“Good. Don’t forget to—”

Vivian’s stomach growled. Loudly. She went red and pinched her lips.

Jules kept her face as straight as possible. This happened from time to time, and besides, it was about two in the afternoon. Vivian had eaten lunch at eleven thirty. They were on their way back to the office, so Jules thought fast. A walnut salad? The bistro down the street did those, and Vivian liked them.

“Pizza,” Vivian mumbled.

Jules glanced over, not sure she’d heard right. Then her brow cleared. Oh, of course. “I’ll call La Borghese.”

La Borghese was a tiny, ridiculously expensive pizzeria that had opened four months ago. They only made pies with fresh, organic stuff from local farmers markets, and they put weird toppings on them, which meant it was okay for rich people to eat there and act as if they weren’t at a pizzeria.

“Not La Borghese.” Vivian’s voice was so low that Jules could barely hear her. Her face was even redder.

“Oh.” Jules tried frantically to think of Italian restaurants Vivian liked that served pizza. It was a short list. “I’ll try Vitali, then.”

“I don’t want Vitali. I don’t want La Borghese.” Vivian’s face was going even redder.

Was she going to have a stroke? “Okay,” she said helplessly. “So, um, what—”

Then she figured it out. Oh. Wow. Her fingers flew over her phone’s display. The nearest pizza joint was two blocks down. “Uh, Ben, there’s a place called Frankie’s at—”

“I know the one.” He flicked on his turn signal.

Jules glanced at Vivian, who refused to make eye contact even as she nodded. Then Jules dialed the number for the restaurant.

“Hi,” she said when they picked up on the third ring. “I need to put in an order for pickup.” She avoided looking at Ben. He was probably having as hard a time not laughing as she was.

Twenty minutes later, Vivian had her revenge. Of course she wasn’t going to eat some greasy commercial pizza in front of anybody else, so Ben and Jules had to stand on the sidewalk, stamping their feet and watching their breath turn into ice crystals while Vivian wolfed down a pineapple-and-olive pizza in the comfort of the car. The toppings were disgusting. The cold was worse.

“London can’t come soon enough,” Ben muttered. He looked around nervously. The only parking space had been a loading zone, and it was a miracle nobody had yelled at them yet.

“God, yes,” Jules agreed fervently. “Roll on, Christmas. It’s not going to be any warmer in Philadelphia, but—”

“But it’s not here,” he said. “Lucky you. I’m stuck in town. How long will you be with your family?”

“I’m coming back to New York on the twenty-seventh.”

“Any big plans for New Year’s?”