Page 22 of Passion and Privilege

The bell above the door jingled, breaking into my thoughts. Bennet walked in, wearing his usual suit and tie, which was funny because his boss rarely did.

“Catherine,” he said with a warm smile.

“Bennet,” I said with surprise.

“I guess we both had the same idea.” He chuckled.

“After a crappy day, pizza is always a good idea.”

“Rough day?” he asked.

I gave him a dry look. “I was having a great day until you and your boss ruined it.”

His eyes widened. “Oh, I didn’t realize.”

“I’m sorry,” I blurted out. “I didn’t mean that. Please, forgive me. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m hungry and tired. It’s been a long week.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said. “I get it.”

“What is his deal?” I asked him bluntly. “Timothy. I can’t quite figure him out. He’s very, um, surly. Quiet. Reserved.”

“That’s just Timothy.” He chuckled, a cryptic smile accompanying his words. “He’s not always easy to know, but when you get past the surface? Well, there’s a lot more to him than meets the eye. He’s complicated.”

I frowned, not quite sure what he was getting at. “Complicated?”

“Yeah,” Bennet said, sighing. “He’s had some rough patches that made him the way he is. Not everyone gets to see the real Timothy. Don’t take anything to heart. He appreciates the work you’ve been doing.”

“As long as he doesn’t have to see me doing it, right?” I scoffed. “Servants are not meant to be seen or heard.”

“That’s not the case,” he said softly. “He just has his ways. It’s not personal, I assure you.”

“Thanks.” My name was called. “That’s me.”

“Can you recommend anything?” he asked. “Timothy has requested something with stuffed crust.”

I almost choked. “Timothy wants pizza?”

“You’re surprised?”

I laughed. “Yes. I guess I assumed he dined on caviar and filet mignon.”

Bennet chuckled. “Not every night,” he said with a wink.

“Try the chicken fajita with stuffed crust, it’s quite popular,” I offered, thinking about Timothy’s food request.

“I’ll do that,” Bennet replied with a nod and stepped up to place his order as I left the counter.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said. “Have a good night.”

I got back to my dad’s shop with our warm pizza and found him still at work. He looked up and chuckled. “Busted.”

“Yes, you are.” I shook my head and smiled. “Come on. Enough for today. Let’s go dig in. I’m starving.”

I carried the pizza upstairs to his apartment and waited for him to follow.

I heard a grunt and the creak of his worn-out leather boots on the wooden stairwell. He walked into the kitchen, wiping his hands on his already smudged overalls. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the pizza. “Sausage and mushroom, my favorite.”

“It’s not every day that your daughter gets you pizza,” I said, pulling out two plates from the cupboard.