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And I’ve never been much of a tennis player.
14
Hayden
“Evening, Hayden.”
“Evening, Tony.”
He reaches into the case without asking for my order.
“What if I wanted something different tonight?”
I love that the Corner Deli is open late. Tony makes the best meatball sub in the world. My mother would be appalled to know I get it at least twice a week for dinner.
You need to refine your palate, she’d say.
Just one of the many platitudes I try to forget from my childhood.
“You don’t,” he correctly guesses.
As Tony prepares my sandwich, I take out my phone, intent on fulfilling the promise I made to Ada earlier today at lunch. Time to text her.
Oddly for me, I’m at a loss for words.
“What’s on your mind?”
I look up. Tony isn’t much older than me, but he’s owned this deli since his dad passed away last year. It thrived thanks to his genius social media strategy. And fantastic subs.
When I moved into this neighborhood out of college, Tony gave me the lay of the land. I know his delivery guys as well as anyone at this point in my life.
“A lot,” I admit.
Since Sunday is a dead day for the late-night munchies crowd, we’re the only two people here.
Handing me the sub over the counter, he takes my cash, puts it in the register, and then leans on the counter, his warm smile as friendly as the first day we met. Everyone loves Tony, with good reason.
“Lay it on me.”
“You’re sure? This might take a while.”
He waves his hand around the empty deli.
“All right,” I warn him. “But you asked for it.”
“Let me guess? Your dad?”
Oddly enough, not this time.
“Actually, it’s a woman.”
“Ha-ha. NowthatI didn’t see coming.”
I give him the side-eye. “Funny.”
My phone buzzes in my hand, and I pull it up in record time. It’s just Enzo. I glance back up.
“Your ladylove?”
