Page 76 of A Slice of Love

I’m met with a sight I didn’t expect: Brad, the delivery guy from Slice.

“W-What are you doing here, Brad?”

“I, uh, had a delivery for here.”

“But I didn’t order anything. Are you sure?”

“I’ve delivered to this address many times.” He grins but humors me and checks the receipt in his hand. “I’m certain this is you.”

“Well, I still didn’t order anything.”

“I mean, it’s already been paid for, so you might as well take the free pie, Miss Callahan.”

“Fine.” I take the box he’s holding out in front of him. “Let me grab you a five.”

“I’ve been tipped already, miss.”

My brows shoot up. “What?”

He waves the receipt. “All taken care of. Have a great night, Miss Callahan.”

I’m stricken. What the hell is happening? I didn’t order a pizza. As good as it sounds, I’m too upset to eat right now. I barely even touched my favorite strawberry pancakes at Ethel’s this morning.

Brad is halfway down the hall before I compose myself enough to speak.

“Who sent it?”

He shoots me a mischievous grin. “That’s confidential.”

I blink back at him, and he spins on his heel, hustling out the door without giving me an answer.

What in the world…

I take a glance around, half wondering if I’ve been put on some sort of weird reality prank show or if I’m just going insane.

But nobody is here filming.

I must be going insane.

I back inside my apartment, closing my door, staring at it like it might explode.

Nothing happens.

“Well, let’s see what I got,” I say, making my way back to my couch.

I flip open the lid, and the first thing I notice is the mouthwatering pizza.

Even though I wasn’t hungry before, I’m starved now.

I grab a slice as I throw open the box the rest of the way.

“Come to mama.” I’ve shoved nearly half a slice into my mouth when something catches my eye.

Scrawled on the lid of the box in handwriting I know all too well is a note.

I’m sorry.

Not for the pizza, but for everything else.

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