Kiddo? My dad’s tone of voice is actually friendly. “I’ll get started on the crusts. You work on the toppings.”
We work in silence next to each other, just me and my dad cooking up twenty smiley face pizzas for a man who probably only did this to get my attention. I can’t decide if it is cute, or…something else.
I’ve already agreed to go to the wedding with Ryan, so if this is his doing, I’m not sure why he felt the need to call the restaurant. I thought our relationship had progressed beyond pizzas.
“Why does anyone need twenty pizzas?” I grumble as we work on number twelve.
“I thought maybe you could tell me.” My dad raises an eyebrow, glancing curiously at me as I straighten the nose on number ten. “The customer asked for you by name.”
“Is that right?” My stomach tightens at the thought. Twenty pizzas—that couldn’t be a date. Either it was a joke, or he was having a party.
“You dating my star customer, Andi?”
My head jerks up. “No, of course not. I’m just the delivery girl.”
“I have other delivery girls, and none of them have sold so many pizzas to one person, and none of them are requested by name.”
“What can I say?” I don’t make eye contact. “I’m charming.”
My dad snorts. “Right.”
I put eyes onto pizza number fourteen. “Why’s that so hard to believe?”
“Andi, you’re many things—smart, sassy, beautiful—but charming?” He shakes his head. “I hope you know that if he ever makes you feel uncomfortable during these deliveries, you can tell me. I’ll take care of things.”
“Uncomfortable?” I think back to the way Ryan nearly kissed me in the diner. Uncomfortable? No. Exhilarated? Nervous? Ready for more? Check, check, and check. I try to hide the smile on my face. “No, Dad, it’s nothing like that.”
My dad stops what he is doing, crosses his arms. “You like this guy.”
“No! Dad, just stop, please.”
“You’re sure? He’s not being rude?”
“I’m sure, it’s nothing like that.” I pause. “He’s sort of a friend.”
I feel my dad sizing me up in that way only parents can. He’s giving me time to see if I will admit to lying, to see if there will be more information between the lines, but I’m as confused as he is about this whole thing, so luckily, there isn’t any information to hide.
“Well, if that’s the case, then get on the road with these.” My dad pushes two piles of boxes in my direction, apparently having decided that he believes me enough not to pry. “And if he asks you to marry him, say yes, but it’ll cost him a hundred pizzas.”
I put a hand on my hip. “You think I’m only worth a hundred pizzas?”
“A thousand?”
I roll my eyes. “I can’t believe you’re willing to trade me for pizza.”
“Hey, you like him, I can tell.” He shows me his hands in a sign of surrender. “Admit it, you’d be happy with the trade!”
I take the pizzas, hop in my car, and hit the road. I don’t need to say anything out loud. I’d happily let my dad trade me for a hundred pizzas if Ryan would have me.
I wouldn’t even ask for a tip.
CHAPTER 19
Andi
I park very, very carefully behind Ryan’s car when I reach his brother’s house, leaving at least ten feet of space between our vehicles, even though my car isn’t the only one on the block. In fact, there are at least ten other cars, all of them more expensive than mine, most of them flashy.
I suddenly understand Ryan’s need for twenty pizzas. He doesn’t want to see me.
He’s having a party.
I carry as many boxes as I can on the first go round to the front door and, true to form, it opens before I can knock.
“Howdy.” The door is flung open, this time by the brunette woman I saw during a previous delivery—Lilia, if I remember correctly. She’s pretty in a healthy, radiant sort of way. With an athletic build, form-fitting yoga pants, and an athletic tank top with a hoodie thrown over her shoulders, she looks every bit the picture of a physical therapist, which Ryan informed me is her profession of choice. “You’re Andi?”
I raise my eyebrows. “I’m the delivery girl, but yes, I’m also Andi.”
She winks then steps out of the entryway. “Come on inside.”
I take one step inside the house, pretending I haven’t already been here. “This is a beautiful home.” I look at the brunette as I speak and she blinks, and then laughs. She knows.
“Yes, isn’t it?” She glances around appreciatively. “Lawrence did a great job with it. I just moved in. Come along now, take your shoes off.”
“I have to get the rest of the pizzas.” I gesture to the car. “The order was for twenty pizzas, and I only have about eight here. The rest are on my front seat.”
“I’ll help you. Oh, I’m Lilia.” She extends a hand, helping me set the first eight boxes down on the entry table. She slips on a pair of male sandals four sizes too big for her feet. “I’m Lawrence’s fiancée. Come on, let’s grab them before they get cold.”
“You really don’t have to…” I say, but she’s already out the front door, and I get the vibe that this isn’t a chick to argue with. I sort of like her.
Lilia speaks in a very businesslike and brisk manner, a don’t-argue-with-me sort of tone that probably suits her physical therapy work well. I can see her ordering her patients to stretch and bend and move in all sorts of ways their bodies weren’t meant to move. I also suddenly remember that it was her and her fiancé putting on the show the first night I delivered a pizza here, and I blush.
“You have such nice clothes on,” I say, the labels of her expensive yoga pants not slipping past me. “I don’t want you to smell like sausage.”
“That’s what the laundry machine is for.” She marches onward, grabs half the pizzas from the car while I grab the other half, and we make our way back up to the front door. “You’re the first girl he’s ever invited to poker night, for the record.”
“What? Who?”
“Ryan!” She eyes me over the pizza boxes. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t call delivering pizzas being invited over.” I give an awkward laugh. “That’s like catering a party and saying I’m one of the guests. Don’t get me wrong though, we at Peretti’s Pizza appreciate the business.”
Awesome—now I sound like a pizza robot. I cringe as the words leave my mouth.
“Of course you’re invited. We already ate.” She gives me a curious sort of smile. “Ryan said he had to buy you the night off so you could come play with us. Apparently your dad is a stickler for you getting your deliveries done?”
A feeling stirs in my stomach, and I can’t decide if I’m flattered or mildly annoyed. “Is that right?”
“You’re not going to make a big deal out of me telling you this, are you?” She shifts her pizzas. “He was trying to be cute, I think. Please don’t be mad at him.”
“Oh, no, I’m not mad—”
“Good,” she says. “Because he’ll never tell you this, but I think he gets lonely out here. He’s had to stay a week or two longer than he thought—this business with the agent is running him a little ragged with stress and, well, I think he likes spending time with you.”