Blake
“Here we go, moment of truth,” Becca threatened, looking at the plate of green pesto gnocchi in front of me and holding her fork over it like a weapon. She’d ordered a pizza with prosciutto and artichoke hearts but had promised to try my favorite dish. “Wait, no. You should have the first bite.”
“Oh, I insist. You first. You’re like a guest participant in my food obsession, so you get first pick at the fluffiest potato dumpling.”
“Well, now there’s pressure. Which one to choose…?” She looked over the plate then up at me, a gleam in her eye. “You’re not in a hurry to dig into this, are you? I should just take my time . . .”
I picked up my fork. “Okay, maybe I’ll take the first bite.”
“Oh, no you won’t.” Becca batted my hand away, speared one of the perfect green pillows, and popp
