Page 48 of With a Cherry On Top

It’s not like she’s actually interested in me.

Come on, Aaron. Why are you thinking about this?

The sudden ring of the landline phone cuts through my spiraling thoughts. I pick it up. “Hello?”

“Hey, Aaron.”

Is that . . .Josie?

“Hi—hey. Hello.”

“I was wondering if I could talk to Sadie.”

“Of course,” I say quickly. Is this becoming a regular thing? Could it be that she’s going to start calling now? “One second.”

“Aaron?” she says before I can call Sadie over.

“Yeah?”

“I’ll call again around this time tomorrow. And the day after tomorrow. Would that be okay?”

I can feel my shoulders relax, like turning from marble to clay. “You can always call, Josie.”

“Okay. Just checking.”

I rejoin the table, catching the tail end of Charlotte and Sadie’s conversation. They must be talking about Sadie’s favorite show,Bluey, because she’s rambling about Bingo and Bandit.

“Mom wants to talk to you,” I say, handing her the phone.

Sadie tears it from my hand. “Mom? Hi! Yes, we got pizzas.”

I meet Charlotte’s gaze as I sit back down.

“And pepperoni! I’m trying that too.”

I squeeze Sadie’s shoulder, gesturing toward the stairs so she can have some privacy. She stands and trails away, asking, “Is it really spicy?”

Silence drapes around Charlotte and me as she takes another bite of her slice. “This is the best fucking pizza I’ve ever eaten—and I’ve been to Italy several times.”

Her eyes flutter shut as she chews. Her lips glisten with oil, a strand of melted cheese stretching between her mouth and the slice. She catches it with her tongue, and I lean back against the chair, watching her with a smile.

“I think you’re just hungry.”

“Maybe,” she concedes, swallowing. “Fifty percent hunger, fifty percent this is areallygood pizza.”

Her long fingers tear off the edge of the crust before popping it into her mouth. She’s eating like someone who actually enjoys food—not delicately, not self-consciously, butfully.

She’s just a girl enjoying a meal. It feels like my biggest victory in a while.

“I can’t believe you’ve never eaten at Tony’s,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s by far the best pizza in Roseberg.”

She shrugs, licking a smudge of tomato sauce off her thumb. “We just moved here.”

I pause mid-sip of my water. “You did?”

It’s a genuine surprise. Their penthouse is fully furnished, has that lived-in feel.

“Where did you live before?”