Page 69 of Wildflowers and Wide Receivers

“What’s on the agenda for our pizzapalooza?” She grins at the silliness of it.

She’s intrigued, and I’m pleased. Vivi will be excited.

“I’m going to let Vivi tell you, but just so you know, she made a poster.”

“A poster?” She laughs.

“Yep.” I slip my fingers between hers, and we walk to the car just like last night.

“Well, I officially love our pizzapalooza date.” She smiles.

Everything in South Tampa is fairly close, so it only takes a few minutes to get to the dance studio, and Vivi is waiting for us just inside the door when we arrive. She’s never this eager to see me, and although I know Sophie would never do anything to hurt her, I can’t help the wave of wariness that rushes over me. Parenting is strange. I never realized how much on the defense one plays. I’m constantly looking for things that could hurt her or make her unhappy.

“Ms. Sophie!” Vivi’s eyes light up, and even though she remains conservative with her emotions, her happiness is written all over her face.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Sophie says, opening her arms to hug her.

The two of them embrace, and I have his overwhelming urge to wrap my arms around both of them and say, “Mine.”

“How come you never greet me like that?” I ask her.

“Because I see you every day,” she states, like that should be obvious.

“You just saw her last night,” I point out, arguing with the seven-year-old.

“Uncle Jonah, it’s just different,” she states, like I should know better.

“I guess so. I’m chopped liver.”

She giggles. “Gross.”

“So we’re not putting that on our pizza?” I ask as I grab her bag. She slips her hand into Sophie’s as we walk outside.

“No!” she says, looking up at Sophie. “Did he tell you?”

“Nope. He just said you planned something for us, and I can’t wait to see what it is.”

I scoff. “Wildflower, I told you I wouldn’t tell her.”

“Well, I didn’t know. You tell Uncle Tyler everything.”

I glance at Sophie and shake my head. “Not everything.”

Sophie grins as Vivi races to the back of the Tahoe to open the trunk.

“Ms. Sophie, you have to see what we made this morning!”

“I’m so excited,” she tells her.

“I didn’t make it. This was all you,” I tell them both.

Vivi pulls out the poster and shows her it’s a large chart. There are spots for twenty pizza places down the left-hand side, and then across the top are columns to rate for crust, sauce, cheese, restaurant decor, overall, and total. She’s labeled the scale from one through ten, with ten being the greatest.

“It’s to help us find the best pizza place in Tampa!” she says, bouncing on her toes.

“This is the best idea ever,” Sophie tells her, looking at the poster in awe. Vivi has even colored little slices of pizza around the edge.

“I agree. It means I’m guaranteed at least twenty pizza dates with you.”