wait.” Nicole tugs gently on Cocoa’s leash as he attempts to investigate a discarded napkin. “Plus, they don’t mind him on the patio.”
We join the line, and I notice something I didn’t expect—nobody has their phones out. Not a single person is documenting the wait, the menu, or crafting the perfect caption. People are just talking. Laughing. Existing together.
“This place feels … different,” I remark.
Nicole smiles, like she knows exactly what I mean. “Sometimes you just need pizza without a filter, you know?”
The line moves quickly, and soon we’re at the counter. A heavily tattooed man with flour up to his elbows gives Nicole a nod of recognition.
“The usual, Nic?”
“Yes, please, Tony! And whatever my friend wants.” She gestures to me.
I scan the overhead menu, overwhelmed by the sheer number of toppings. Back home, pizza was pizza. You got pepperoni, or maybe supreme if you were feeling adventurous.
“What’s good here?” I ask Nicole, feeling oddly out of my depth.
She leans closer, her shoulder brushing against my arm. “The margherita is life-changing if you like it simple. The ‘Brooklyn’ if you like meat. Or…” She points to a chalkboard special. “The potato rosemary thing is actually incredible, even though it sounds weird.”
“I’ll try the Brooklyn,” I tell Tony, figuring I can’t go wrong with a classic.
“Coming right up,” he says. I swipe my debit card and leave some cash in the tip jar. “You guys grab that table by the window before someone else snags it.”
The patio is small, just four metal tables on a sliver of sidewalk, but it feels cozy rather than cramped. Nicole ties Cocoa’s leash to her chair leg.
“So,” Nicole says as we sit down, “I feel like all our interactions so far have involved some kind of disaster. Dog pee, loud music, sandwich casualties.” She gestures to my stained shirt. “I swear, I’m not always this destructive.”
“And I’m not always this grumpy,” I reply, surprising myself with the admission. “Moving to a new city, new team … it takes adjustment.”
“I get that. I moved here from New York about a year ago. It’s culture shock.”
“Exactly.” I find myself leaning forward, relieved that someone understands. “Everyone here seems to be living in a completely different reality.”
Nicole laughs, and I notice how her smile reaches her eyes, creating little crinkles at the corners. “Oh, the Content Creators’ Society? Yeah, that park is basically an outdoor studio now. I’ve tried to film there myself and always fail spectacularly. Cocoa ensures that.”
“What were you trying to film?” I ask, genuinely curious.
She ducks her head, looking embarrassed. “Skincare tutorials. For my line, Glow Girl. Which, by the way, is currently on life support thanks to a little chemical reaction issue that made everything smell like rotten eggs after a couple months.”
I can’t help but laugh, not at her failure but at the candid way she describes it.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “That’s terrible.”
“No, it’s actually hilarious in retrospect.” She shrugs. “I mean, I literally put my face on every jar. So now there are thousands of little Nicole Farrarahs out there, stinking up bathroom cabinets across America.”
Tony arrives with our pizza, saving me from having to formulate a response. The slices are massive—folded paper plates barely containing the rivers of cheese and sauce. Nicole immediately grabs a napkin and dabs at a string of cheese hanging from her slice.
“So worth it,” she says after her first bite, eyes closed.
I take a bite of my own slice and nearly groan. The crust is somehow both crispy and chewy, the sauce tangy without being too acidic, and the blend of meats and cheese is perfect.
“This might be the best pizza I’ve ever had,” I admit. “Though, Texas isn’t exactly known for its pizza.”
Nicole grins triumphantly. “Right? I told you, Paulie’s doesn’t need Instagram. They have actual flavor.”
Cocoa whines softly at our feet, eyeing the pizza.
“Don’t even think about it,” Nicole reprimands. “You already ate my sandwich.”
We sit in comfortable silence, both savoring our slice.
Nicole takes another bite, then asks, “So, have you settled into California life, or are you missing the South?”
I hesitate. I’m not used to being this transparent with people I barely know. But something about the way she’s looking at me—genuinely interested, not just making conversation—makes me answer honestly.
“I miss home. My brother is still in Texas. Derrick coaches high school basketball now, and he married his college sweetheart. They have this perfect little life with a backyard and a grill and kids who call me Uncle Dom.” I take another bite of pizza to stop myself from saying more. I sound pathetic.
“That sounds really nice,” Nicole says softly. “Being missed like that.”
“Do you have siblings?” I ask, eager to shift the focus away from my homesickness.
Her face lights up. “One sister, Nora. She’s older, married, three kids under eight.” Nicole pulls out her phone and quickly scrolls to a photo. “That’s her family.”
The screen shows a holiday portrait of a beautiful blonde woman who looks like Nicole, a tall guy with a kind face, and three kids in matching outfits, all making silly faces at the camera.
“They look fun,” I say.
“They’re chaos incarnate.” Nicole laughs, swiping through more photos.
“Nellie, the oldest, is basically a mini lawyer. She can argue you into the ground over bedtime. Jake builds these incredibly complex Lego structures and then lets his little sister destroy them. And Emma, the baby, somehow manages to be both the sweetest and most diabolical creature on Earth.”
Her face changes as she talks about them. Her hands gesture expressively, her voice rises and falls with the stories, and she laughs without trying to hide it behind her hand or modulate it to sound more sophisticated.
This is the real Nicole, I realize. Not the woman who waltzed into my apartment after her dog peed on my shoes, not the influencer wannabe struggling to film content at the park. This person—the one who knows the best hidden pizza place and lights up talking about her nieces and nephew—is genuine.
“You must see them a lot,” I say.
“Not nearly enough. They’re back in New York. But Nora and I FaceTime almost every day. Even if it’s just to watch her frost cupcakes after midnight for some school function.”
“That’s nice. My brother calls me pretty often, but it’s not the same as being there.”
“Do you ever think about going back?” she asks, tilting her head.
I stare at my pizza for a moment. “All the time. But the Comets are a great team. And my contract is solid. So…” I trail off, not wanting to sound ungrateful for the opportunity.
“So you’re stuck in California for now,” she finishes with a sympathetic smile. “We’re not all bad, I promise.”
“I’m starting to see that,” I admit, meeting her gaze.
There’s a moment—just a flash, really—where something passes between us. A recognition, maybe. Or understanding. Whatever it is, it makes the patio feel suddenly smaller.
Nicole breaks eye contact first, reaching for her water glass. “So what does your brother think of LA?”
“He thinks it’s hilarious how uncomfortable I am here. Says I need to ‘embrace the culture’ or something.”
“And how’s that going for you?”
I gesture to my barbecue-stained shirt and my pizza slice. “Well, I’m having lunch with the neighbor whose dog peed on my shoes, so … progress?”
She bursts out laughing, nearly choking on her water. “I’d say that’s definite growth! Next thing you know, you’ll be getting a spray tan and saying ‘literally’ every third word.”
“Never gonna happen.” I shake my head firmly.
“Famous last words,” she teases. “This city has a way of getting under your skin when you least expect it.”
We fall into an easy rhythm after that, finishing our pizza and sharing more stories. I tell her about what it was like growing up on a farm in Texas. She tells me about her childhood in New York.
When we finish eating, the walk back to our building is leisurely, with Cocoa investigating every fire hydrant and tree along the way. The conversation continues to flow easily, nothing like the awkward exchanges of our previous encounters.
As we approach our building, Nicole hesitates, then says, “So, I’m hosting this thing at the building’s lounge on Thursday. Kind of a networking mixer for entrepreneurs and creative types.”
“Oh yeah?” I try to sound interested, though the idea of a room full of strangers making small talk sounds about as appealing as extra suicide drills.
“My sister convinced me to do it. Sort of a practice run before this big industry brunch I got invited to.” She looks up at me, a hint of vulnerability in her expression.
“I know it’s probably the last thing you’d want to do, but …
if you’re free, you should come by. There’ll be food and drinks, and at least one familiar face. ”
I hesitate, my natural instinct to decline warring with the strange pull I feel toward this woman who is so different from me yet somehow easy to talk to.
“I have practice that morning,” I say slowly. “But if it doesn’t run late…”
Her face brightens. “Really? I mean, no pressure at all. I just thought … you know, since you’re new in town, maybe it would be good to meet some people who aren’t basketball players.”
“Yeah,” I find myself saying. “I could probably do that.”
She grins. “Great! It starts at eleven, but come whenever. And bring your appetite. I ordered the best Korean BBQ caterer…” Her eyes drop to my shirt.
I chuckle. “Then maybe I will keep this shirt. It’ll be a great advertisement for the food.”
A giggle slips through her lips. “Yeah, I guess so.”
We reach the elevator, and she presses the button for our floor. Her balayage hair has signs of BBQ spatter and her mascara is a little smeared.
But honestly?
She kind of takes my breath away. And I really don’t know what to do with that. I don’t even know that I’ve had such an occurrence.
I’ve always just focused on basketball. Girls were scary, and a distraction I didn’t think I had time for.
“Thanks for having lunch with me,” she says as the doors slide open on our floor.
“Sure thing. It was nice.”
“It was,” she agrees, stepping out. “Maybe next time we can even avoid property damage or bodily harm.”
I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in weeks. “Let’s not set the bar too high.”
She waves as she unlocks her door, Cocoa prancing at her heels. “See you Thursday? Maybe?”
“Maybe,” I confirm, though we both know I’ll be there.
Cocoa gives a low, happy bark as Nicole opens the door for the two of them.
I watch them disappear inside, then stand there for a minute, letting the moment breathe around me. And for once, I don’t feel out of place.
I feel … here.
And like I should really look up what to expect at a networking brunch.