Page 2 of Doughn't Let Me Go

Which is why I’ve come. My best friend Foster swore being out here changed his life, and maybe it can change mine too. I promised him one year. One year and then we re-evaluate. See how Kyrie feels, how I feel, and go from there.

Plus, I could use the break. I’m worn out mentally, and not only is that not a good thing when you’re a single dad, it’s also not good when you’re trying to run a successful company.

I can already feel the anxiety of being away from my pride and joy eating at me, so this summer will be the test to see if this move lasts or not.

I pull my SUV into Slice, the pizzeria all the locals—and tourists—are obsessed with. If I had a dime for every time Foster talked about this place back when he lived in California with me, I’d be twice as rich as I am now.

If he wasn’t going on and on about Winston and Wren, his childhood best friends, he was gushing about the extravagant slices the owner, Simon, would cook up.

I won’t lie, he made my mouth water more than once. The first thing I asked to do when I visited Foster last year was come here. I was dying to see if this place lived up to the hype.

Spoiler alert: it did.

I put my SUV in park and check the time on the LED screen. Made it here with five minutes to spare.

Flipping down the sun visor, I check my hair to make sure I don’t look like too much of a mess, then hop out and head inside.

“Hey, Porter!” the owner calls out as I walk into the little pizzeria.

“Simon.” I stick my hand out, clasping his, and give him a pat on the arm. “Good to see you again.”

The owner of Slice is none other than Wren’s father, which would explain why Foster was so obsessed with it. Foster was madly in love with his best friend’s little sister for years and never had the balls to tell her. When she put him in the friend zone, he rebounded…and shit went very far south after that.

Fast-forward many years and mistakes, now he’s back hereandwith Wren.

I like to think if he can wade through all the bullshit life’s thrown at him and end up happy here on the East Coast, I can too.

“I’m meeting someone here for dinner. Can I get a quiet spot in the back?”

He raises his brows. “You got a hot date already? You’ve been here, what—two weeks?”

I laugh. “No, no. Nothing like that. Just meeting my potential new assistant to see if we jive well together.”

“Jive?” Simon wrinkles his nose. “There’s no mistaking it—you’re definitely a dad.”

“Steal your word, old man?”

He eyes me, but there’s no real menace in his gaze. “Watch it, son. I’ll give you the broken booth.”

I hold my hands up in surrender. “I take it all back.”

With a grin, Simon leads me through the tables. “Can I get you anything?”

“A water would be great.”

“You got it.”

He takes off, and I’m left here alone.

I glance at my phone, checking a text.

MEL: Fran Millman

Fran, huh? Like the hot nanny Fran Drescher?

MEL: And no, not like the hot nanny.

I laugh at the text from my current assistant, who can apparently read my mind all the way from California.

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