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Libby cocks her head. “They’re thebest,” she says, like I’m dense for not knowing this universal fact. This kid cracks me up.
The smell of the pizza’s killing me. “What’d you get?” I ask Emily, nodding to the boxes.
“Well, we were feeling fancy tonight,” she announces. “We went with a white broccoli pizza, a meat lovers, and wings.”
“Sounds good,” I say.
Libby gathers plates, utensils, little dipping cups, and a large bottle of blue cheese dressing. “They never send enough dressing and it’s always warm when it gets here,” she explains with a shudder. “So gross.”
“You’ve thought of everything.”
The three of us sit at the larger table by the window. Libby shares the highlights of her trip with us—including her suspicion that a friend had been served aroachas a pizza topping.
I set my slice down.
“You’ll notice the lack of olives on our pizzas tonight,” Emily says with a wry laugh.
When we’re finished, I help Emily clear the table while she wraps the leftovers and stores everything in the fridge.
Libby pulls three small bowls from one of the cabinets. M&Ms hit the glass with a crispting, ting, tingas she pours an equal amount for each of us.
“I feel so special,” I whisper to Emily.
She presses one hand against my shoulder and leans up to kiss my cheek. “You are.”
“I’m really beat,” Libby says, popping an M&M in her mouth.
“Sounds like you had an exhausting weekend,” I say.
“And you have school tomorrow,” Emily reminds her.
“I know. You’d think they’d give us the day off or let us come in late or something.”
“What an injustice,” Emily scoffs.
I chuckle and pop a candy in my mouth.Not my business.
Libby huffs, grabs her bowl, and waves over her shoulder. “Night, Dex.”
“Night, kiddo.”
“Whydidthe school bring them back late when her classes start so early?” I ask Emily after Libby’s gone.
She shrugs. “Timing, I guess. She’ll be fine. She’s up way later than this most nights.”
I reach over and take her hand. “And what about you. How late are you usually up?”
“Probably not as late as you.” She taps my chest. “Ugh, I’m so glad I didn’t have to be at the school any longer. Her friend’s dad was trying to invite me on a trip to—”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“No, not like that. He framed it as taking the girls back to the city for another weekend. It just felt…odd. But he’s always weird with me.”
“Weird, how?”
“Same thing most middle-aged guys do when they’re sprinting toward a midlife crisis. Check out women half their age and stare inappropriately.”
“Yeah, trust me, I make a living off those kinds of dudes. So what’d you tell him?”
