Page 43 of All's Fair in Love and Pizza
I fixed him with a death glare I had no hope of maintaining when he smiled like a kid in a candy store. I huffed instead and motioned for him to turn so I could help unzip his wetsuit. “I saw everything. You’ve already improved.”
“Thanks. I stayed on for a whole twenty seconds.” Rob peeled his suit off his arms and chest before flopping onto the towel I’d spread out.
“Not bad.” I handed him a thermos. “I forgot how much I like being out here first thing in the morning.”
Rob leaned into my side. “It’s nice, huh?”
“What’s even nicer is knowing that you’re buying breakfast.”
He tried to glare but chuckled instead.
We headed north on Highway 1 toward Santa Cruz in search of pancakes at a diner Rob had been to recently. The sun had broken through wispy white clouds, painting the hillsides a golden hue and sprinkling the Pacific with a shimmery sheen. Damn, it was a beautiful day.
Rob sweet-talked the hostess into a prime window seat with a glorious ocean view. We ordered immediately and thanked our waiter for the speedy arrival of our coffee. I sipped mine, unable to keep the grin from spreading across my face.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, just…I feel like I’m playing hooky,” I admitted.
He waggled his brows. “Did you do that often?”
“Yeah, right,” I scoffed. “I couldn’t get away with anything like that. My teachers were Dad’s customers. The idea that one of them might come by for a slice of pizza after school and asked how I was feeling would have killed the fun.”
“You make it sound like your dad was a hard-ass. I remember him being very chill, super friendly.”
“Oh, he was. My dad was…a little bit of everything. He was funny and smart, but he was intense too, and like I’ve said before, he was old-fashioned. It was his way or the highway. That’s not a knock on him. That’s just…how things were in our family.”
“Do you ever think you’d want to be a parent?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Yeah, maybe. I think I’d be good at it.”
“I do too.”
“You do?” I cocked my chin. “What makes you say that?”
“You’re patient and?—”
“I am not patient.” I snorted.
“You are. I’ve seen you deal with kids on sugar highs and cranky octogenarians like Mr. Smith. You know people. As far as I can remember, your dad was like that too.” He sipped his coffee and continued. “I used to get a slice every Tuesday for lunch at eleven thirty. I’d go early to avoid running into a crowd, and he’d save me a seat.”
“Really?”
Rob inclined his head. “My favorite spot was the corner table by the window. I’d leave a book or a hat or a jacket there to claim it while I ordered, but obviously that didn’t always work out. I wasn’t great at Plan Bs, so if I lost out, I’d get my pizza to go. Your dad noticed. He started leaving a ball cap on the table for me. The first time he did it, I figured it was a to-go day till your dad told me to sit down. He said, ‘I saved your seat.’ He didn’t make a big deal out of it. In fact, I don’t even think he made eye contact. He just pointed to the corner table and motioned for the guy behind me to step up to the counter.”
I grinned. “That sounds like Dad.”
“It sounds like you too.”
“We’ve got two pancake towers, eggs and bacon on the side! Can I get you some more coffee, gentlemen?”
We thanked the server, both asked for refills, then tucked into our breakfasts.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten pancakes and was about to say so, if just to move on from an uncomfortable topic. Instead, I blurted, “I miss him every day.”
Whoa. What the fuck?
Rob frowned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to?—”
