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“I can’t believe that nothing has changed about this place!” I exclaim. I look around at the exposed brick walls and eclectic collection of tables and chairs. There’s a wood-fire pizza oven in the back and an open kitchen where you can watch your dough being tossed into the air.
“Are you kidding?” Nero says. “If they tried to close it, people would riot.”
He nods to the server and leads me to our old booth in the back. Same laminated menus, same faded photos on the wall… I almost feel like we’ve been transported back in time. Except we weren’t usually—or ever—in formal wear.
“This really takes me back,” Nero says, leaning back against the cracked leather booth.
“You don’t come here anymore?” I ask, surprised. The two of us had decided a long time ago that this was our favorite pizza of all time. I didn’t think he’d stop eating it.
“No.”
The word is clipped, and somehow, I know that he hasn’t been back since I left.
But I don’t want to go down that road. Not tonight. Nero’s looking about as relaxed as I’ve seen him so far—at least he was up until ten seconds ago.
“Hey, do you remember that time a pigeon got in here?” I ask, changing the subject.
Nero grins, and I realize with a jolt that it’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen on his face in ten years. It softens his features in a way that makes my traitorous heart skitter in my chest.
“How could I forget that? Just strutted in after a customer, like it was going to order an extra cheese to go.”
I laugh. “I don’t blame it, I swear I’ve been dreaming about this place for years.”
We place our order, and soon the waitress arrives at the table with our pizza, steam coming up off it as she sets it down. My mouth waters at the smell and when Nero takes a slice to put on my plate, the cheese stretches in that way that only the best cheese does.
“Damn,” he chuckles. “It’s been too long.”
It’s a little too hot to eat immediately, but my stomach is growling, so I take a bite, only for sauce to burn me. “Oww!”
“You always were so impatient,” Nero smirks.
“I’m impulsive.” I correct him, blowing on the slice to cool it.
“Uh huh.” Nero grins, devouring his slice in one.
“What, do you have a radioactive mouth or something?” I protest, jealous.
“Pretty much. Surprised I have any tastebuds left, after all the bad tequila Chase and I used to drink.” Nero eats another, then sits back, taking a break.
There’s laughter from a table nearby and we glance over to see a couple sitting together on one side of a booth, obviously on a date. They kiss, snuggling together.
I feel a pang, and when I glance over at Nero, I see him watching them for a moment longer. When he finally turns back to me, he almost looks regretful.
“Do you ever wonder who you might be, if things had gone differently?”
I blink, surprised by the question, and the raw honesty in his voice.
“Sure I do,” I reply quietly. “You think I planned to waitress for a living in some shitty Vegas dive?”
Nero grimaces. “Don’t remind me about that. Fuck, you were the last person I expected when I walked through that door.”
“That makes the two of us.”
We exchange a wry look, acknowledging how weird our situation is. And maybe it’s the unexpected memories, or the hit of cheese and carbs, but I pause.
“I always wanted to go to art school,” I admit quietly. “You know, it was my big dream to go to Europe after high school and see all the galleries in Paris. Walk the streets and get inspired by the culture. Even if I’d been dead broke, I like to think I would have found a way.”
“I remember watching you paint,” Nero says quietly. “You were so talented. You had such a unique way of seeing the world.”
