I practically jogged to the front of the restaurant to claim my dinner. The Oven was a typical Main Street corner pizza joint—a brick-lined exterior with a red-and-white-striped awning and a casual interior with approximately ten small and medium-size tables covered with black-and-white gingham plastic tablecloths. My eager smile turned upside down at my first glance of the slice the teenage boy working the counter haphazardly threw on a paper plate. The mushrooms and broccoli were undercooked, as if they were thrown on top of the pie as an afterthought. Not even the best, most image-enhancing filter could make these slices Instagram worthy. “Did this pizza come from your famous Italian oven?”

Teenage Boy burst into laughter. “Oh no. That broke decades ago.”

If it was possible to literally shrink from disappointment, I was now four foot eleven. I begrudgingly brought the pizza and a can of Coke back to my table. Presentation wasn’t everything. Taste was more important.

I lifted the slice off the plate and took a bite just as Finn joined me. Mid-chew, I brought my hand to my mouth. The pizza was hot. The Oven scored a point for that, which earned it a total of one point, considering the crust was too thick. It rated marginally lower than the beer at Brothers—closer to the worst I’d ever had than the best. The dough was soggy, and the cheese-to-sauce ratio was off—not enough sauce. Certainly not worth the Lactaid pill I’d taken first.

Once I swallowed, I acknowledged Finn with a timid smile while trying to rein in my feelings of betrayal. Finn hadn’t lied to me. But he wasn’t who I thought he was, and it felt personal.

He gestured at the pizza. “What did you think?”

“It’s no John’s.”

“Oh, you’re one of those,” he said, rolling his eyes to the white plaster ceiling.

“One of whos?” I asked, folding my arms over my chest. “People with amazing taste in pizza?”

He lifted his chin in dissent. “Arturo’s is better.”

“Agree to disagree. And let it be noted I disagree strongly.” I smiled despite myself. It wasn’t all bad having a fellow city person around. “Of all the one-pizza-joints in town, you walked into mine.”

Finn’s lips twitched. “It’s not a coincidence. You said you were going to be here.”

Am I the reason he’s here? My belly leaped in delight for exactly one second, without the Mississippi, until I remembered Finn wasn’t Pleasant Hollow’s most eligible bachelor who’d been waiting for the right woman—me—to come along and complete his otherwise perfect and uncomplicated life.

“How’s the story going?”