A Wood-Fired Christmas (Mistletoe Kisses)

Chapter Seven

CHAPTER SEVEN

LACEY LEARNED THAT December in a wood-fired pizzeria had an unexpected toastiness.

By the second week in December, Ezra still hated every single idea Lacey ever had, but she minded it less. If she had one thing to be thankful for, it was that she’d worked Thanksgiving Day and experienced Ezra for the first (and possibly only) time respecting her…respecting her as a human being, if not as the future owner.

In a matter of weeks, she’d learned a lot. She’d learned to maintain the oven temperature. She’d learned the trick to keeping a pizza peel clean but also keeping it functional. (Always use a dry rag.) She’d learned pizza terminology, too, such as “leopard spotting,” which meant those delicious little black bubbles that rose on the crust when the oven was at its hottest. She learned that when Ezra portioned out the dough balls, he called it “doughnating.” She also learned (after laughing) that he didn’t consider it a joke.

Ezra was a good teacher. Without letting his dislike get in the way, he explained clearly and quickly, and he didn’t mind when she took notes. Clarifying questions didn’t exasperate him. Maybe because he had so many younger siblings, he’d developed a style of cutting to the chase. He’d explain to her one way, but then when a customer asked the same question, he’d explain in a different tone, using non-industry terms. He never sounded condescending. No, not even when a customer asked if cheese counted as a topping. (It didn’t.) “How big is your sixteen inch pizza?” (Sixteen inches.)

Uncle Barrett turned up on occasion. It wasn’t as often as Lacey would have figured, but Ezra at one point said, “Why’s he around all the time?”

When Uncle Barrett worked with Ezra, the two men laughed. A lot. Sometimes they talked sports. Uncle Barrett would read back the comments on their social media posts, and he often shook his head about how “you young people” used slang, or outrageous customers’ expectations.

The more she listened in, the more Lacey understood what customers liked about Lovelace Pizza, and she could imagine so many ways to build on those things.

Also, unfortunately, she understood what customers liked about Ezra. It wasn’t just “hot pizza made well and delivered fast.” His personality emerged in the social media quips. His humor sparkled even in the way he answered the phone. When he made a mistake (and it did happen, sometimes) he kept calm and eventually got the customer laughing. And finally, he looked genuinely hot working that wood-fired oven. It was embarrassing how often Lacey caught herself watching him as he worked in jeans, a black t-shirt, and that apron.

Second week of December, Lacey had an appointment. Uncle Barrett offered to work in the morning, declaring, “Me and Ezra, just like old times!”

Afterward, when she stepped in the door, Ezra and Uncle Barrett were mid-argument about the soccer game blaring from the TV. Uncle Barrett seemed to hold the side that the ref had made the stupidest call in the game, whereas Ezra insisted the ref had actually made the stupidest call in the entire worldwide history of soccer. Both men were at it full tilt.

With his back to her, Ezra was tossing pizzas, then setting them on the counter where Uncle Barrett could top them. Ezra never broke rhythm, not even while quoting statistics from last year’s World Cup.

Lingering just inside the doorway, unseen, Lacey trained her eyes on Ezra in his element. Him and the warmth of the little building that was mostly kitchen. Him, keeping track of five things and yet never missing a cue. Orders came in on the phone or online, and pizzas came into and out of the oven, into boxes and then ready for delivery, and there were toppings to be monitored, as well as the occasional update to their social media. (“Only 20 pizzas left. Call soon because I want to go home.”) Ezra turned on when he started work, and he didn’t turn off again until afterward.

At least, Lacey assumed he turned off again afterward. Surely no one could maintain that intensity every hour of the day, every day of the week.

The other cook didn’t work like this. Greg had less focus, more goofiness. He let more things slide.

Ezra turned to pull a pizza from the oven, and he caught sight of her.

His eyes widened, but then he was back in his zone, shoving the pizza peel under a finished pizza and sliding it into its box.

That little reaction caught her off guard. As he closed the box, he said, “Well, Barrett, it’s over. Your replacement arrived.”

Uncle Barrett laughed. “You’re getting rid of the old man?”

Ezra returned to the oven to grab the next pizza. “You brought this on yourself. Can’t complain if the person you’re giving the pizzeria to actually goes ahead and takes over.”

As Uncle Barrett unfastened his apron, Lacey said, “I believe the phrase is, ‘hoist on your own petard.’”

“Never owned a petard. Never hoisted anything on one.” Uncle Barrett tossed his apron in the bin. “Sliced with my own pizza wheel?”

Lacey started strapping on one of her own. “Topped with your own pepperoni?”

Ezra was ignoring them with such pointedness that he had to be listening. Lacey added, “Kneaded by your own Hobart?”

Uncle Barrett said, “That sounds painful,” and then he left for the day.

Ezra boxed the second pizza, his eyes darker than usual, his mouth tighter. “Delivery.”

Shelly wasn’t delivering today. Lacey said, “You want me to do it?”

“We’ve got a driver, and I need you here,” Ezra said. “We’re behind, and you’re faster than Barrett.”

Lacey said, “At least I’ve got that going for me.”

The next pizza was a pickup, and Ezra stashed that on top of the oven. Their delivery driver arrived and left again. An order came in for two meat lover pizzas, so Ezra got to work.

“You’re faster than he is,” Ezra had said. For all that he’d sounded bitter when saying, “You brought this on yourself,” this admission hadn’t sounded begrudging. Lacey was faster. Uncle Barrett was more fun to be around. Or was he just more permissive?

Or was Ezra bitter because no one would have demanded he kiss Uncle Barrett’s hand?

Regardless, Ezra was fastest, and two meat lover pizzas got laid out at record speed.

The pickup customer arrived. Lacey took care of him at the register, and when she turned to him with the total, he had one of the boxes open. “This is unacceptable.”

Ezra wasn’t looking up, but again, Lacey could tell he was paying attention. She said, “That’s what you ordered.”

Even as she spoke, Lacey took an inventory of the toppings. It was fine.

The man said, “There’s not enough meatballs. If I’m paying for a meat lover pizza, I expect meat. A lot of meat. And the crust is burnt.”

That pizza was fine. Before Lacey could say anything, the man yanked up a slice, and toppings slid off. “Look at this! It’s a mess! And it’s soggy! Your cook over there is incompetent.”

Lacey repeated, “To be clear, you’re saying he made it wrong?”

Ezra glared at her, but come on, this was a freebie-seeker. In the next sentence, the guy was going to either ask for a full refund, or else he was going to demand that second pie for free. Or maybe he was a seasoned grifter who’d demand she fire Ezra and then back down and settle for her only comping this and giving him coupons for the next order.

The man glared at Ezra. “Look at him. He doesn’t even care.”

Lacey lifted both boxes off the counter without even closing the lid, leaving the customer standing with the bottom of the slice he’d yanked out—the cheese and toppings having remained with the pizza.

The customer exclaimed, “What are you doing?”

Lacey walked the pizzas to the back counter. “They’re not up to your standards. We can’t disappoint you.” Ezra looked livid, probably thinking she was going to force him to remake them, but she ignored him as she smiled at the customer. “You may find a better meat lover pizza over at Jake’s Pizza up the road, or House of Pizza on the other side of Hartwell.”

Ezra straightened.

The man exclaimed, “What? You’re not going to serve me?”

Lacey opened her hands. “You’re the one who refused service, not us.”

Ezra returned to tossing a pizza, smirking. The customer said, “Listen, little lady, I want to talk to your manager.”

Organic locally-sourced sexism: Lacey’s favorite. “I’m the manager.”

The man clenched his fists and pulled himself up taller. “You can’t deny me a pizza. Give them back.”

Lacey lowered her pitch a little. “You were disappointed that there weren’t enough toppings on the pizza, and you were also upset that the pizza had too many toppings. You claimed it was too soggy and it was too burnt. There’s no way we can meet all your expectations. Try Jake’s.”

It wouldn’t surprise her if this man had already worn out his welcome with both Jake and Hartwell House of Pizza.

The man pointed to the boxes. “Make it right. Fifty percent off.”

Would money dry up the sogginess and de-crisp the crispiness and spontaneously generate an extra meatball? “Ezra’s a master pizza-maker, and that pizza is perfect. I have never seen him make a single one of the mistakes you just accused him of, let alone all of them at the same time.”

Ezra nearly dropped the dough he was tossing, and he didn’t start again.

The customer snorted. “You’re new here, sweetheart, but he screws up every time. He shorts the toppings, and the pizza gets burnt. I only came tonight because I thought I’d get the other guy.”

“The other guy” being Greg, or being Uncle Barrett? Lacey said, “Ezra has never screwed up a pizza. The first pizza he made was perfect, and the last pizza he ever makes will also be perfect.”

Ezra still hadn’t moved.

The customer jabbed a finger toward pizzas. “Give them to me, and I want them for free.”

Lacey tilted her head. “You can leave. You’re now banned from ordering from us again.”

The man spat out, “I know the owner!”

Lacey shrugged. “So do I.”

The man flung the naked slice of pizza onto the floor, then stepped toward the edge of the counter as if he were going to come after her. Lacey backed up.

Ezra spoke for the first time. “Don’t.”

It was a low tone, a threatening note. Ezra had squared his shoulders and was staring the customer dead in the eye. Not a muscle moved, but he’d set his jaw, and his eyes had a black glint of fury.

Although he wasn’t holding a weapon, Ezra looked like the deadliest man in creation. Behind him, the wood-fired stove smoldered, and before him, the customer breathed unsteadily.

The man growled, “You’re losing a customer.”

“Customers are people who spend money.” Ezra’s eyes narrowed. “So far, you haven’t.”

In a situation about to explode, Ezra stood firm, rock-solid. He was capable of anything. The same man who’d taken Lacey’s fingertips and brushed near them without touching stood beside her like unexploded ordinance, and he was ready for everything.

The man swept the napkin holder off the counter and shouted, “I’m getting you all fired,” but he started moving toward the exit. “I’m writing reviews everywhere. I’m telling them what you’re really like.”

He hit the glass door with his fist, but it didn’t shatter. He tried to slam the door at his back, too, but then the safety release caught, so it closed with a sweet slowness.

That failed door-slam should have been funny. Lacey should have wanted to laugh. Instead, only then did she realize how hard it was to breathe.

With a huff, Ezra punched a button on the screen to bring up the next order.

“Thank you,” Lacey murmured.

Her voice didn’t need to be that low. It wasn’t as if the customer was coming back.

Ezra’s voice was equally low. “Barrett would have given him both pies for free.”

She started. “Wait—should I—?”

“Barrett collapses like a house of cards. Customers will blame me for nothing, and he’ll comp the whole order.” Ezra glanced at Lacey. “At least you don’t have the spine of a jellyfish.”

He looked almost pleasant, almost as if he could tolerate her. She had one quality he could approve of. She ought to grab that and run.

Lacey crinkled her eyes at him. “And here I thought you’d get angry that I’m ruining the business by annoying the customers.”

“Some customers cost more than they bring in.” He hesitated. “You didn’t have to lie for me.”

Lacey straightened. “When did I lie?”

“That you think I’m good at my job. I know it’s a customer service thing, but—”

Lacey exclaimed, “You are good at your job.”

Ezra rolled his eyes. “Listen, we both know you think I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“How did I give you that impression?” Lacey’s heart pounded. “You’re amazing when you’ve got everything going all at the same time, keeping track of the pizzas in the oven and the pizzas you’re topping and the orders that have already come in and predicting the new orders about to arrive, not to mention tracking how many pizzas we have left in the day.”

Ezra fixed her with the same look he’d given the irate customer, and like him, Lacey stopped in her tracks. He said, “I’m not fishing for compliments. But I’m also not looking for you to go on a PR campaign with irrational people. Barrett always agrees with them. Yeah, Ezra mucked it up again, have a freebie. ”

“But you didn’t muck it up, and I have never seen you muck anything up.” Her eyes stung. “What gave you the idea that I think you’re incompetent?”

Ezra said, “Nothing I do is good enough for you.”

Her heart stuttered. “Nothing?”

He swept out an arm to take in the place. “Nothing. You didn’t even know the shop yet when you decided to change everything, and when I tell you something’s not going to work, you ignore every word I say. I’m going to walk in one day to find a cow in my parking spot and you milking it—”

She raised her hands. “I’m not talking about milking cows. When it comes to making pizzas, you are the best there is. You don’t make mistakes—at least, none I’ve seen.”

Ezra tilted his head.

Lacey said, “You’re top notch at the pizza part. But that doesn’t mean you know the back end of the business.”

Ezra opened his hands. “And see? Right there, you ruin it. You could have left it at, No, man, you’re good, and we’d be fine. But even after working here since the day Loveless opened its doors, to your mind, I still don’t know how anything works. I’m a trained monkey who spreads sauce and throws wood into the oven.”

Lacey huffed. “Yes, that’s exactly what I said. A monkey with safety certification and a social media account.”

Ezra gave her a thumbs up as he returned to work. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“While you’re listing the people nothing’s good enough for, go ahead and add yourself to that list, because you’ve shot down every idea I’ve had since the moment Uncle Barrett walked me in the door.”

Ezra snapped, “Because you won’t give the place a chance.”

Lacey shot back, “At what point did you give me a chance?”

He faced her. “A chance to do what? To destroy the business?”

“To make it succeed!” She stepped toward him. “You wrote me off from minute number one as a nepotism brat with no experience and no credentials, and you’ve got nothing to say except change is impossible.”

“The changes you want to make are dumb.” He folded his arms. “They’re performative, and they’re nothing our customers would ever be interested in.”

Lacey said, “Then I want to know what changes you think they would be interested in.”

“Nothing!” His eyes blazed. “They think everything’s fine as it is. They want to call us for a hot pizza and have it on the table in twenty minutes.”

Lacey said, “And if we don’t change a few things, they’re going to call us for a pizza and have nothing on the table because we’re going to close.”