Page 41 of The Best Thing He Never Wanted

Blane turned to Bea, whose smile faded. “Oh no. Did I say something wrong?”

“Why? What makes you think that?” How the hell could she know that hearing himself referred to as nothing more than her friend had hit him hard?

She pressed her lips together, but didn’t manage to hide a smile. “It’s the eyebrows. They’re giving you away. You were annoyed for a moment there, weren’t you? And—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed. You might already know perfectly well whether you prefer haddock or cod.”

He looked down at the menu. “They’re kinds of fish, right?”

She laughed. “Yes, Blane. They’re kinds of fish.”

Everything he could see seemed to involve fish and chips. He didn’t understand the appeal, but even apart from humoring Bea, he figured the guys would get a kick out of hearing that he’d tried them while he was over here. Then again, none of it appealed.

“You don’t have to have fish if you don’t want to,” she told him.

“What else do they have?”

“You’re in a fish-and-chip restaurant, Blane.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

She laughed. “I know. I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. I’m sure there are some token non-fish options. You really should have the chips, though. They’re so much better than those fry things you have.”

He scowled at that. He liked fries.

“Look.” She leaned across and tapped his menu. “They have pies.”

“Pies?”

“Yes. You could try cheese and onion. Or steak and kidney.”

He didn’t say anything. He could feel his face answering for him.

“Oh, all right. Turn it over.” She pointed. “There. That should do you, you bloody great American. They have pizza. That’s what you people eat, isn’t it?”

He grinned. “Yep. Pizza’s my thing.”

The picture didn’t look great, but pizza was pizza. As long as you were getting some, that was what mattered.

After they’d ordered and their drinks arrived, they sat sipping sodas while they waited, not saying much but not needing to. They’d somehow reached a level of comfort with each other that Blane couldn’t remember sharing with anyone outside the guys.

The guy was back suspiciously fast with their order. When he set Bea’s plate in front of her, it looked kind of good. Blane couldn’t say the same about his pizza. He’d thought the photo didn’t do it justice. Now he understood that the photo had been way too optimistic.

He glanced at Bea’s plate. Whatever he thought about fish, hers looked a damn sight more appetizing than the lump of dough and cheese sitting in front of him.

He picked up his fork and prodded what the menu claimed was pepperoni. He had no idea what it was. He sniffed it suspiciously before tasting, then made a face as he swallowed.

That was not pepperoni.

Bea was clearly trying not to laugh. “Is everything all right?”

He set down his fork. “That is not pizza.”

She burst out laughing. “It is. Or at least, it’s what passes for pizza here.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“It shouldn’t what?”

“Pass for pizza.”