When you’re in a city full of culinary delights, cuisines from around the world, and international markets, what would you choose to eat? If you’re Josh, you choose pizza.
We’re in a tiny, standing room only pizzeria that is basically a no-frills to-go storefront on the corner of a busy intersection. If it has a name, I don’t know it, the sign out front just says PIZZA in big glowing block letters. There’s a cooler for drinks, a long glass-covered pizza counter, and a cash register.
Josh looks down at the pizza counter, it’s filled with trays of freshly baked pizza that you can buy by the slice. The crust is crispy, the cheese is bubbling and the smell of yeast, herby sauce and spicy meat fills the air. The pizzeria is nice and toasty from the wood-fueled heat coming off the brick oven. I rub my gloved hands together and press them against my cheeks.
“I’ll have two slices of the grandma pizza,” he says.
I grin. “That’s what I’m getting.”
Grandma pizza is delicious square pizza, covered in tomato and cheese. It tastes just like it came out of some nonna’s kitchen in a little village in Italy.
“Anything to drink?” asks Josh.
I point to the cooler and the row of flavored sparkling water. “Want one?”
He nods and I grab two bottles of lime-flavored sparkling water from the cooler.
The worker hands over two paper plates, loaded up with our grandma pizza. The cheese is still melty and droops over the edges.
“Fifteen dollars,” he says.
I dig in my purse and pull out the money.
“I got it,” Josh says.
I shake my head. “No, you put out—”
But he’s already paid.
The worker snorts and shakes his head at me and Josh. I scowl at him. I grab my paper plate and bottle of water and hurry after Josh. He’s headed toward the door.
He holds it open for me and I step back into the bustle of the city. After the warmth cranking out of the pizza oven, the winter air feels even colder. I shiver and let the warmth of the pizza seep into my hands.
Josh takes a bite and groans in pleasure. “Now this is good pizza. I’ll get off for you anytime if you promise to take me out for pizza more often.”
I laugh and roll my eyes. But the smell of fresh mozzarella, tomatoes, and crispy golden crust is enticing.
“Deal,” I say.
Josh’s mouth is full of pizza but he manages to grin at me.
I pick off a bit of browned cheese and pop it in my mouth. To be honest, there’s something about the way the smell of subway steam, traffic exhaust and city grime mixes with New York pizza to make it insanely delicious. I take a big bite and luxuriate in the flavor.
Josh starts to walk down the sidewalk, heading east. He ambles at a slow enough pace to take bites of the pizza as he walks. I walk next to him and pick the mozzarella off the top, popping it in my mouth.
“The only problem with places like that is there’s nowhere to sit,” I say.
Josh eyes me in surprise. “That’s not a problem. That’s an adventure.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What’s that mean?”
He tucks his drink into his jacket pocket and nods his head at the intersection. “We eat while we walk, and the mission is, we have to find a dessert place before we finish.”
“Seriously? You do this kind of thing often?”
He nods. “Sure. I’m a risk-taker. I eat standing up, sometimes I don’t tie my shoes. It gets me in a lot of trouble.”
I shake my head at him.
“Come on,” he says. “This is what friends do.”
So, we keep walking down the crowded sidewalk. The sky has shifted to the dusky purple of a night filled with city lights. It’s rush hour and we’re close to a subway stop, so the mass of people squeezing against us is even thicker than usual.
“Let’s go this way,” I say and I turn onto a less busy cross street. I take another bite of my pizza. It’s delicious. Really, delicious. Maybe I should eat pizza while walking through the city more often.
Josh seems relaxed. His gait is easy and he’s taking happy bites of his slice. I decide I could broach the more serious topic of what next.
I clear my throat and look around. We’re on a pseudo-residential side street, the light is dim and there aren’t many people around.
“So, I think we should have a contract for what happens next,” I say. I’ve been reading a lot online and it’s what all the experts suggest. It makes sense.
Josh glances at me and lifts an eyebrow.
I shrug. “It’ll keep everything clean. We can sort out whether you want the baby to know you’re the dad. Whether you want visitation rights.”
“Yes, and yes,” Josh says.
I look over at him in surprise.
He shrugs. “I like kids.”
I study him. The sexy, fun-loving, devil-may-care image of him that I have doesn’t exactly mesh with this information. “I didn’t know that,” I admit.
“You don’t know a lot of things about me, Gem.”
He quirks an eyebrow at me in challenge and I bristle, because it’s not like after twenty-four years I haven’t learned a few things.
“I know plenty about you.”
“Really?” he drawls.
We come to another intersection. To the left, I see what looks like an ice cream shop. I turn toward it.
“I know you collect Godzilla models.”
He gives a grunt, like knowing that isn’t anything special.
“I know you like pizza.” I gesture at the nearly finished slices on his grease-stained paper plate.
“You’re failing, Gemma,” he says.
I narrow my eyes at him. “Fine. I know that you have a lot of sex. Like, a lot, a lot.”
He makes a buzzer sound, like the noise you get on a gameshow when you say the wrong answer.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“It means I’m in a dry spell.”
“Please. Two weeks or whatever doesn’t count as a dry spell.”
“Two years,” he says.
I stop walking and stare at him. Josh turns around and looks at me, and I think there might me a blush on his cheeks, but it could just be the cold.
“Did you say two years? Two years? What happened?”