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With all the various pizza toppings in this shop, and we had more than most, I couldn’t understand why someone would purposely order pineapples, olives (a combo of green and black), and anchovies, unless of course, it was for a pregnant woman with crazy cravings or a guy who’d had his tastebuds knocked out when he was a kid while playing sports and never recovered.
I’d been completely thrown when Dani walked in to collect it, giving me her story of how it was the only thing she could eat while she was recovering from a breakup. We’d talked for a few minutes, and just listening to her deep, sexy voice and watching her adorable amber eyes gaze up at me behind long, dark lashes sent my heart into overdrive.
Of course, at the time, I was in a relationship I’d thought was serious, so I let whatever attraction I had for Dani die on the pizza vine.
But since then, despite my own breakup, and a couple more girlfriends who didn’t work out, the timing hadn’t been right for me to make my move with Dani; at least that had always been my excuse.
So, when the order came in this time, I was all set to take the plunge. However, as soon as I saw Dani standing at the counter, her face all puffy, her sweet amber eyes bloodshot, and her hair in a twisted mess, perched on top of her head, I knew this had been an especially bad breakup, and any flirting attempts on my part wouldn’t cut it. I’d been so naive as to think tonight would be my chance, I changed out my sauce-stained white apron for a clean one, and threw water on my face after I slid the pizza with extra everything into the brick oven.
So much for making plans.
“Will there be anything else?” I asked the girl of my dreams as she stood on the other side of the counter, looking completely crestfallen.
To say that I was disappointed when I saw Dani’s sad face was an understatement. I wanted to gather her up in my arms and tell her everything would be all right, but I knew I was way out of bounds.
So far, the night had been slower than usual in my family-owned pizzeria, with only half of our tables in use, but then Thursdays were like that. We’d make up for it on the weekend, especially on Sunday when our regular patrons ordered in. As far as the kitchen went, we had three cooks and one counter person, who I kind of pushed out of the way when I saw Dani enter the restaurant.
“Umm, maybe, if it’s not too much trouble, would it be possible to add some extra pineapples and anchovies on the side, please? It’s… or rather I’m having a rough time, and I think I need all the yummy pizza help I can get.”
Many of our pizzas could be described asyummy,but this one certainly didn’t fit that bill, but hey, who was I to judge?
“Sure. Not a problem,” I told her. “I’ll throw in some extra olives and a few breadsticks as well.”
Then I went off to grab the sides.
As soon as I walked back in the kitchen and spotted my dad throwing a pizza, I knew I didn’t want to make eye contact with him, or he’d give me a lecture on the evils of pineapple on a pizza. I didn’t have time for him. Even though we weren’t busy inhouse, our take-out orders were booming. Not only did we make pizza, but we also made a few pasta dishes as well, like my mom’s meat and meatless lasagnas, ziti al forno, and spaghetti with meatballs, to name a few. I wanted to add some lighter Italian fare, like cheese ravioli with a butter, lemon, and poppyseed sauce, but my family always shot me down, no matter what I suggested.
“We need you in the kitchen, not working the counter,” my dad said without looking my way as he whirled pizza dough on his fist. We could all throw pizza dough, but none of us could do it quite as well as our dad. It was a true art form to him, and to watch him was something to behold.
Still, one day, I hoped to open my own restaurant with my own recipes and absolutely no pizza. Unfortunately, with the way things were going, and with my three brothers continually flaking out on this restaurant, it wouldn’t be happening anytime soon.
“Anything to drink?” I asked Dani as I approached, shaking open a small white bag for her sides.
“A six pack of dark beer,” she said, her voice almost a whisper, as if she was about to burst out crying.
“Guinness, okay?”
“Oh yeah. That’s perfect, actually.”
She cleared her throat then and smirked, but I knew she didn’t feel at all like smiling.
As I pulled the beer out of the glass-doored fridge, I decided I couldn’t allow this latest obvious breakup crisis go to waste. It was time to make my move, even as everything in me shouted to stay in my place, behind the counter. Why would someone like Dani Green, who was going for her masters in communications, want to date Pizza Boy? Not only had I heard about the PR master’s program she was in, but I’d also heard she came from Northern California. No way in hell would she want to stay in central PA when California was her home.
I was dreaming… big time.
“Sounds like there’s a crisis going on,” I told her, trying for some small talk. “Normally, you’re here with your friend Sarah, and you two take the booth in the corner that very few people like to sit in. Way too dark for most people, especially folks with kids. Where is she tonight?”
“How’d you know her name?” she asked, her head tilting as if I might’ve overstepped.
“She’s the only other person in this area who orders this combination.”
“There must be a few others,” she corrected. “It’s a great pizza.”
I shook my head and grinned. “Nope. We have plenty of folks who like pineapple and ham, or even pineapple and pepperoni, but no one likes pineapple, olives, and anchovies. My dad refuses to make it. Whenever one of your orders comes in, I usually take it on, or my brother Frankie will make it if he’s working. Not our dad.” I took a deep breath. “So, how’s it going? I haven’t seen either you or Sarah in here for a while.”
She gazed behind her, then leaned in and lowered her voice. “It’s bad. I can’t go into all the details, but this was a very bad breakup. I should probably be ordering two large pizzas, but I’m picking up a couple cheesesteaks next door as well.”
“Wow! Pizza and a cheesesteak. Is there anything I can do?”
