Page 44 of Back for Seconds

Joey pulled off the road into a strip mall that seemed to be mostly shut down for the night. Except for a dimly lit storefront with a white and red awning and a flickering neon sign in the window that read: PIZZA TO THE PEOPLE.

He killed the engine.

“Prepare to have your mind blown, June Rose.”

***

The inside of Pizza to the People was exactly what I expected—gray and white tile floors, peeling wallpaper with a vine and grape pattern, dusty copper urns on a shelf alongside framed photos of the multi-generational dynastic power of the Pizza to the People family. There were three booths with burgundy vinyl seats and linoleum tabletops opposite the pizza oven. The store was narrow and long, and the air smelled like mozzarella melting in a brick oven, freshly chopped red onion, and a hot sandwich swaddled in a paper bag ready for pick up.

I felt, for the first time in months, like I was really home. Home in a way that hadn’t been accessible to me since my dad had sold Genie’s and my mom had moved out of the cottage we grew up in. And since before their divorce, when my brothers and I had scattered and our family had grown apart.

I’d grown up in a pizza place just like this, building up unbelievably muscular forearms while running a pizza cutter over enormous New York style pies, taking phone orders one-handed with a full tray balanced on my hip busing tables and sweeping floors until my joints creaked. There weren’t as many places like this as there used to be, places where the floor was sticky and the cash register was big and clunky and the air felt lighter, easier to breathe.

I must have been smiling because Joey was looking down at me, a spark in his dark eyes.

“Just wait until you taste the Joey panino,” he said, bumping his shoulder into me.

I smirked. “You got a sandwich named after you?”

He drew in a breath, lifting his chest in pride. “Yeah, I’m a pretty big deal to a very small group of people.”

“Or you’re the only vegan in a fifteen-mile radius.”

“Potato, potahto.”

“Joey!” A deep, warm voice lilting with a thick Philly accent cut through our conversation as a woman roughly my mom’s age emerged from the swinging doors behind the cash register. She rounded the counter, a long honey-blond ponytail swinging behind her, as she shrieked and threw her arms—or at least tried—around his neck. “It’s so good to see you! What are you doing here? How’s your mom, hon?”

They traded updates before Joey introduced me. The woman, with her deep tan and big voice, was named Sandra and she was so extremely pleased to meet me, her kohl-rimmed brown eyes growing wide with her smile.

“Are you two up to anything fun tonight?” she asked, rubbing a maternal hand over the middle of my back. What a very creative way of asking if this was a date. I imagined that as soon as we sat, she’d run back around the counter and directly to the landline, ready to call everyone she knew.

“We’re going to decorate my Christmas tree, I think.” I turned my eyes on Joey, batting my eyelashes heavily, absolutely mooning over him with a syrupy-sweet look of adoration. “Joey’s just the sweetest. He’s been helping me decorate my house for the holidays.”

For a moment, his plush lips jumped into a little snarl. He was shooting a look at me that said, are you fucking kidding me? Then recognition sunk through his eyes, and he gave me an almost cartoonishly flat look. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing out loud.

“Oh, isn’t he just so sweet?” Sandra reached up and smoothed one of her caramel-colored hands over the top of his head, tucking away the wispy hairs that the winter humidity had pulled from his ponytail. “Since he was a little boy, he’s just had a heart of gold. Joey has always been my favorite.” She led us to a booth, took our drink orders, and bustled away.

Once Sandra was out of sight, Joey leaned across the tacky tabletop and fixed me with a look of vague annoyance—and maybe even admiration. “What the hell was that?”

“Joey, you’ve always been her favorite. How does it feel?”

“You are seriously trouble, you know that? A goddamn liability.”

“Me? You just groped my collarbone in front of god, Bruce Jenkins, and my ex-husband!”

“That was—”

“Different. Of course, it was. You’re just a little angel.” I jammed my thumb in the direction of the kitchen. “She’s going to tell everyone she knows that her beloved little Joey Pagano has a brand-new squeeze that absolutely adores him, worships the ground he walks on.”

Joey frowned at me. “Uh…so?”

“So.” I dropped my voice to a whisper. “This is news that will certainly find its way back to Amber.”

Joey’s eyes cut over to the double doors that led to the back of the house, dragging his teeth over his bottom lip. “Sandra does know her mom—I think they went to high school together.”

I tried to hold back a smirk—a smirk that would not have me beating the bullish know-it-all allegations. “Of course, Evergreen’s tiny.”

“And even if she didn’t…Sandra will probably tell her sister.”