9. More Than Just a Slice
More Than Just a Slice
C an we get pepperoni?”
The sidewalk glows under the amber haze of streetlights, the scent of melted cheese and dough drifting from the pizzeria up ahead as Sadie tugs at my hand.
I look down at her. “ And cheese?”
“So we have breakfast pizza tomorrow!”
“Fine.” I ruffle her hair before she swats my hand away, her giggles bubbling through the air like shaken soda. We usually get pizzas on Friday, but she insisted she wanted it a day earlier, and I’m too tired to cook dinner anyway.
“Dad! Stop it.” She pushes at the door with all the might her little body can muster, and when it’s still too heavy, I step in to nudge it open for her. She struts past me like she owns the place, chin high, pigtails bouncing. “Hi, Dave!”
“Hello, angel.” Dave, the grizzled owner behind the counter, looks up from where he’s stretching dough, flour dusting his forearms. His eyes shift to me, a knowing grin already forming. “Hey, Aaron. The usual?”
“And a pepperoni, apparently.”
Dave lets out a low whistle and grabs a notepad. “Wow. Trying something new today, huh?”
Sadie nods solemnly, proud of her major life decision. He jots it down, winks, and calls into the kitchen, “One cheese, one pepperoni!”
At the sound of clattering pans and Italian words drifting from the back, Sadie fists her hands in my jeans and tugs. “Daddy, sodas?”
“Go get them—hey,” I call when she starts hopping toward the fridge, already too excited. “ Two sodas.”
She rushes off, her sneakers squeaking against the tiles as she pulls the fridge open with both hands. I glance her way—until something red catches my eye.
At the last table on the right, half hidden in the corner, sits Charlotte.
My stomach tightens.
She’s bent over a notebook, one hand gripping a pencil and the other resting on the page as she sketches. Headphones cover her ears, and she’s completely lost in whatever she’s creating.
I should look away. I should turn back toward the counter, keep my distance.
After what happened with her friend two days ago, we’ve barely interacted. I didn’t see her at all today, and Beatrice didn’t seem remotely worried about her daughter skipping lunch and dinner. She ate, complained about the chicken being overcooked, and retreated to her office.
But I’ve been thinking about Charlotte nonstop. Wondering if she’s upset I ruined her “date.” If she’ll see Peter again.
My gaze flicks to the notebook, curiosity getting the better of me.
What’s she drawing?
I can’t see.
God, she’s so fucking intriguing.
Before I can take a step closer, Sadie’s small voice rings out.
“My mommy has red hair like yours.”
Shit.
I snap my head toward her just in time to see her tiny fingers reach out, gently brushing the strands of Charlotte’s long, thick hair.
She flinches, her shoulders tensing, but when she turns and sees Sadie, she relaxes instantly. With an easy smile, she pulls her headphones off and hangs them around her neck. “Hey, you.”
Sadie grins, bouncing slightly. “Your hair . . . I love it.”
“You do?” Charlotte asks, voice playful.
Seriously, Sadie knows better than to talk to strangers. Of course, Charlotte isn’t a stranger, at least to me. And she’s smiling—smiling at my daughter, warm and unguarded. And I thought she was beautiful before.
She nods toward Sadie’s messy pigtails. “I like yours too.”
Sadie beams and does a little twirl, clearly pleased. Then, as if deciding she’s had enough attention, she points at me.
“My daddy was looking at you.”
Great .
My body locks up as Charlotte’s eyes flick to me, then narrow with curiosity.
I step closer, and before I can decide what to say, she leans back in her chair. “A chef walks into a pizzeria and says...”
I sigh, relieved at her playful tone. “Hi, Charlotte.”
She clicks her tongue. “Where’s the punchline?”
“Daddy, she’s funny,” Sadie announces.
I gently pull her against my hip. “Sorry about that. Sadie knows better than to approach strangers.”
“But you were smiling at her, Daddy!”
Good lord.
Charlotte’s smirk deepens, her eyes alight.
“No, I wasn’t,” I protest, but Sadie isn’t done.
She wiggles out of my hold and steps up to Charlotte’s table. After peering down at the open notebook, she gasps. “This looks like my Daddy.”
Shit, Sadie— Wait, what?
Charlotte lets out a low, satisfied laugh. Closing her notebook, she picks up her pencil, twirling it between her fingers. “Wow. You’re a little snitch, aren’t you?”
“What’s a snitch?”
“O-kay,” I interject, my pulse a little too quick. “We should let Charlotte draw. Right, baby?”
Sadie ignores me. “Do you like pepperoni pizza?”
What is with her sudden obsession with pepperoni?
“I love it,” Charlotte says. “Do you?”
“I think so. I’m eating it for the first time tonight.
” She leans against the table on both arms, her little feet swinging inches off the floor.
Then, with all the casual ease of someone who hasn’t yet learned the concept of social boundaries, she asks, “Do you want to eat pizza with me and my daddy?”
“Sadie,” I scold, keeping my voice gentle but firm.
She turns, wide-eyed, like she has no idea what she’s done wrong. But she does. She knows she’s not supposed to invite strangers over. That applies especially to women her father should stay far, far away from.
“Why don’t you bring those sodas to Dave so Daddy can pay?” I suggest, nudging her along.
She pouts but obeys, skipping off toward the counter.
After watching her go, Charlotte turns her attention back to me, a smug smile on her lips. “Hi, Daddy.”
I blow out a breath, looking around to make sure nobody heard that.
“I’m not sure what’s gotten into her. Sorry.”
She props her chin on her hand, studying me. “From the sound of it...you were smiling at me.”
“And from the looks of it, you were drawing me.”
Her teeth sink into her bottom lip. “Right.”
“Right.”
For a long moment, we watch each other—long enough for me to regret my words. That was flirty, wasn’t it? Why is it so fun to flirt with her?
No, Aaron. Don’t.
She taps her pencil against the notebook—the one Sadie so helpfully pointed out might contain a drawing with my face in it. I have no idea what she’s actually drawing, but I know one thing: I need to get my pizzas and leave.
Though I am curious to know why she’s having nothing but a coffee at Tony’s.
“Are you getting a pizza?”
“Me?” She snorts. “Pizza?”
Yes, it goes against every one of her mother’s rules, but she skipped both main meals today.
“Beatrice has a date over,” she explains, not quite meeting my eyes. “And I can’t go back home until she’s done with him.”
She’s banished from her own house?
A low simmer of anger stirs in my bones. What kind of mother kicks her daughter out every time she brings a man home? Where the hell is Charlotte supposed to go?
I glance at Sadie who’s at the counter, bouncing on her toes as she watches the big oven with barely concealed excitement. Then back at Charlotte, picking at the corner of her sketchpad, her fingers smudged with graphite.
“Did you eat anything today?”
She blinks, as if the question takes her by surprise. “Uh...no.”
No? Nothing? Since this morning? Last night?
I rake a hand through my hair, studying her. She looks fine, but now that I’m paying attention, there’s a sluggishness to her movements. A dullness in her expression. How the hell is she still standing if she hasn’t eaten all day?
“Daddy!” Sadie’s voice breaks through my thoughts, and I turn just in time to see Dave setting the pizza boxes on the counter. “The pizzas are ready!”
“Coming, sweetheart.” I shift my gaze back to Charlotte, who’s already looking back at the sketchpad, shoulders tense.
I can’t leave her here. Tony’s will close up soon, and I’ll worry all night long that she passed out from hunger or wandered the streets for hours until her mom let her come back home.
I also can’t invite her over, though. Can I? It’d be unprofessional, and I’ve already crossed more lines than I care to admit.
Fuck me, I know which of the two arguments feels weaker in my mind.
“You should come over.”
Her eyes lift. “What?”
“Come over,” I repeat. “Sadie would love to have company.”
At that, the corner of her mouth twitches into a tired half smile. Maybe it’s because we both know Sadie won’t enjoy her company as much as I will. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, of course. I’ll give you a ride back home.”
“Oh, well.” She gathers up her things. “As long as I get a ride .”
She can’t help herself, can she?
“Sweetheart,” I say as I join Sadie’s side. “Charlotte is a friend of Daddy’s from work.”
“Like Auntie Amelie?”
“Yes, and she’s coming over to eat pizza. All right?”
She nods frantically. “Yes!
I hold the door open as Sadie asks her about her clothes, her favorite animal, and more I miss because all I can see is Charlotte stepping past me.
There’s no way this ends well. But right now, I’m not sure I care.
“Aren’t you going to eat?” Sadie asks, watching Charlotte as she stares at the pizzas laid out before us.
Her lips part slightly. “Uh . . .”
“You said you liked pepperoni,” Sadie insists, pointing at the untouched pizza.
Charlotte narrows her eyes playfully. “ You said you’d try it, and you’re eating cheese pizza.”
“I’ll try it after!”
“Sadie,” I say gently, cutting in before Charlotte can retort.
“We don’t insist when people don’t feel like eating.
They might have allergies or dietary restrictions or.
..” I trail off as she watches me with a puzzled expression.
I reach out and tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s impolite, love.”
“Sorry, Charlotte.”
“That’s okay.” Charlotte hesitates for a moment, then inhales as if gathering courage. “Maybe...maybe I’ll have a slice.”
Her gaze lingers on the pepperoni pizza, almost reverently, like it’s something forbidden. But then, I see it—the way her eyes flicker up and away. She’s counting calories. Debating the extra fat, the indulgence, the guilt.