Fools Rush In by Janice Thompson Page A

probably meant to impress D.J., but he seemed to take it in stride.
    As she placed the steaming pizza in front of us, Tony’s face lit up. “You remembered!” He turned to me with newfound confidence in his expression. “Simpatico! I love Canadian bacon and you’re crazy about pepperoni!”
    True. But his theory that I’d ordered the pizza with him in mind was flawed. First, I had no way of knowing he’d be stopping by today, and second—somewhere between the Canadian bacon and the pepperoni—he’d completely left D.J. out of the equation.
    I bit my tongue, waiting to see how a cowboy from Splendora might respond to being snubbed.
    “Oh, look.” D.J. pointed at the pizza. “Here’s a piece that has a little of both. Think I’ll take that one.” He snagged it with an ever-widening smile, one that showed off his strategically placed dimples.
    Ah, compromise. It was the stuff relationships were made of. Good relationships, anyway.
    I grinned as I reached for a piece of pepperoni pizza, then kept a watchful eye on Tony as he grabbed one loaded with Canadian bacon. With our mouths full, we couldn’t exactly quarrel, so the next few minutes gave me plenty of time to pray in silence that things would end well.
    “So, what do you think of the pizza, D.J.?” Laz asked after he’d scarfed down a couple of pieces.
    “Aw, it’s great.” My cowboy deejay responded with that deep bass voice I’d quickly grown to adore—the same voice Sharlene and Cody’s wedding guests were sure to love. “But then, any real pizza tastes good to me. I usually just buy the frozen ones from the grocery store.”
    I half expected the overhead music to come to a grinding halt and for the crowd to fall silent at this public confession. D.J. nibbled away, never knowing what he’d said, but I could tell Uncle Laz’s breathing had grown shallow. Not a good sign. No one ever used the words frozen pizza in his presence.
    Tony gave D.J. a look that said, “Are you kidding, or what?” and Jenna, drawing on her cowardice once again, announced she had to wait on some incoming customers.
    “Young man.” Laz stared D.J. down. “A few minutes ago, I thought you might be capable of coming up with a name for our new barbecue pizza. Now I’m not so sure.” He paced back and forth. “I must rethink this proposition. Something has to be done. But what?”
    “W-what do you mean?” Confusion registered in D.J.’s eyes.
    “I’m going to have to see you in action.”
    “Excuse me?” D.J. shook his head. “In action? Are you talking about construction work?”
    “No.”
    “That deejay thing? ’Cause I’m a little new at—”
    “I’m talking about pizza making, cowboy,” Laz explained. “Roll up your sleeves. There’s going to be a duel.”
    “A . . . a duel?”
    “Between you and Tony here.”
    Tony almost choked on his Canadian bacon. “W-what?”
    “A pizza bake-off,” Laz said. “The winner wins the right to name the barbecue pizza.”
    I sighed with relief when he didn’t add, “And the winner gets to date Bella.” I didn’t want Tony to think for one minute that this had anything to do with me. Our Simpatico days were over.
    “B-but I’ve never made a pizza in my life,” D.J. stammered. “Wouldn’t even know where to start.” I could read the fright in his eyes. Who could blame him? My invitation hadn’t included the words, “Bring your dueling pistols.” I’d simply asked him to come for some pizza.
    I decided to throw in my two cents’ worth. “You’re not playing fair, Laz.”
    “All’s fair in love and war.” My uncle gave me a wink. “Now, as soon as you boys are done eating, wash up and meet me in the kitchen. We’ve got some baking to do.”
    Tony, born and raised by an Italian mama, swaggered into the kitchen minutes later. D.J. followed along behind him, looking exactly like I felt—deflated. He glanced back at me as if to ask, “How did I get here?” and I shrugged. Some families had