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Angelica steps out of the car with only a moment’s hesitation. The cloudy sky is a mix of peach and blue as the morning blends into the afternoon. Chatter drifts up and down the street. Birds chirp. Cars pass by slowly on the busy road.
She inhales slow and deep. It smells like nothing but baked goods throughout the street. No way she couldn’t return to such a feeling. With the haze of the weekend rush hour and baked goods just around every corner, there’s an undeniable sort of joy that comes with it. And, Angelica thinks, it’s been far too long.
The absence of the ZArena makes this street look like a circus in comparison to the rest of the streets in this sleepy little town.
Angelica finds herself watching the busiest shop of them all.
You’ve got a line coming out of your pizzeria’s door.
It makes sense, you’ve always been an undeniable competitor. Long ago, when Angelica was invested in making her mark on this banal place, she had heard it all. Defeating that scum Alicante, making it through some weird pizza cult trials (angelica is glad she didn’t have to put up with that absolute headache; her lawyers would’ve been sick of her). Then, like a cherry on top, she discovered you’d bested Doctor Keh as well. The thought was unfathomable, impossible.
You could fool your customers, but you wouldn’t fool her.
It didn’t seem to matter what others thought of you, though. You rose to the top with formidable grace and undeniable charm. Throughout the city, you had made a name for yourself. Anyone and everyone who had caught the attention of your shop’s eye endlessly sang high praise of you.
You, whose website looks tacked together by a twelve-year-old, and your only images consist of half-botched, half-outdated photos of your store. You, who barely has so much as a photo of yourself on the internet despite being in celebrities' casual discussion and winning many (many) awards. You, who fed the homeless and jumpstarted their businesses when you yourself were just starting out, with nothing to your name but your tiny shop. You, who had one foe after another to challenge your title and somehow still…
You persist.
Even stranger, with time, you haven’t branched out. Angelica has been keeping tabs on you— on everyone . Despite the drivel and petty discussion in chat threads across the internet, you’ve made many statements expressing your disinterest in branching out to become a big chain. It wasn’t your vision. It wouldn’t run the same.
People from all over the world come to this state to try this city's pizza, and you seem to go above and beyond the status quo without breaking a sweat.
It’s just you. You and your one-of-a-kind, quaint little shop that remains the quiet, beating heart of this city.
Though she would never admit it out loud… Angelica has begun to feel an odd sense of… pride , watching you. How you conduct yourself, your business, holding steadfast with your morals, even in the face of cutthroat conditions. In the face of her.
Admiration, her nonna would gently correct.
Angelica sneers at the thought of it. Shamefully turns away the painfully knowing admonishment in her mind. Just enough to see the flash of pictures being taken in the distance. Angelica sighs to herself, adjusting her sunglasses. It would be no use trying to hide now, she’s already been caught out.
Though… maybe she should leave. This was supposed to be a pitstop. She’s overstaying her welcome for no other reason than getting caught up in sentimentalities.
As she’s searching for her driver, she catches a certain glint in the corner of her eye. Angelica feels all of the walls and defences she’d put up crumble in an instant as she registers exactly who approaches her.
Of course.
Of course.
Angelica knew Megabyte was still up and running, somewhere. Maybe it was silly, but she still checked on the robot too. She has access to a backdoor (where she can’t tamper with the code anymore), just to track Megabyte’s logs. Either Megabyte doesn’t know how or care to delete said backdoor, but Angelica is grateful to still have access either way.
But she didn’t expect to see Megabyte today, or anytime soon for that matter.
Life seems a way of screwing up all of her plans, it seems.
“Ms. Bėchamel?”
Angelica nearly bristles. Before, Megabyte would’ve used her name. Her real name.
“Hello,” she says stiffly as the robot abruptly stops in front of her.
Megabyte’s expression flickers like it doesn’t know what to make of the situation itself. “What are you doing here?”
Angelica can practically see the (literal) gears turning in Megabyte’s head, contemplating the next move. Whether it should call the authorities, flee, or lash out, maybe all of the above.
(Any of them would be fair;
Angelica knows she more than deserves it.)
“Just visiting,” she says carefully, then, a little probing, “Have you been keeping up on your updates?”
Megabyte’s mouth is a curt, flat line. “Yes.”
Angelica sighs to herself. Alright. Fair. No way around this.
“Megabyte,” she starts, wincing when her voice comes too high and strained, something that makes even the robot flinch. Angelica clears her throat, clasping her hands together. “I never had the chance to apologize before I left, but now that I have the opportunity to… I want to say: I’m sorry, Megabyte. For everything.”
They were always the closest. Megabyte was one of the first robots to be repaired —a gift from her mother— before the crash. Megabyte was around before even that pest Doctor Keh came around. Then Angelica got in her own head and went out of business anyway. She became a laughing stock in her own bloodline. Something looked at with contempt, for her ferocity. It was better than the pity she got before, others looking at her like she was something fragile. (No one knew how to hold the weight of their deaths either way.)
Then she had forcibly taken the reins of her family's inheritance, and none of that mattered at all.
Megabyte stayed. When every decision meant success or failure. When her entire future was in the balance of Angelica’s hands, her wit, her strength. It took everything. Everything. Blood, sweat, and tears. Their family name would not die in vain. Angelica had to be ruthless.
Rising, that was the only option.
Angelica fell into the role perfectly. (Too perfectly.) But Angelica was relentless, unyielding; whatever she threw herself at, it was to no end. There was no amount she wouldn’t give to be great. To repair the legacy she’d seen in her family name all of those years ago.
And Megabyte, oh Megabyte never faltered, not like so many others had before. There was no journey too adventurous to take. With Megabyte, she wasn’t too crass, too headstrong, too much for a dream she was far too late to catch. No, Megabyte listened to her, respected her, and even encouraged her endeavors. Pathetic as it may sound, the robot was one of her only friends after the death of her parents. At the time it seemed easier to talk to a literal machine than face anyone from her past. All of the grief left behind.
But it did them some good, didn’t it? All of the nights spent in the kitchen, trying to perfect recipes. Working towards something bigger than themselves. Bigger than the gaping hole that her family had left behind. Monthly check-ins with Megabyte’s private technician turned into quiet confessions about her past, the worries of the future. Megabyte always listened. Was always more gentle than Angelica ever deserved. Whenever there was any news, good or bad, Megabyte was always the first one she’d turn to. Then Angelica started becoming too busy. Too much too fast. Megabyte's convincing her to get some rest turned into it heading out for scouting missions. Trying to shark out the competition one number— one ingredient at a time. New ways to climb the ranks. Nights alone in the office. Flights to meet with sponsors. Zoom calls and deadlines to fill quotas. Hours spent calculating her future. What she had to do to make her mark on this place. Angelica had lost her way, and Megabyte had long ago freed itself of her poison.
“I… I made many mistakes. What I made you do to get recipes, putting those people out of business… it was…” she trails off, feeling strangely small in a way she hasn’t in a long time. But she doesn’t turn away from the feeling. Angelica has dealt herself enough pity parties.
(And because, truth be told, Angelica doesn’t regret Megabyte. Never. Never.)
“I thought it was best for the company—” she hitches on a breath, catching herself. “for me.” Angelica knows better than to feed herself that lie any longer. She digs her nails into her palms, but doesn’t look away. “I knew what I was doing. I was corrupt. Selfish. I’ve been trying to repair what I’ve torn down… but— I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have betrayed your trust the way I did. I would take it all back in a heartbeat if I could.”
For a moment, there’s silence. Angelica’s stomach is tangled up in knots, but she can feel the weight leave her shoulders. There, she said it. She meant it. No matter what happened now, at least she had this.
Megabyte blinks, processing. Then, a crooked smile flickers onto its screen. “Apology accepted.”
Angelica swallows. “Really?”
“Affirmative.” Megabyte pauses, then carefully says, “You were… not yourself. Not the version of you that I grew up alongside. But she’s still there. I saw it when you left, I see it now, and because of that, I had forgiven you a long time ago.”
Angelica feels a weight she hadn’t even known was there disappear from her chest.
Then, Megabyte’s screen flickers. A flash of something Angelica can’t quite catch as the light catches on its screen. “Sorry. I have business to attend to.”
Angelica nods, doing her best to hold her heart together. “Do what you must.”
Megabyte turns to your shop, then, after a few steps, it pauses. Angelica flicks her eyes back down to the robot.
Megabyte turns and examines her. “Aren’t you coming?”
Angelica feels herself flush instantly as she sputters out, “Ah. No, I shouldn’t—”
Megabyte walks over and places a gentle hand on her shoulder. Angelica stops. Blinks hard behind her sunglasses at her reflection on Megabyte’s screen, the pause on her face, the hard set of the robot’s brows. “If you let your guilt rule you forever, you’ll never allow yourself to live,” Megabyte says, seeing right through her. Like the robot could read her better than any therapist ever could. More human than most. “That’s all your parents ever wanted for you, Angelica. For you to be happy.”
For a moment, Angelica isn’t breathing. Megabyte squeezes her shoulder.
“You two have more in common than you’d think,” Megabyte says, glancing back to your shop. Then, one more time, one more push, just as soft, “They’d be happy to see you, Angelica.”
Then, like the flick of a switch —like Megabyte hadn’t just stolen the air from Angelica’s lungs with a few words, like Megabyte didn’t know how much it all meant to her— the robot smiles again. Impossibly graceful. Impossibly alive. “Hopefully, our paths may cross again soon.”
It’s an olive branch if Angelica has ever heard one.
But Angelica doesn't trust her voice to speak. All she can do is nod.
Like Megabyte knows (and it does, it does), it simply nods too. Angelica watches with a quiet ache in her chest as it saunters off into the opposite direction and disappears into the throngs of the ever-shifting line trickling out of your shop.
Angelica finds herself watching the doors for a moment. The frontier of your store has upgraded significantly. There’s still that bumbling guy in a pizza costume dancing to promote the shop, as if the customers weren’t already there. Once, she thought it was a waste. But now, it holds its charm. If she looks a little closer, she can see there are tables now. People are sitting at them. Flowers there. Faint scrawl of the House Special on a little chalkboard. It looks… polished. Healthy and well.
Angelica finds her heels clicking across the street before she can think twice.
Angelica pretends not to feel the stares as she unlocks her phone. Pretends not to hear the little is that really her ’s and I’m pretty sure I saw her on the news and wait I heard that she actually closed her business because of — Angelica tunes it all out. She’s heard it all before. Instead, she lets the alluring warmth of your pizzeria wrap around her.
By the time she gets inside, there are still quite a lot more people than she expects. With the afternoon settling in soft and slow, there’s not quite a line out the door anymore, but it’s still pretty close.
Angelica doesn’t remove her shades or her coat. Instead, she finds an empty table and takes a seat.
You’re doing well for yourself. The interior of the shop has been renovated completely. Like it always did, before. It's as refreshing and comforting as it's ever been. It makes sense why the line was shifting as fast as it did; you move like a well-oiled machine behind the counter, despite the influx of customers.
In front of it all, Angelica hears it before she sees it, but when she does see it, oh, how it feels like the air is pulled out of her lungs.
Her record player — the record player she gifted to yo u— is displayed front and center on the counter, drawing out soft and sweet tunes throughout the shop.
Angelica figures that’s what compels her to get up as the last of the line dwindles out of the door. Just to get a closer look at the relic. One of a handful of things that have stood the test of time. Nothing more.
But you see her, anyway.
“Welcome! What can I—?” Your mouth betrays your easy, practiced greeting as your brows lift, as a cold wash of shock and recognition floods your face. “ Angelica ?” you mutter in pure disbelief.
Though she can feel her confidence withering in the face of your stare, Angelica manages a small smile as she pushes her shades to her forehead. Nervous, but not quite as ingenuous as she expected. “House Special, please.”
You pause. Angelica wants to take it back, for a moment. To say something normal. Perhaps, hey, it’s been a while. Or, maybe something a little more teasing, like, you look like you’ve seen a ghost, have I really been gone that long? But you two aren’t close enough for that. Never have been. And Angelica can see that very same thought passing through your head. All of the questions running through your mind. Questions she finds herself surprisingly ready to answer.
Instead, you let out a breath.
“It’s changed a bit since you’ve been gone.” Everything has, goes unsaid. Your stare is unfaltering. Though your words come out with a curious edge to them. “Would you… like the one from before?”
Angelica blinks. That, she hadn’t noticed. Of course, you’d have a new House Special. Everything is different now. Even her. Even you. She’d just been so antsy to find the courage to walk up to the counter, mystified by the music, by you —
Angelica tightens her clutch on her purse, fixing on a braver smile. “If it’s not too much trouble.”
Your face splits into a grin, like it’s always been that easy. Like the two of you have always been that easy. “Okay then.”
Angelica lets out a breath as you disappear behind the counter. To her surprise, as she’s tucking her shades into her pocket and pulling off her coat, you appear from around the back to shut off the front lights and the neon open sign.
You’re closing. Had she really been here that long?
Before Angelica can speak, that maybe she should go, and she didn’t mean to take up your time, you turn back around with such an intensity that has her taking a breath. There’s a pause. There’s the bokeh of streetlights behind you wrapped in the night, all black and blue and quiet. Dim, warm light drifts from the kitchen and catches onto your pupils like something from a dream. There’s a silent question that hovers over you two like a secret.
Angelica doesn’t answer.
Can’t answer, because, truth be told, she wants to stay.
(There’s Angelica, again, with her pathetic, bleeding heart.)
“Would you like anything to drink?” you ask, blinking fast like you’ve been snapped out of a trance of some sort.
Angelica tightens her hold on her coat, wishing she hadn’t taken her shades off, if only to have something to hide behind. “Anything will do.”
You nod. And —like instinct, like you’ve known her your entire life— you pull out a chair for her. Angelica hesitantly places her coat on the back of it and takes a seat. If you notice her bewilderment, you don’t comment on it. Your warmth behind her is fleeting as you move along.
“How about some wine?” you offer over your shoulder.
Angelica raises a brow as you disappear around the front counter. “Really?”
“It’s a special occasion!” you call from the back, and Angelica can't tell if your enthusiasm is sarcastic or not, but you sound entirely too overjoyed. “Red or white?!”
Angelica finds herself smiling an impossible smile as she calls back, “Red!”
It grows quiet again.
For a moment, Angelica is alone again. With her racing heart, with her racing thoughts. Unsure what to do with herself, with her hands—
Ding!
Angelica forces her hands into her lap as she looks up. It takes a moment, but she realizes it’s just the silly costume guy. How strange to see him out of his uniform. Even stranger, to watch him do a double-take when he realizes just who he’s looking at.
Angelica grimaces a smile. Her name will be cropping up all over social media tomorrow anyway (like it hasn’t already).
When your coworker arrives at the front counter, you’re already there. Angelica watches the two of you speak quietly. For a fleeting moment, Angelica wonders if you’re talking about her— but she tries to push away the childish thought as soon as it comes. But you keep glancing at her like you are. Or maybe you’re expecting her to bolt at any second. Angelica isn’t sure which would be worse. She forms a smile she hopes doesn't look as strained as it feels.
You smile back. Then, disappear for a blink. You appear again with food in your hands. A bag of vegetables on top of a box of what undoubtedly is a fresh pizza. Angelica catches a mutter of drive safe, tired but happy as you send him on his way.
To his credit, it’s not a spectacle like it was before, but Angelica feels the weight of it all the same as the man gives her a weary smile before he leaves.
Angelica watches him all the way until he’s out of sight from the windows.
Alone with herself once more, her cheeks puff out as she lets out a frazzled breath. It does little to help the heat washing over her from head to toe. Angelica knows she’s blushing like a little schoolgirl. Like she hasn’t built entire companies from the ground up. Like she hasn’t stood in the face of a handful of scandals and lies. Like she hasn’t been spoken about millions of times. Like she won’t be a million more.
Upon finding nothing but empty space with a cursory glance at the counter, Angelica feels a wave of relief wash over her. With a strange sense of urgency, she rifles through her purse. Pulls out her makeup mirror. Fixes her lipstick. Smooths down the frizzing edges of her fringe. Her hair is a bit longer than you last saw it. She should’ve brought a hat. Should’ve gotten a nicer cut. Her ends feel a little too long.
Like at that very moment you’d heard her thoughts, you appear around the corner again. Angelica lets out a quiet breath of shock. You’ve changed out of your work uniform. Your top is replaced with a simple white button-down. Sleeves rolled up to your elbows. It’s simple, but she’s never seen you without your uniform. You’re a startling vision that she drinks in.
You place two empty wine glasses and a box of pizza onto the table.
“Sorry it took so long… as you could see, it’s been a bit of a hectic day,” you mutter, distracted as you struggle with prying off the cork of the wine.
“It’s alright…” Angelica watches you struggle for a few moments more with a hint of mirth. “Do you need a hand with—”
Pop!
As if it’d all gone according to some silly plan of yours —like you hadn’t jumped too— you smirk as you fill her cup.
Only when your glasses are full, do you pull out your chair across from her and take a seat. There’s a slight slouch to your posture as you do. Elbows braced against the table. Some bone-deep sigh escaping you as if pressed from your lungs. It’s almost… a refreshing sight. To know that the weariness of the day gets to you, too.
Despite her presence, you’re visibly very comfortable as you peel open the box of pizza before the two of you. It makes sense, Angelica supposes; she was the one to step into your domain.
Your gaze lingers on her, too. That hint of a smirk. It’s that same old quiet, playful air emitting from you like it did so very long ago. Angelica raises a testy brow as she stares back, just barely tamping down a smile.
It’s nice to know some things haven’t changed, after all.
You wordlessly take the first bite of pizza. Angelica's not sure how you can stand to eat after being surrounded by pizza day in and out —she’d immediately gotten sick of it herself once she started working across the street— but she takes a bite and her question is answered the moment all of the flavors hit her tastebuds. These aren’t machine-processed ingredients. It’s the real thing: hand-rolled dough, vegetables fresh from the garden, just as imperfectly perfect and wonderful as she remembers.
Then, Angelica takes a sip of her wine and chokes.
“This- this is terrible ,” she sputters
You watch her with a wicked twitch to your mouth as you swirl your own glass offhandedly. “I must admit… I had a feeling, but I’ve never had a real taste for wine,” you admit casually, as if she isn’t on the verge of hacking up a lung in front of you.
Angelica coughs into her fist, eyes watering. “You—!”
You nod, the curl of your smile pressed against your glass giving you away completely. “Just horrible, I know.”
Angelica can’t stop her laughter even when she tries.
You laugh with her, tipping your head back. Angelica finds herself staring longer than she should.
As you settle, you lean back in your seat and watch her with warm, drooping eyes. “Would you like some water? We’ve got a vending machine somewhere near the back… somewhere.”
Angelica maintains control of her breathing, a little embarrassed, but nothing she can’t handle. “This is fine.”
It is.
After a beat, your fingers drum the table idly as you start to speak again, “Well…”
Angelica can hear the question before you even continue. She can already feel what you’re about to ask: What is she doing here?
What is she doing here, she thinks to herself. With you? What is this?
“How have you been? What have you been up to?”
Oh.
Angelica blinks. Strangely… shy. “Well. I’ve been… good. Better.” Angelica clears her throat, clasping her hands together under the table. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but I’ve done a bit to give back to a few farms and shops around the community before leaving the city. I’ve been working all over the country. Dabbled a little overseas. Some fundraisers for charities, cooking pledges, tending at Salvation armies, for the elderly.”
Your eyes crinkle at the corners as you smile. “That sounds… nice.”
It’s surprisingly genuine. Angelica twists a ring on her finger, nodding slow. She doesn’t know why your approval settles the way it does. Like it actually means something. Like the two of you mean something. But it does regardless.
“It’s exhausting. But great,” she slips, a confession she doesn’t get the pleasure of admitting often. Lest she be seen as ungrateful. For her privilege. For her fortune. For her humanity despite it. But you don’t seem to mind. You hum with an understanding glint in your eye. Like you see her, too much of her. Angelica forces her fidgeting hands apart. Like an afterthought, she absentmindedly fixes her hair, then leans forward, focus shifting. “But enough about me. How have you been?”
Your smile curls like you know she’s trying to take the focus off of her. Regardless, you indulge her. “I’ve been taking care. As you can see, I’ve made a few changes to the shop over time.” Understatement of the century, she thinks. It must be written all over her face because you laugh again. Something in Angelica lights up at the sound. “I don’t think I have nearly as many great tales as you may, though. This place takes up most of my time.”
“Don’t be so modest,” she says, waving you off. “You’ve done an amazing job with the place. It's more than earned its spot here.”
You blink. Angelica leans back and crosses one leg over the other; doesn’t take it back.
“Thank you,” you say softly, not meeting her eyes anymore after you take another sip of your glass.
It's the most sincere she's ever seen you.
It’s strange, if anyone had told her even a week ago that she’d be sitting here with you, actually having a real conversation with you of all people, Angelica would’ve laughed in pure disbelief.
But here she is. And Angelica, watching you now, can’t help but think about before.
There were skeptics out there, as there always are. Some people didn’t trust you. Talk on the internet, quiet debate amid schmoozing networking parties, theories on how you started your business in the first place, theories on how all of the businesses around you seem to fall, yet, not you.
Shamefully, Angelica indulged in these rumors as easily as breathing.
When you told her that you didn’t cheat to beat Keh, she didn’t believe you for a second.
But Angelica remembers the morning she asked for that House Special like it was yesterday. How you regarded her that morning with piercing eyes. How everything felt fragile. Seethrough. There were no more games. No more masks to hide behind. You took your time that morning, too. Slow and methodical as you handled the ingredients, not a hint of nerves to be found, just a quiet focus in you she had never taken the time to notice before. Any other day, your casuality would’ve tested her patience, but all Angelica could do was square her jaw and wait. You both knew she had lost. Her reign was over.
Back then, you were always a smug little thing. Had a teasing, lighthearted bite to you whenever she came around. Like she was just another problem of the day. Like you were always one step ahead of her. Like you just somehow knew what she wanted. That she would never get it.
You weren’t the pushover Angelica once assumed. But that day, you didn’t even do so much as gloat. Didn't condemn her as she deserved. Didn’t kick her out. You had barely even spoken a word since she’d walked through the door. It scorned her wounded ego that much more to know you’d been the guiding hand that spared her reputation. To know that she failed, again.
Then, she took the first bite.
Everything fell apart.
Grief consumed her; Untethered her from any preconceived notion she’d held onto like a lifeline. It tasted like childhood. Like home. Everything she thought she’d lost. Moments in time she knew she could never get back, could never go back to.
Angelica knew it then:
It had been a losing game from the start.
(Angelica did not cry. No matter her voice broke, no matter how her spirit dwindled, no matter how her heart ached for a place she could no longer go home to.
No, Angelica did not cry, but she came very very close.
Fists jammed into her pockets, the words slipped from her mouth despite her misty eyes. Through the blur, you looked… pitying. Angelica remembers that, too; the shame. There was nothing left to hide behind. Awash in grey morning light, the two of you were overtaken by some mournful, quiet sort of understanding.
It made her sick.
When she left, she put up the divider in the backseat and sobbed silently into her hands like a child. Did the walk of shame from her car to her lonely estate. But there was no one to watch her fall apart. No one to watch her insomniac fit as she pitifully ate the rest of your pizza well into the night.
No one saw the promise she made to herself. The promise she’s been keeping to herself ever since.)
Angelica comes back to herself at the familiar lift of a melody.
“You kept the record player,” she says gently, if only to not disturb its soothing ambience. Music looping soft and slow.
You look up from your wine glass.
“I did.” You clear your throat and rise. After you put the empty pizza box in the recycling bin, you turn back to the record player with a wistful eye. “Never have much time to look for any new records… but, enough about that. Do you have any preference?”
“This,” Angelica doesn’t hesitate. “This is perfect.”
You smile. Angelica feels herself mirror your joy.
“Would you like to dance?” you ask, extending a hand.
“Don’t be silly,” she laughs.
.
.
.
Angelica feels her face drop.
“Oh my, you’re serious.”
Your grin widens.
“I’m sure you’d like to go home. Get some rest,” Angelica tries, though she can feel her resolve weakening, can feel herself hoping that you won't take it back.
You shrug, still smiling that crooked smile, “It can wait.”
Maybe it’s the wine, maybe she gets a little too lost somewhere along the melody, a little too lost in you; that soft light yawning across your face, that hopeful glint in your eye.
Angelica sighs like you’ve forced her hand, rising from her seat slow.
“I suppose one dance wouldn’t hurt,” she mumbles, allowing herself to slip into your embrace.
Angelica places her hands on your shoulders and your hands safely land along her spine.
For a moment, it’s just this. Just the sway, the music, mutual warmth.
“I must admit, I never quite learned how to dance,” Angelica quietly admits after a few moments, her voice subdued by the syrupy warmth of the wine coursing through her veins. Everything feels warm and hazy at the edges. Where she might have felt embarrassed before, now, it just is. A simple pleasure. Strangely nice.
You pull back just a touch. Angelica does not meet your eyes. Does not think about how close you are as her gaze drifts along the arch of your brows.
“Never?” you ask, voice just as soft.
“No. I didn’t have time, truth be told. Most of my days were spent following around my father in the kitchen,” Angelica steps slow as she adds, with more weight than she should have for such a nice night. “Then he passed along with my mother, and everything was given to me.”
You don’t seem bothered by the slip. If anything, you look even more intrigued. “He endowed it to you?” you ask carefully.
Angelica nods. “I’m an only child.”
“That must have been…” Confusing. Burdensome. Terrifying — “bittersweet.”
That’s a new one , Angelica thinks. It’s quite fitting.
“Yes. It was,” Angelica admits, surprised to find not a hint of malice as she speaks this time. “But he trusted it to me.”
You nod. Angelica doesn’t know how, but you understand. Something in the twist of your expression, there. To know that there was nothing else in the world that she would’ve rather done, and it was simultaneously the worst thing in the world to have to do.
“Do you just keep wine in the kitchen?” Angelica asks, surprised to realize it's a genuine thought rather than an attempt to escape the silence that’d settled over the two of you.
You huff a laugh. “Well, yes, to be completely honest.” You pause, then, at Angelica’s amused silence, seem to take that as an invitation to continue, “This really… eccentric type of man used to visit the store, and he liked it a lot. We warmed up to each other over time and, well, he loved to tell stories. Had a lot to say but no one ever cared to listen. We’d sit out on nights like this after I closed up shop and just go on and on…”
Whatever memory you get lost in is lost with the curl of a cheeky grin, and you’re reeling her back in before she can bump into a table. “I apologize if it’s not up to your standards, m’lady.”
“It’s doing its job well enough as you can see,” she chuckles, glancing at her feet as if she isn’t hyperaware of every little press of you.
You chuckle. “Good enough for me. Now I don’t have to pretend to know what I’m doing either.”
“You weren’t fooling me.”
You raise a brow. “Oh, really?”
Before she can respond, you dip .
Angelica screams as her nails dig into your shoulders. You stumble under her buckling weight, nearly sending you both crashing down.
After a beat of staring at each other in frozen silence, you both burst into a fit of childish, giddy laughter.
“I could kill you,” Angelica huffs as you right her back on her feet. There was no way you could live to tell the tale of the horrid noise she just made.
You grin, flirtatious from what must be nothing but the wine, as you tighten your hold around her. Angelica feels her breath catch. “I’m right here,” you drawl.
Before Angelica can think of anything anywhere near sensible to respond, a gentle alarm goes off somewhere in the back of the shop.
You light up.
“Saved by the bell!” you cheer, pulling away from her with an annoyingly charming smile. “Maybe next time, sweetheart.”
Without another word, you disappear into the back.
Angelica blinks once, twice. Then, without looking, her hand shoots out and she downs the rest of her glass of wine.
She grimaces.
Yup, still terrible.
When you appear again —nearly just as soon as you’d left— Angelica is still hot all over, definitely pink. You’ve got a grin like you’ve gone mad.
“Come with me,” you say.
Angelica doesn’t think twice.
You lead her to the back of the shop, your hand slipping into hers like second nature as you slip into the dark. Then, you open a door and step into a back patio she’s never seen before.
It’s your garden. Sets of flowerbeds and a polished gateway arc around the small plot of land. The short walkway between the beds of figs, artichokes, and other various plants she’s sure are currently on your menu glints underneath the warm haze of streetlights just beyond the enclosure. It’s beautiful.
“Look,” you tell her gently, pointing toward the sky.
There’s a meteor shower overhead.
Angelica lets out a breath. Galaxy of light and twinkling stars. Like the world is opening up, just for tonight.
Angelica stares in awe. “It has been so long…”
Since she’s seen the stars. Since she’s taken a moment to breathe. To feel the weight of it all— and feel no weight at all. Had she known this was forecasted for today, she would’ve taken a detour to the beach, maybe. But this… this is more than perfect.
To spend it by your side.
And when Angelica turns to look at you, you’re already watching her.
From inside the shop, she can still hear the faint lull of music. Suspended in time.
She has to say it. Now or never. Before you give her any more unthinkable reasons to hesitate, to fumble.
“I…” Angelica starts, searching for the words. “About before, I’m—”
“Don’t,” you stop her, raising a hand. “Don’t apologize.”
You look away for a moment, as if searching for the words too. “I saw your post… before you left for good. I understand,” you say so gently. You cross your arms in front of you. “We’ve all had loss. Have all done our fair share of bad and bad done to us. It changes us. But you’re different now. You’re here again, still trying to right your wrongs even when nobody’s asking you to… that’s enough for me.”
You’re too nice for your own good.
“Why are you…” Angelica trails off, unsure how to phrase it. How to hold your gentleness.
You seem to catch her meaning anyway, and you shrug. “I know what it’s like to lose sight of yourself,” you say simply. “Of everything you’ve worked so hard for.”
“This place was my way out. My second chance. I’ve had so many people come through here and tell me that my place was a safe space for them. So many people have shown me so much kindness that I hadn’t even thought was possible. Even when I felt like I didn’t deserve it. I want to do right by it. By them.” Then you grin, soft and sweet like you’re trying to brush off your earnestness. “Grudges have never done me much good anyway.”
Angelica sees right through the act.
Angelica finds herself watching you, watching her.
“May I kiss you?” she finds herself asking the thought that’s been on her mind the entire night.
You don’t startle like she expects. Don’t flinch away from it. From her. What overcomes you is an utterly endearing, shy smile. Angelica does what she wanted to from the moment she last stepped out of the pizza shop. To close the distance.
Angelica is taller than most heels, but she finds she doesn’t mind that much as you lean up into her. She can feel the moment she melts into you. You fit together in a way Angelica could've never foresaw. Like you two were always meant to be this way.
You taste like wine. Smell like spice and dough and sunlight and everything almost too good to be true. Like instinct, your steady hands fall to the dip of her waist as her hands smooth up your shoulders to your nape. Despite all of your bravado, Angelica feels the way you shiver. How your skin burns underneath her palms. Feels herself lit aflame in response as she smiles against your lips.
“Thank you.”
You pull away from her with a laugh. Your smile widens impossibly with her pout as she tries and fails to wipe away the imprint of her red lipstick from your mouth.
“Thank you? For what?” you ask, eyes melting.
“Tonight.” For being so gentle. For being here, she thinks. Angelica allows herself to indulge in the pause between the two of you. Allows herself to catalogue the image of your face one more time. The crush of your eyelashes, the curve of your nose, the rise and fall of your chest, the smudge of her kiss on your mouth. “This was nice.”
You tilt your head, and before she can even dare try to pull away, your hands catch on her waist before she can stray far.
“You say that like you’re leaving,” you mutter, eyes searching.
“Do you want me to be?”
“No.”
It’s a confession that seems to surprise you even as it comes out of your mouth.
But, Angelica feels the way you soften as she begins to tilt back into your orbit, as you mutter another, softer, “No, I really don’t.”
In another kiss, Angelica seals the promise of tomorrow.