I let myself believe that, and I started looking forward to six o’clock more than anything else in the week.
The delivery guy, Ryan, was part of the ritual. He was young, always cheerful, with an easy smile that didn’t seem forced.
He had a habit of tossing out a quick joke or a silly comment before handing me the box. For a few minutes each Saturday, I didn’t feel invisible.
I wasn’t the lonely woman with a cat that hated her. I was just a customer, someone he saw, someone worth a smile.
That Saturday, I was already waiting by the door at 5:59 p.m. The rain outside was heavy, pounding against the roof, but right at six the bell rang.
I opened the door and there he was, grinning despite being soaked. He held out the box and said it was a new flavor the restaurant was testing.
“Well, at least something new will happen in my life,” I joked.
“Don’t say that. There’s always something new waiting to surprise you.”
“Not at my age.”
Ryan handed me the box and said, “You’re my favorite customer. Prettiest too.”
“That’s kind, but I can’t even leave you a tip. Money’s tight.”
“I wasn’t fishing for a tip. Just giving a compliment.”
“Then thank you. But maybe you could finally tell me who’s been buying me these pizzas all this time?”
Ryan shook his head. “The person wants to stay anonymous.”
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