Page 59 of All's Fair in Love and Pizza
“So cute,” his wife agreed. “You did a wonderful job with this event. There’s a little bit of everything. But I’m afraid I’m going to miss out on those ocean-breeze candles if I don’t buy them now. I’ll catch you later, hon.”
I had a feeling that was a rehearsed line to give Bill and me some privacy, and I might have jumped at it if I hadn’t been distracted by Marissa’s comment.
Rob’s girlfriend. Rob’s wife.
“I’m gonna join her in a sec. You got one interview out of the way. The gal from ESPN is here, and that guy in the plaid getup is an influencer. Supposedly famous. I don’t think you need mytwo cents for this part, but you know how to reach me when you’re ready for the rest.”
I shook Bill’s hand and waited till he’d walked away to address Amber.
“This is nuts.”
She snickered good-naturedly. “Absolute bonkers. Pizza and bagels…who knew?”
“You did. Thank you for this. Thank you for everything.”
Amber punched my biceps. “You’re welcome. But it’s not like you didn’t help. No one would have shown up if it weren’t for you and Mateo.”
“I don’t mean just today. We’ve been a team for a long time, Am, and I don’t think I tell you enough how important you are to me.”
She pushed a wayward curl behind her ear. “Are you trying to make me cry or something?”
“No, nothing so devious. It just seems important to let people know how you feel about them. That’s all.”
My best friend knew me well. Amber’s lips twisted as she glanced at Mateo who was standing with Sal, Vanni, and Jimmy by the judges’ table.
“I’m happy for you,” she whispered. “Under that crusty crust, he’s a good guy.”
“Yeah, he is.”
“So are you. The best.” She dabbed a tear at the corner of her eye and growled. “But if you ruined my mascara, I’m going to hurt you, Robbie.”
“You’re beautiful.” I tugged one of her curls and checked my watch. “Shall we get this show on the road?”
“Let’s do it.”
Amber chose seven judges: Great H’s current hotshot QB, Coach Malveney, three food bloggers, and two random fans in attendance.
Our online audience had set the challenge for each of us to make our version of the perfect pizza bagel. Great H Bagels and Boardwalk Pizza provided samples to feed the crowd that had shown up, but the pizza bagels the judges would taste had been made specifically by us.
Let’s keep it real: My bagel was better, but Mateo’s toppings were far superior. If combined, we’d have made the perfect pizza bagel, but separately, it was up to the judges’ palates.
“I like this one,” Coach stated, pushing the plate forward.
The QB milked his off-field moment in the spotlight, biting into one, lifting his brows to the delight of the audience, then frowning and moving on to the next plate before ultimately choosing one. “Yo, this one.”
The crowd went wild.
Our two locals weighed in next.
“I think you’re gonna win,” I whispered, sidling close to Mateo.
“For sure.”
“Asshole.” I nudged his shoulder and laughed, sobering a moment later. “The truth is that no matter whose name they call, I’m the winner.”
He huffed. “How does that math work?”
“I’m with you,” I replied, clapping as the locals finished judging.
