A Wood-Fired Christmas (Mistletoe Kisses)

Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

EZRA HAD BETTER not quit. He’d looked ready to walk out the door, and that’s when she’d blurted out their financial problems.

It wasn’t fair to dump that on him. Not right before Christmas.

The thing was, Lacey could make it function if she just…didn’t work there. The pizzeria seemed like a self-sustaining operation, except that was all it did. It could keep churning out a limited number of pizzas and paying its bills forever and ever and ever, but in order to do more than cover its own operating costs, it needed to grow.

Ezra’s eyes had been fire. She’d never seen him like that before—first his fury at the customer, but then his fury at her. And then he’d shut down.

So for him to reach back out to her about premium pizzas? That meant everything. She’d kept her mouth shut at first about how he was rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic, but then when she’d asked questions, he’d actually budged a little. Maybe they could do more than a hundred doughs a day. Maybe—for the premiums—they could expand a bit. He’d still keep his sacred Loveless one hundred intact. But at the same time, they’d bring in more income.

That said, she needed a better name than “mistletoe pizza,” due to the aforementioned “makes you wretchedly ill” problem. Her snowman pizza was desperately cute, and (she got the impression) desperately what Ezra wanted not to do.

On the other hand, they were talking.

In the end, they went with the Wreath Pizza: an assortment of toppings in a ring inside the crust, plain cheese on the inside, and an optional party pizza cut.

Ezra announced it on the website, but first he teased it. “We’re only making five,” he posted on a Thursday. “If they don’t sell, we’re never making another, so you’ll want to grab one while you can.”

They sold all five in an hour. On Friday, Ezra posted, “Fine. We’ll up it to ten, just to see. Order a party cut for tonight’s hockey game.”

It worked. Not only did it work, but people who ordered a Wreath Pizza inevitably ordered other things as well, so they sold out the Loveless one hundred earlier than usual.

Then, Sunday. Both the Patriots and the Bruins were playing. “Six thirty and we’re down to the final twenty?” Lacey exclaimed.

Looking unsurprised, Ezra said, “I figured we would. Two games, Sunday night, getting on toward Christmas—no one’s going outside. Combine Christmas parties and football parties, plus people who just got back from shopping and don’t feel like cooking.” He chuckled. “I like these nights.”

Lacey huffed. “That cap means we’re leaving money on the table.”

Ezra stiffened. She said, “You predicted we’d run out early. We could have prepped more doughs and sold more.”

He said, “We’re still operating under Barrett’s rules. Yes, even though you’re doing the premiums—”

Lacey said, “And we need to brainstorm another premium, because those are fun.”

“—I know, they’re fun,” Ezra snapped, “but how many pizzas do you think we’d have to sell per day to keep your rent paid?”

She snapped, “And it’s totally unreasonable for me to expect to get a living wage? Or are you just comfortable getting paid for doing nothing?”

With an expansive sweep of his arms, he exclaimed, “Doing nothing?”

“Yes! When we sell out two hours early, that’s paying you for doing nothing.” Her eyes narrowed. “My uncle had no business sense. We agree on that. You’re taking advantage.”

He folded his arms. “So operating under the terms of my employment agreement is taking advantage? Or is it taking advantage to bamboozle your uncle into giving you a pizzeria?”

She stalked into the storage room to breathe before she started yelling.

At her previous restaurant job, some wag had put up a sign (she hoped it wasn’t management) saying, “Employees must stop crying before exiting the walk-in.” In a busy kitchen, you couldn’t get space to break down after a customer screamed at you or a line cook pinched your body or the manager questioned your ability to think at higher than a third grade level. The employee bathroom was generally disgusting, so for a quiet sob, that left the walk-in.

She didn’t need to cry, but she did need to get a break from Ezra’s onslaught.

Working for six weeks was the test to see whether she’d even want to complete the deal. Ezra was part of the deal, though, and Ezra was the single factor making it impossible to move forward. She could bail on the deal and ask Uncle Barrett for the trust fund instead. Heaven knew he’d get money if he sold Lovelace. For that matter, he could just keep Lovelace Pizza and never interact with it again while it treaded water. At least…until the minute the boiler broke, or they needed a new oven. Any unexpected expense would tank the place.

The trouble with treading water was, you never got anywhere. Treading water was never supposed to be a long term solution. It just kept you in place until you could be safe again.

A shadow in the door. Ezra, who never gave up on anything, leaned in the door frame. “You do have the right to change the terms of my employment. You can force me to make an hundred twenty pizzas a day. You can force me to make zero.”

Her voice was unsteady. “I’m not forcing you out, and I wish you’d do me the same courtesy.”

He said, “I can’t force you out.”

“You could make working here awful enough that I walk. But no one else is going to take over this business without making the same changes I’m suggesting, so you should probably stop making me miserable.”

He didn’t reply.

She wrapped her arms around herself and took a deep breath. The other reason to cry in a walk-in was the chill. The frozen air brought you back to yourself because cold lit up all your nerves. Especially in Maine, cold was an ever-present threat, lurking even in the summertime. The land didn’t want humans here, the same way Ezra didn’t want her here. But the chill—the startling nature of frost—brought you back to yourself. You’d stop crying and then go back to getting the job done.

When finally he spoke, all Ezra said was, “I wish Barrett weren’t doing this.”

Lacey swallowed hard. “I understand. No matter what changes, you lose.”

Life never let you stay the same. Bills needed to be paid. Old men got older and wanted to retire for real.

Ezra said, “I was living in my car. I don’t want to go back to that.”

Lacey blinked hard, looking aside so he wouldn’t see if tears came to her eyes. “I’m sorry. Sorry you were living in your car, that is. But you’ll forgive me if I don’t think I should have to live in mine.”

The computer chimed with an incoming order, so Lacey started walking out of the supply room. Ezra caught her arm, and she turned to him.

He was gazing right in her eyes. So tall. He smelled of wood smoke and pizza sauce, and she got caught up in the aura of him, his hand on her shoulder, his eyes dark in the shadows of the storage room. She didn’t bother hiding her eyes now. She wasn’t crying. She just wished they’d quit fighting.

He said, “I don’t want you miserable.”

She said, “When you cooperate with me, we actually work like a team.”

He didn’t release his grip. “You want me on your team?”

Lacey blurted out, “What if you and I were on the same side? What if we worked together instead of against one another?” Ezra recoiled, and she moved closer. “You make excellent pizza, but you also make good decisions. You make the best with what you have. You look out for the people you love. You stand up for what you believe in. Yes, I would love to have you on my team.”

He rested his hand on her other shoulder. She tilted her face toward him, and he kissed her.

She knew the instant he did it that they shouldn’t be kissing—that it was all wrong to kiss the man who was about to become her employee, and that this changed nothing—and therefore, she didn’t stop. Because after she stopped, she’d have to never do it again.

Yes, she wanted him on her team—but she’d also come to admire him. And here he was, just him and her in a dark room in a little building and a huge question—and a lot of tremendous feelings swirling. They could make this work. This—the pizzeria, the partnership, maybe friendship. But nothing more. Kissing him was a huge mistake. She needed to back off.

Instead, she put her hand behind his neck while he slipped one of his hands to the base of her back and tugged her toward him. He wasn’t urgent, not as if he was devouring her and her dreams and future success. He could be strong when he wanted, forceful and powerful, but to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and running his lips across her jaw, he was gentle.

She choked out, “We should stop.”

He breathed into her ear, “I know,” and then he had his mouth again on hers.

They shouldn’t be kissing. She shouldn’t have one hand knotted in the strap of his apron, and she shouldn’t have her eyes closed as he kissed her throat down to her shoulder. She shouldn’t run one hand through his hair, and she certainly shouldn’t have grabbed him when he pulled away and then kissed him again.

When he paused, clutching her tightly, he sagged against the door frame. “Am I about to get fired?”

She rested her head against his collar bone, feeling his breath heaving against her cheek. “Well…I did ask you to brainstorm.” When he choked out a laugh, she said, “No ideas are bad ideas, so—”

Then he was kissing her again, this time more urgent. She pressed against him—and Shelly’s car door thunked outside.

They separated like a pair of cats under the garden hose. Lacey fled out to the computer to grab the most recent order. As Shelly entered, Ezra exited the back room holding a can of tomato sauce.

Lacey said, “Two pies, one veggie, one wreath.” Did her voice wobble?

Ezra headed to the hand-washing station as though thirty seconds ago they hadn’t been all over one another.

Shelly stripped off her jacket, saying, “Wow, it’s hot in here!”

Ezra only said, “You think so?” and despite the wood-fired oven, that really made Lacey shiver.

Ezra couldn’t take his eyes off Lacey.

Every bewitching move of hers hooked him further into her world. He wanted to touch the strands of red hair that had escaped their binding and framed her face, and when she had a smudge of flour on her chin, he hungered to kiss it off.

Thank goodness Shelly was here, awaiting the next delivery.

Two people loving the same thing should not mean those two people would love each other. They were united for a cause, not for a lifetime. Lacey loved a pizzeria, not him. He loved the same pizzeria, but that didn’t justify clutching her body against his and losing himself in the sensation of her.

Make pizza, not romance. Loveless pizza. That was the key. Loveless.

Except— Dang, Lacey was amazing.

Of course, now she was also skittish, so Ezra tried to hide the way he wanted to stare at her. She shouldn’t see it. Especially neither should Shelly, who still mocked him for air-kissing Lacey’s hand.

He could have had that first kiss weeks ago. What was he thinking? Oh, right, he was thinking that Lacey hadn’t wanted a kiss, and therefore, a kiss was not to be given.

An order came in for delivery. Which, unfortunately, meant Shelly would be out the door in ten minutes. Trying to figure out what to do, Ezra tossed another dough while Lacey began dressing the pizza.

Lacey said aloud, “I think I just made a mistake.”

He glanced at her, but she was only spreading the sauce. It didn’t look like a mistake. Ezra said, “It looks okay to me.”

Lacey said, “From my angle, it looks different.”

Oh . Got it.

Ezra said, “You think you added too much, too soon?”

Lacey sounded unnerved. “Yeah.”

From the counter, without looking up from her phone, Shelly said, “It’s just a pizza. No one’s going to notice.”

Lacey said, “But once you see something, it’s hard not to keep seeing it.”

Ezra said, “You can probably cover for it. Like, if you know something happened once, you can make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Even if you want it to. Scratch that: especially if you want it to.

Lacey started spreading cheese. “You think it’s possible to cover over a mistake like that?”

Ezra said, “We’re in a pizzeria. Ninety seconds at eight hundred degrees. That mistake will be gone, and no one will see it again.”

Lacey added, “Because I’d hate to ruin everything.”

Shelly looked up. “You’re getting a little dramatic. The worst that can happen with a real mistake is the customer gets annoyed, and you offer them a free pizza.”

What was the equivalent of comping a passionate kiss? Ezra couldn’t just pay Lacey off and say, “Sorry, babe, the next one’s on me.” Lacey was saying, without saying, that the minute Shelly stepped out the door with the new pizzas was not the minute Lacey stepped back into Ezra’s embrace.

So Ezra said, “You don’t want to lose a customer, though.”

Lacey said, “Especially an important customer.”

Ezra said, “That’s why we treat the business like professionals.”

Lacey’s shoulders relaxed as she reached for the black olives. “Okay. As long as one mistake won’t ruin everything.”

Ezra nodded. “Exactly. Pizza’s comfort food, but we don’t need to involve anyone’s emotions.”

He hated that, but they needed to get back on track. She wanted Loveless to succeed, and right now everything depended on working as a team.

Teamwork meant sacrifice. He could sacrifice a relationship before it began. For the sake of the pizzeria, that sacrifice would be necessary.

Although, come to think of it, a larger sacrifice might be necessary. Because all Lacey’s problems could be solved with one simple move—one Lacey had so far refused to make.

Ezra could do it for her, and then it would all be resolved.

Loveless couldn’t afford to pay full-time salaries for both him and her. He’d proven one full-timer was enough to keep the place going, though. The money would suffice if Ezra stepped aside.

He hated it, but it was the only way out for her. And then she could make all the changes she wanted.

Shelly set down her phone. “You guys are making it sound like the world’s ending, but it’s just pizza. Pizza is salty enough without adding tears.”

Lacey moved to start on the second dough. “Makes sense. The only broken hearts should be the Loveless pizzas—and those aren’t until Valentine’s Day.”

By then, Ezra wouldn’t be working here any longer.