The Knock by Emme Burton

Author:Emme Burton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-02-03T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

“I hope this is OK?” Mitch asks as we head into a local pizza place on the strip by the beach. It’s called Princiotti’s. It’s supposed to be really good. Real New York–style pizza. Where I used to live, in St. Louis, pizza is a hot topic. There’s a very particular kind there, obviously called St. Louis style. Thin crust, cut in squares with gooey cheese that sticks to the roof of your mouth. You can’t get it anywhere else in the world.

With my mind still rhapsodizing about pizza as a distraction, I reply, “Sure, I’ve wanted to bring the kids here.”

“It’s one of my favorite places to eat. And Snapback is close, so we can get there in time for the sound check.”

“You’re playing at a sports bar?” I tease. I didn’t take Mitch as the sporto type, although he’s fit enough that he could be. We’ve just never discussed sports.

“Yes,” Mitch bugs his eyes out and tilts his head in response to my teasing. “But the band doesn’t play in the bar. There’s an outdoor patio with a stage for those who don’t need to have their eyes constantly glued to an eighty-inch flat-screen.”

The hostess shows us to our booth and hands us menus.

“Do you like sports?” It’s one of those things I don’t know about him and maybe I should.

“Baseball’s OK, but we don’t really have a good team here.”

In St. Louis everybody had Cardinals fever whether you liked sports or not. Donnie was a huge fan.

Mitch continues, “Football’s a little better. I’d watch a Gators game if it was on and I wasn’t doing something else. So yeah, I like it OK. I’m not, like, a huge obsessive, sit on the couch on a Saturday kind of guy.”

I’m relieved. “I was sort of thinking that, but there’s still a lot we don’t know about each other.”

Mitch reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. “We have plenty of time.” He holds me with his jade green gaze. I nod. Plenty of time. Donnie used to say that, too.

“Ahem.” We are so wrapped up in each other, I don’t even notice the waitress standing at the end of the booth until she clears her throat.

Mitch and I jump away from each other, releasing our hands and looking up at her. Interruptions are becoming more and more annoying. Mitch rolls his eyes and laughs. The waitress must think we’re nuts.

Mitch orders the pizza, but not before asking me if his choice is OK with me. He asks me if I want a beer, and when I say yes, he orders two draft light beers. This is not the kind of place with a large selection of craft beers. They have regular, light and nonalcoholic. That’s it.

We eat and talk and debate the merits of New York– versus Chicago- versus St. Louis–style pizza. Mitch fakes being appalled when I describe the flat cracker-like pizza of my hometown. I find out he is originally from a suburb of Chicago and a lover of deep dish.

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