Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
People who love pizza tend to eat it often.
They’ll experiment with toppings, invite friends to their favourite spot, even eat leftovers for breakfast the next morning.
But not many people love pizza enough to have a tiny slice tattooed on their right ankle.
And not many have a partner willing to get a matching slice on their left.
That put Leah and Ariana in a rather unusual category.
Six years later, the small slice looked more like a blob, but the outline was still intact—perfectly symbolising the trajectory of their relationship.
The outline was their feelings: sturdy, holding strong despite the turbulence and confusion of the blob in the middle.
It was a new and interesting take on a love story.
Leah called it the Pizza Theory—or the Ever-Moving Blob—or maybe Pepperoni Passion.
She had time to work on the name. She walked the five blocks over, each small step feeling like a bigger leap into the unknown.
Truth be told, she was nervous—extremely.
She’d grown so accustomed to a world without Ariana, and then suddenly, she was back.
Back at the forefront of her mind instead of buried as far down as Leah could force her.
Back popping up on her phone, reigniting the flutter of butterflies she thought had died forever.
The cold air bit at her skin as she wove through crowds bundled in thick coats. She took her time, the sidewalk glistening with a thin sheen of ice. Her breath formed little clouds in the air, growing more frequent as her pace quickened and her heart began to race.
Above, buildings towered over her, their glass and steel facades reminding her how microscopic she was in such a powerful city. The typical hurried pace was softened by the holiday season. The crunch of her boots on the icy pavement stood out against the muffled hum of traffic.
She loved New York.
There was always a sense of something larger at work in this city—something optimistic, even among the turned-down faces hiding from the cold.
And for a brief moment, it felt like the whole city was holding its breath with Leah, in quiet support of whatever her future might look like.
A promise of what lay ahead. It was magical.
Leah couldn’t explain how a city of steel and concrete had the power to make people feel so seen, so determined, so hopeful for what was coming—even when the unknown was terrifying.
She stuffed her hands into her pockets, her feet stopping outside a green storefront. The area felt so familiar. She’d only been here a handful of times, yet she was sure if asked, she could direct someone from any point in the city to this very spot.
The sign on the door read: Generous Portions and Unbeatable Flavour. They weren’t wrong. She stalled, standing off to one side as locals rushed in and out with their evening meals. There was still time to turn back. She couldn’t see Ariana. There were a dozen excuses she could use to walk away.
The familiar smell of garlic and melted cheese drifted out onto the street.
For a moment, Leah let herself get lost in the memory of this place—of laughter shared, of late nights, of Ariana’s arm wrapped around her body, of experimenting with new flavours with someone who once meant everything to her.
Then, she felt it—the unmistakable presence of someone standing right behind her. She didn’t have to turn around to know it was Ariana. The perfume gave her away. A scent Leah could never forget.
“You know what they say—” Ariana started.
Leah smiled. “The best kind of pizza comes on a paper plate.”
She shifted nervously, glancing at the door and then back at Ariana.
“I wasn’t sure you’d show up,” Ariana said.
“Of course. You know me and commitments,” Leah said awkwardly. They were both uncertain—still learning how to breathe in the same space again.
“I’m glad you did.” Her throat tightened.
“Me too.”
Something about Ariana’s presence was so disorientating—it kept Leah rooted to the spot.
Ariana nodded, a half-smile forming, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “It’s good to see you.”
Leah exhaled. “You too.”
“Let’s go inside.” Ariana led the way.
The warmth of the pizzeria wrapped around them like a thick blanket after the chill of the street.
It felt oddly familiar to Leah, like they’d done this a thousand times before.
The noise of the kitchen, the hum of conversation—everything was just as she remembered from the last time they were here. Everything except them.
They ordered at the counter, opting for the daily special—chicken, bacon, ranch, and mozzarella. The man behind the counter gave them both a knowing look, as though he could sense their hesitation. He’d probably seen their kind of reunion a hundred times before.
They moved to a small round table by the window, sitting across from each other in the dim light. The pizza arrived quickly, barely giving them time for anything beyond a mundane conversation about their respective workdays.
Leah cleared her throat. “I remember how much you used to love ranch.”
“I haven’t changed.” Ariana smiled.
“Ranch on anything and everything that required a dip. Do you still pour it on top of your avocado toast for breakfast?” Leah cringed.
“Oh, you bet. It elevates the avocado.”
“I beg to differ.” Leah laughed. “Tell me, what’s the weirdest thing you’ve tried it on?”
“Now you’re testing me. . .let me think . . .key lime pie?”
“No. Absolutely not. That’s just wrong.”
“There was one very brief second of repulsion during the transition period, but then, weirdly, it didn’t even taste that bad.”
“How did you even get to that point? Was it a dare?” Leah asked.
Surely it had to be a dare.
“Well, less of a dare, more of an experiment. I wanted to know if ranch could truly make anything taste worse.”
“And was your experiment successful?”
“I wouldn’t recommend dipping Swedish Fish in ranch, that’s all I’ll say.” The admission should’ve come with a trigger warning. Leah felt nauseous.
There were people who liked ranch, and then there were people who really liked ranch. Ariana was firmly in the latter camp—under the impression you could take any food, add ranch, and make it exponentially better.
“I’ll stick to pizza.” Leah laughed. She met Ariana’s gaze properly for the first time since they’d entered, her lips curving into a tentative smile.
“So . . .” Leah said.
Ariana smiled back, but the space between them felt fragile. She swirled her soda with a straw.
“You haven’t changed,” Ariana said, her voice quieter now, more thoughtful.
“What do you mean?”
“Five years is a long time. Half a decade is enough to change someone’s appearance, their outlook on life, their aura.”
“Aura? Since when did Ariana Harrison talk about auras?” Leah teased, suspicious.
“New York can change a person.” Ariana smirked.
“Go on then. Tell me about my aura.”
Ariana paused mid-bite, watching Leah like she was truly seeing her for the first time in years.
“You’ve always had this energy. I used to put it down to being comfortable in your own skin.
You have this way of being unapologetically yourself, regardless of circumstance or company.
I found it enviable. It’s not your appearance or how you talk—it’s a calmness.
Like you’re not trying to be anyone you’re not.
And in today’s world, all I find myself doing is trying to be someone I’m not. ”
Leah’s eyes softened. “You don’t know how wrong you are.”
“Oh yeah?”
“I sold my soul to come to New York. And now I’m here, trying to be what everyone else wants me to be.”
“By everyone else, you mean your dad?”
Leah nodded.
“Coming here forced me to look at myself—and what I want from my career, my life. Am I trying to be who I think I should be, or who I actually am? I guess I haven’t figured that out yet.”
“Okay.” Ariana hesitated, then leaned forward, expression sincere.
“I have an idea . . .What if I told you the future face of the Douglas Green Advisory Group was a woman called Odette, from a rival firm? Odette is a shark. She’s spent her career acquiring companies, squeezing them for all they’re worth, and moving on to the next.
No empathy. She’ll increase your fees, charge clients double for initial consultations, hire any deadbeat advisor willing to bend the rules—and eventually the offices you rent will be vacant.
Nothing left but old A4 paper, a trash-can fire, and worthless leftover fittings. ”
“Erm . . .who the hell is Odette?”
“Odette is hypothetical. But she exists, under many names.”
“Are you speaking from experience? You paint a vivid picture.”
“No. But how does it make you feel?”
“I don’t like Odette.”
“Of course you don’t. But how does it really make you feel?”
“It’s hard to imagine that ever happening.”
“It’s reality for many companies. I can give you an example from last week. Odette is real. She’ll lure your father into a deal he thinks will benefit everyone. He’ll believe he’s leaving a legacy—a good, solid business for his clients. But it couldn’t be further from the truth.”
“I could never let that happen!” Leah’s voice tightened.
“Does it make you angry?”
“Yes!”
“Does it make you wish you could do something about it?”
“Yes, obviously.”
“Then there’s your answer.” Ariana’s tone turned smug. “You clearly care a lot about the business. So do something about it. Be the one to continue the legacy.”
Huh.
“I don’t know if I’m good enough,” Leah admitted.
“You have the ability to adapt and excel in any situation. It’s one of the things I used to love about you. You always had a plan. You were always three steps ahead. And you had this way of bringing people along with you. I think you need to start believing in yourself.”