Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 342(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 228(@300wpm)
I rub my palm against my chest to try and get rid of the pain there, even though I know it’s useless. Somehow I ended up falling in love with Libby. I don’t know how it happened or when it happened, but there is no denying that I love her. I love her. And now . . . now I don’t know how to get back to where we were before I so royally fucked things up between us. Honestly, I’m scared as hell that she won’t want me back when I finally get up the courage to go to her.
“You’re here,” my cab driver says when he pulls up in front of my parents’ place.
I haven’t only been avoiding Libby these last two weeks—I’ve also been avoiding my parents. I always felt like the pizzeria was the one thing in life that my parents and I disagreed about. My dad and mom have always loved the shop, and I have always resented it for taking them away from me when I was growing up. Over the years, I have become so focused on the bad that I forgot about the good times I had at the pizzeria as a kid. I forgot about my dad teaching me to make pizzas, forgot about my mom throwing me birthday parties at the shop, forgot about any sports team I was on eating for free after each game. I also knew my father was disappointed in me for not following in his footsteps. That guilt I’ve been carrying around only seemed to get heavier when he had his heart attack. He said he understood my reasons for turning down his offer, but I could still see the defeat in his eyes when he told me he and Mom were going to sell the shop.
Making it up the brick steps, I ring the bell. I wait with my hands tucked in the front pockets of my jeans. My mom peeks through the side window, and a relieved smile lights up her face.
“You know you don’t have to knock or ring the bell. I gave you a key for a reason,” she says as soon as she opens the door.
“I left my key at home,” I explain as I bend down to kiss her cheek. “Is Dad around?”
“Yes. He’s here. He’s in the living room, yelling at the television.”
“Who’s playing?”
“A red team and a blue team; that’s about all I know,” she says with a laugh as I follow her to the living room.
My dad is indeed yelling at a soccer game on the TV. As soon as I step into the room, though, he reaches for the remote and shuts it off.
“Took you long enough to get here,” he says by way of greeting.
The tension I’ve been holding on to releases instantly.
“Sorry. I should have come sooner.”
“You should have,” he agrees. He gets up from his recliner and walks toward me. Meeting him halfway across the room, I wrap my arms around him.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s not me that you need to apologize to,” he says gruffly, pounding his fist into my back.
“I know,” I agree when he lets me go.
“She’s a good girl. I hope you figure out a way to forgive her for not telling you, but I want you to know now that I get why she didn’t. You’re not the easiest person to talk to when it comes to discussing the pizzeria.”
“She tried to tell me. I just didn’t want to listen,” I admit.
He shakes his head, takes a seat back in his recliner. I take a seat across from him, on the couch.
“What are you going to do to win her back?”
“I don’t fucking know.” I scrub my hands down my face. “I fucked up, big-time. I’ve been hiding like a coward since then.”
“My son’s not a coward,” he states firmly. I meet his gaze. “You need to go to her.”
“What if she says she doesn’t want to see me again? Worse, what if she tells me to fuck off?”
“I can’t imagine Libby saying that,” Mom offers as she comes into the room and sits next to me.
“Have you seen her?” I ask, looking at her.
“I saw her this morning. I went to the shop to help her with a few things in the office that she didn’t know how to do,” she says. She reaches over, taking my hand in hers. “She’s doing as well as can be expected.”
“I miss her,” I say, fighting the urge to rub the palm of my hand against my chest right over my heart. “I love her.”
“I know you do,” Mom says sympathetically, giving my hand a squeeze. “She renamed the shop Princess Pizza. I think that tells you something about the way she feels for you, too.”
“I saw the new sign,” I admit. “It’s really pink.” I laugh, and it sounds rough and foreign.