“Holy Hammerstein! Is that pizza?” My voice rang so loudly through the room that other diners stopped what they were doing and turned in our direction. But I didn’t care. Doon had pizza!
As the platter containing what looked to be a large pepperoni was set before us, the occupants of our table relaxed. Vee slid Jamie a sidelong glance. “Is this really pizza?”
“Aye. Likely the best you’ll ever eat.” With a chuckle, he handed her a slice. Vee’s thumb brushed Jamie’s palm and he bobbled her food like a fourth-string quarterback. Hand off completed, he paused, his attention singularly focused on the area of her mouth while she bit into the triangle of meat and cheese.
After a moan of culinary bliss, she bit off a larger chunk and swallowed it whole. “Sooo good. I mean—thank you, m’ laird.”
Jamie tore his attention from Vee’s lips with a slight grimace. “Glad ye approve. As I said, you need not stand on ceremony here. Call me Jamie.”
Vee ignored his request as she dove into her meal like it was her last. I couldn’t blame her … my own little slice of paradise beckoned. After several satisfying mouthfuls I asked, “How? I mean, where did you people get pizza?”
Jamie’s eyes lit up as he explained with quiet pride, “Mario’s an import from Italy, one of the Destined.”
Unwilling to relinquish my slice for even a moment, I choked out between swallows of food, “Who’s a what?”
Jamie laughed. “The restaurant owner’s one of the Destined. Mario came to us during the last Centennial and decided to stay.”
“As I told ye before, Mackenna, we’re no’ barbarians.” Duncan’s statement might have been more impactful if he hadn’t been speaking with his mouth full, but I decided to let it slide on account of him being such a wonderful host.
The pride on Jamie’s face deepened into quiet passion. “Each Centennial, while some Doonians are welcoming new arrivals, others will go out inta the modern world to gather up as much information as possible about the history and progress of that realm. With the help of the new imports, we implement changes that would best benefit Doon, like running water and modern plumbing, while preserving our culture.”
Vee met Jamie’s gaze with a hunger than had nothing to do with food. “Why not electricity?”
“Electricity was fairly new at the last Centennial.” Jamie gestured around the tavern. “Doon has adequate sources of heat and light, so generating electricity wasn’t deemed of enough benefit to implement. O’ course, it will be evaluated again after the next gathering.”
“How does the Centennial work, exactly?” Leave it to Vee to want to peek behind the curtain and discover the inner workings; it was our way out, which was enough for me.
“On the Centennial, the Brig o’ Doon opens for twenty-four of your hours. In that time, Doonians and the Destined, those called from the outside world, are free to come and go as they please.”
She digested the information, her pizza forgotten. “So the Outsiders could stay in Doon?”
“Aye. Most all do.”
“And the Doonians?”
“Do not have to return, if they dinna want to—but that rarely happens.”
Vee’s train of thought furrowed her brow. Rather than look at Jamie, she picked at the checkered tablecloth. “So a Doonian could choose to stay in my world, if he—or she—wanted.”
Jamie’s eyes narrowed as if he were trying to read the thought behind her question. But rather than respond he indicated her neglected plate. “Ye best eat before your food gets cold.”