Page 51 of Whispers and Wildfire
“What do we have here, Dad?” Nathan asked.
Dad pointed at each pizza in turn. “The first is an arugula and mushroom breakfast pizza, topped with fried eggs. Then we have loaded baked potato, asparagus and herbed cheese, hummus and sun-dried tomato, kimchi pizza, and finally, the Melanie. Fried pickle.”
I gasped. “You made a fried pickle pizza? Best dad ever.”
Nathan gagged. “Dad. No.”
“Quiet, peasant,” I said in my Queen Ione voice. “This is the greatest pizza flavor of all time. Fit for a queen.”
“Okay, weirdo,” Nathan said. “It’s all yours.”
“Try a piece, Nathan.” Mom wagged her finger at him. “You know the rules. Try one of each.”
“Mom.”
“Don’t test me.”
Shaking his head, he chuckled softly. I noticed Sharla meet his eyes and give him a subtle wink. She knew how much he hated pickles. She’d have his back and take his slice for him.
What a great wife.
There were several small stacks of plates, so people moved forward haphazardly to dish up. The noise of conversation grew once again as people chatted while they sampled. I went straight for the pickle pizza, already knowing I would love it. I had yet to meet a pickle I didn’t like.
Right as I took a huge bite, my mom appeared in front of me, smiling her big magenta smile.
“Mel, I want you to meet Hank.” She yanked a man over by his arm.
It was the guy Nathan had greeted when he’d first come in. He looked about my age, attractive, dressed in a button-down shirt with the sleeves cuffed to the elbows.
It took me a second to swallow my bite before I could say anything. “You do not look like a Hank.”
“Melanie, please,” Mom scolded.
“What? He doesn’t look like a Hank. That’s not an insult. It’s just my impression.”
“It’s fine,” he said. “I actually get that a lot. My parents were country music fans.”
“There you have it.” I gestured to him and turned to my mom. “I was going to ask if his name was music-inspired before you interrupted me.”
She huffed and rolled her eyes. “Don’t be put off by my mouthy daughter. She’s really quite charming when she wants to be.”
“Mouthy? What am I, eleven?”
“She’s a voice actor,” she continued, clearly ignoring me. “Melanie, Hank teaches at Tilikum College.”
“What do you teach?” I asked.
“Literature. My specialty is Shakespeare.”
Mom turned to me, acting overly impressed. “Shakespeare, Melanie. You two must have so much in common.”
That was when I realized what this was. She was trying to set me up with Hank.
Uh-oh.
“Um…” I hesitated, suddenly feeling flustered, although I had no idea why. “Shakespeare. That’s interesting.”
“His work has always been a passion of mine. Especially when it’s performed on stage. Reading Shakespeare just doesn’t have the same impact.”
