9. More Than Just a Slice #2
“You know,” I rush out, “meat has wonderful nutritional value.”
Her eyes fill with cautious hope.
“Proteins,” I add. “Cheese . . . it’s mostly fat.”
Charlotte’s lips quirk. “Pepperoni has cheese too.”
“Yeah.” I scramble for something better. “But if you’re going to eat junk food, you might as well get some nutrients out of it.”
She remains tense, and I know it’s because Beatrice’s obsession has settled so deeply in her mind that she can’t even enjoy a slice of pizza without guilt clawing at her.
I brush my hands together then reach for a slice of pepperoni pizza and set it in front of Charlotte, who stares at it like it’s a loaded weapon.
Sadie’s been oddly quiet. When I glance at her, I notice she’s watching Charlotte in pretty much the same way she watches animals at the zoo.
That can’t be helping.
“So, how was school today?” I ask quickly.
Sadie’s face lights up. “Good! We’re studying shapes. I like triangles. Duncan didn’t come to school today. Frances said he has head lice.”
I tune out the rest of her story when I see Charlotte finally lift her slice. She gives it a tentative bite, and the second she begins chewing, she lets out a groan—loud, unfiltered, and utterly obscene.
Sadie’s eyes widen before she bursts into giggles so honest and unrestrained that I can’t help but chuckle too.
“Oh, this is so good,” Charlotte says, tapping her feet under the table in excitement. She laughs along with us before taking another, much bigger bite. “I forgot how much I fuck— freaking love pizza.”
“Daddy, she said a bad word!” Sadie gasps.
“She did, baby.”
“When I do, Daddy takes away my favorite toy.”
“Yeah?” Charlotte smirks, eyes twinkling. “Are you going to punish me, Daddy?”
A flush creeps up my neck, and I shift in my chair. I can still picture her toy, picture her playing with herself and moaning my name. And now she’s flirting with me—here. In front of my kid.
“Daddy, can I get Mollie?”
Fuuuuck, I forgot about the fucking cat. I never mentioned her name to Charlotte, but if she learns I have one, she’ll figure out I’m Cole-slash-Weepy Wanker, that we have been on a call together. That I spent most of it crying.
“Not now, sweetheart.”
“Who’s Mo?—”
“Are you a chef too, Charlotte?” Sadie asks suddenly.
For once thankful she still has this bad habit of interrupting people, I answer, “No, sweetheart. I work for her mom,” before Charlotte can. Who knows what she’d say.
Sadie gasps. “He cooks for you?”
“Yes, he does. He’s really good too.”
The simple compliment warms me in a way I don’t expect. I’ve always loved when people enjoy my food, but watching Charlotte eat what I cook feels different. Feels personal. Primal.
Her leg presses against mine under the table, and heat shoots straight up my spine, curling around my resolve. I flinch back on instinct, but she follows, dragging the side of her foot against my hamstring.
I’m painfully aware of every inch of space between us—mostly because she’s taking all of it.
I need to stop. All of this needs to stop .
I stand, my chair scraping against the floor, and Charlotte looks up, biting her bottom lip. “Water. I need—these sodas are way too sweet.”
I walk through the small hallway that leads into the kitchen, open the fridge, and grab two water bottles. Then, making sure I’m out of Charlotte’s and Sadie’s field of vision, I breathe out.
Why is she flirting with me? I thought she was just trying to buy my silence. But now? Now it feels like she enjoys watching me squirm. And apparently, she has no problem doing it in front of Sadie.
But does she mean it? Or is this revenge for driving Peter out of the house?
I shut my eyes, jaw tightening as I remember her with him only two days ago.
The way she let him pull her close, kiss her neck, their bodies fitting together.
She’s obviously dating anyone she wants and just messing with me because she can.
Because it’s fun for her. Because she knows I won’t do a damn thing about it.
It’s not like she’s actually interested in me.
Come on, Aaron. Why are you thinking about this?
The sudden ring of the landline phone cuts through my spiraling thoughts. I pick it up. “Hello?”
“Hey, Aaron.”
Is that . . . Josie?
“Hi—hey. Hello.”
“I was wondering if I could talk to Sadie.”
“Of course,” I say quickly. Is this becoming a regular thing? Could it be that she’s going to start calling now? “One second.”
“Aaron?” she says before I can call Sadie over.
“Yeah?”
“I’ll call again around this time tomorrow. And the day after tomorrow. Would that be okay?”
I can feel my shoulders relax, like turning from marble to clay. “You can always call, Josie.”
“Okay. Just checking.”
I rejoin the table, catching the tail end of Charlotte and Sadie’s conversation. They must be talking about Sadie’s favorite show, Bluey , because she’s rambling about Bingo and Bandit.
“Mom wants to talk to you,” I say, handing her the phone.
Sadie tears it from my hand. “Mom? Hi! Yes, we got pizzas.”
I meet Charlotte’s gaze as I sit back down.
“And pepperoni! I’m trying that too.”
I squeeze Sadie’s shoulder, gesturing toward the stairs so she can have some privacy. She stands and trails away, asking, “Is it really spicy?”
Silence drapes around Charlotte and me as she takes another bite of her slice. “This is the best fucking pizza I’ve ever eaten—and I’ve been to Italy several times.”
Her eyes flutter shut as she chews. Her lips glisten with oil, a strand of melted cheese stretching between her mouth and the slice. She catches it with her tongue, and I lean back against the chair, watching her with a smile.
“I think you’re just hungry.”
“Maybe,” she concedes, swallowing. “Fifty percent hunger, fifty percent this is a really good pizza.”
Her long fingers tear off the edge of the crust before popping it into her mouth. She’s eating like someone who actually enjoys food—not delicately, not self-consciously, but fully .
She’s just a girl enjoying a meal. It feels like my biggest victory in a while.
“I can’t believe you’ve never eaten at Tony’s,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s by far the best pizza in Roseberg.”
She shrugs, licking a smudge of tomato sauce off her thumb. “We just moved here.”
I pause mid-sip of my water. “You did?”
It’s a genuine surprise. Their penthouse is fully furnished, has that lived-in feel.
“Where did you live before?”
“Europe, for the most part. Sydney for a while, and...lots of other places.”
“And now, Roseberg.”
“Yeah. I’ve got quite a few projects lined up, so, if everything goes well, we’ll stay a while.” She bats her lashes. “Roseberg might be my new home.”
Roseberg might be her new home.
I don’t know why it hits me like that—maybe because I hadn’t considered it before. That this sharp, teasing, impossible girl isn’t just passing through my life but rooting herself into it.
I barely know her, but she’s in my mind. In my house. She’s met my kid too.
I nod, my fingers tightening around my water. “Guess I’ll have to start saving you a seat at Tony’s then.”