Her cheeks pinken slightly as she nods.
“You’re welcome. And trust me, it’s hardly a burden. Anna is a very cool and kind kid, and I’m sure that’s all thanks to you. So thanks for making my job easy.”
I absentmindedly take a step closer her, then force myself to stop.
I have no idea why my body keeps doing that. Gravitating toward her.
I’m an athlete who has trained and conditioned my body to do things that most people could never fathom. Yet I cease to hold any control over my legs when I’m in the same room as her. They inevitably lead me straight to her, and more often than not, I stand much closer than a boss should be standing by their employee.
“Pizza,” I blurt out, refocusing on the present. “I left it warming in the oven for us. Never know how long Anna’s bedtime stories will take, and I didn’t want to order too late either.” I head toward the section of my kitchen with four ovens. A bit overkill, if you ask me, but with a kitchen this size, the extra appliances seem to fit in well.
I put on an oven mitt, then open the oven door, pulling out the three racks with a flourish. “So, we’ve got a basic margarita pizza, a half-pepperoni half-veggie, and the best Sicilian pizza in the city, half-cheese and half–meat lovers.”
She comes to stand on the other side of the oven door, her eyes wide, taking in the extra-large slices of pizza.
“Yeah, so quick question. How many people exactly are coming over to help us eat all of this?”
“Haven’t you ever heard of leftovers, Isa? Come on, are you even a real New Yorker?” I taunt.
“Says the guy who probably hasn’t had a carb since the nineties.”
“Ouch.” I put my mitten-covered hand over my heart. “Coming for my age already? At least let a man lick his wounds with some pizza before you go for the jugular.”
“I wasn’t coming for your age. I was mocking your strict athlete diet.” She rolls her eyes as she points at a pepperoni slice and a Sicilian slice. “Besides, I don’t think you’re old.”
“Thanks, because the eye roll really sold it for me.” I plate her selections, then put them on the place setting I arranged on the kitchen island. “You do that quite a bit.” I plate my own slices,not playing much attention to what I choose, since I know I’ll be back for seconds.
“Who? Me? Roll my eyes to my gracious boss who’s offering me a gratuitous pizza night? I would never.” She smirks as she opens the fridge and grabs one of my usual electrolyte waters.
“Careful, Isabella. Don’t want me treating you like you’re a brat now, do you?” She freezes momentarily at the change in my tone. “And you can put that water back. If I’m having pizza tonight, I’m also having wine.”
Her eyebrows almost hit her hairline. “Pizza and wine on a weeknight?” She tsks. “Careful, Martinez. I don’t want to be blamed for being a bad influence on you,” she shoots back.
I close the oven doors and pull down two wineglasses as I say, “Morales, don’t go assuming who could be the bad influence in this situation.” I pause to see if she has another rebuttal ready.
“Duly noted,” she says into the wine fridge, doing a terrible job of hiding the rosiness in her cheeks. “Red or white?”
“We’ll do your red.”
She pokes her head out. “My red?”
Shit.
“Well, you liked that brand of pinot noir you had with my mother when I was out of town, right?”
She squints a bit. “This sounds like a trick question. Do I or do I not confirm having wine with your mother—while Anna was asleep, of course? Hypothetically speaking,” she adds quickly.
I chuckle. “My mom told me you enjoyed it. You’re more than allowed to have a drink while you’re not working. So I went ahead and ordered more of it. Guess I now refer to it as your wine.” I shrug.
She pulls out the wine as she looks at me, eyes assessing. “Huh. I, uh, guess that was really nice of you. Thanks.” She looks back into the wine fridge, then smiles. “But that’s a lot of wine bottles in there. So either you think I’m some kind of closetedalcoholic who can put a dent in all of those bottles, which you obviously don’t, because you would never allow someone like that around Anna, or…”
“Or?” I join in on her conspiracy.
“You plan on keeping me around for much longer than a week, which means I’m safe from a third strike, at least for tonight?” She smiles cautiously.
I sigh. “Isabella, come here.”
It takes her a moment, but eventually she obliges. When she comes to stand before me, I take the wine bottle from her hands and uncork it easily. I pour us each a glass. “Tonight, we forget about the strikes, okay? Tonight is about thanking you for what you do for Anna and, therefore, me.” I put the bottle down and pull out her chair. She tentatively takes a seat, and I slowly glide her closer to the counter. “And if I’m being completely honest, it seems like everyone around me knows you a bit better than I do, and let’s just say, I think it’s time we change that.” I force my hands to unclench from Isa’s seat and take my own next to hers.
