LANCE
Zander sees the pizza box first, face lighting up in a way I haven’t seen before. But when he raises his head and sees my face, the smile is erased. He takes the box and leaves the door open, and I step inside.
He opens the pizza box hurriedly, tearing off the straw string like he couldn’t wait to see what’s inside.
“It’s from that pizza place you really liked,” I tell him.
“Right.” He opens the lid, the excitement in his face draining away. “I don’t eat bell peppers.”
I frown. “Since when? This… Isn’t this your favorite flavor?”
He looks at me in disbelief and swats the carton lid back close. “Since today.”
Our eyes finally meeting, I realize how rough he looks. He’s always been strikingly handsome, even after a bad hung-over. He does, even now, but he looks beaten down - dar
