Page 224 of Stay Scared

“I considered it.”

“I assumed.”

“Frequently.”

“That part I also assumed.”

Cade looks past me toward the open gate, then back.

“I made pizza.”

For several seconds, I think I misheard him.

“You did what?”

“The pizza.”

Recognition arrives with the old photograph from his section. Cade sitting on our kitchen floor with flour on his hands and a ruined circle of dough between us.

I start laughing.

His expression immediately darkens. “You asked.”

“You spent six weeks respecting my boundaries through homemade pizza?”

“That is not how I would describe it.”

“How would you describe it?”

“I got good at pizza.”

That only makes it worse.

Cade folds his arms while I try to recover.

“How many?”

“I stopped counting.”

“You absolutely did not.”

“Eleven.”

I stare at him.

“Eleven pizzas.”

“The first few were bad.”

“The first one we made could have been used to repair a roof.”

“I know that now.”

“Did you finally stop trying to throw the dough?”

“I can throw it.”

“Successfully?”