A Tiara Under The Tree. Carolyn Hector

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      “What a shame you don’t share things, because I feel so horrible for you not having a normal pizza.” Glad to be in the presence of someone who appreciated a classic pizza, Waverly grinned. She attempted to pull the box closer to her side of the counter, but Dominic held on to one corner with a finger and stopped her.

      “Well, hold on now.” His left brow rose and matched the amused smile spreading across his handsome face. “Didn’t I say there were exceptions?”

      “No, but I’m guessing one of them is for pizza?”

      “For you,” he said with a wink, “I’ll make the exception.”

      The line was corny, yet Waverly laughed—not just laughed but giggled. “I feel so honored.”

      “Well, it’d be my honor to dine with the queen,” said Dominic, grabbing the tiara from her hand. A shocking overprotective sensation washed over her. This might have been what new mothers felt when someone held their newborn babies. The sparkly band looked so tiny and fragile in Dominic’s large, rough hands.

      Waverly touched the crown with her fingers. Having it on top of her head was natural. With it off her head, she felt anxious. Tonight she’d planned on having a date night with herself. “Sorry,” Waverly mumbled and took the crown from his hand. She placed it back on top of her head where it belonged.

      “Do you always wear a crown?” Dominic asked. He squinted his light brown eyes at her. “Was I so blinded by your beauty earlier that I didn’t notice?”

      “No,” Waverly replied and moved toward the cabinets. She reached for the blue-and-white-patterned plates from the cupboard above the sink. She got up on tiptoe. Warmth oozed down her body when Dominic appeared behind her to help guide a plate down. Dominic took it from her hands and set it on the counter next to the one she had already taken out for herself. “I wasn’t expecting company this evening, and I’d already reserved a table for a pity party of one.”

      “Now, what would a woman like you be doing with a table like that?” Dominic leaned against the counter as if he belonged there. And he did, as odd as it sounded. The blue Victorian accents on the cookie, flour and sugar jars in the kitchen made Dominic look like a bull in a china shop.

      “If I told you, you’d think I’m crazy.” Waverly chuckled. She motioned for Dominic to have a seat at the counter with her. Dominic opened the large lid to the pizza. Pepperoni-scented steam rose through the air. “Would you care for a beer?”

      For a moment Dominic pressed his hands to his bowed head. She wondered if he was religious and praying before his meal. “Dear Lord, thank you for bringing this woman before me. Smart, beautiful, seemingly sane if you don’t count the tiara and drinks beer? Not sure what I’ve done to deserve this, but thank you.”

      Waverly shook her head. The left side of her face tightened with her half smile. “You’re crazy.” Quickly she grabbed two bottled beers from the door of the fridge and kicked it closed before returning to her guest. She set the bottles down as Dominic began to serve the pizza.

      “Then we’re the perfect pair,” said Dominic. “One slice or two?”

      “Are you going to judge me if I put two slices together for a pizza sandwich?” Waverly asked, adjusting her invention. In midserve, Dominic dropped a slice onto the floor, dug his keys from his front pocket and pretended to push himself away from the counter. Was he shocked? Turned off? “Too disgusting?”

      “No, not at all.” He laughed. “I’m bringing you in front of the justice of the peace right now.”

      “If Jillian wouldn’t have a fit, perhaps.”

      “Who is Jillian?” Dominic asked. “Your mom?”

      Waverly nodded and took her seat. “Yes.”

      “I get it.” Dominic nodded and took a seat, as well. “She’d want to be there at our wedding.”

      “Maybe so,” said Waverly. “I think she’d be more pissed off at me ruining my chances to enter the Miss Georgia Pageant next year. A married woman cannot enter.”

      Dominic nodded slowly while he fixed two slices together like she did. “Okay, so we’ll hold off our wedding until after you win.”

      “No,” said Waverly.

      “No?” Dominic repeated with a hint of hurt in his deep voice.

      “Sorry. It’s a habit for me to say I’m running for Miss Georgia.” Waverly picked up a slice of her pizza and took a bite of the tip. For a moment she closed her eyes and let her tongue savor the spiciness of the pepperoni and the creamy yet salty flavor of the mozzarella cheese. When she opened her eyes, she found Dominic staring at her.

      “I can’t eat until you tell me the rest of the story.”

      “There’s nothing much to tell,” Waverly said with a shrug. “I was a beauty queen and now I’m...” She hesitated and hated the idea of telling Dominic the whole story—meme and all. “I’m an outcast.”

      “Outcast means drama-free.” Dominic raised his beer in the air. “Here’s to being an outcast.”

      Waverly lifted her beer in cheer. Their bottles clinked in a toast and they ate for a few minutes in silence. There were a few moans of pleasure here and there from the both of them, each enjoying a true American pastime. Halfway through his first slice, Dominic cleared his throat.

      “I’m going to assume it’s safe to say you know about pageants.”

      An uncomfortable lull washed over Waverly. She hated having to explain pageant life to people who weren’t familiar with the culture. Irresponsible television documentaries made a mockery of the sport. Most folks ironically judged women who donned bathing suits and ball gowns. Waverly did not want Dominic to get the wrong idea of her. “Are you serious?”

      Chewing, Dominic shrugged. Distracted, Waverly wondered how much weight he lifted every day to get his muscles so big. The fabric of his cotton shirt was stretched to the limit against his tattooed arms. She couldn’t make out all the designs but could identify a bird, maybe an eagle or a hawk, a few knives and words written in a foreign language. Clearly he was addicted to the ink. Sweat beaded above her upper lip and she began to perspire under her arms. Waverly knew summers in Southwood brought a whole new meaning to Southern heat, but damn, Dominic Crowne rewrote the definition. She took a swig of her beer.

      “I’ve been out of the country,” said Dominic. “I didn’t think I missed so much. What’s up?”

      If he hadn’t heard about her embarrassment, it would only be a matter of time. In order to get ahead of the embarrassing meme, she needed to show him now. Waverly pushed away from the counter and retrieved her cell phone. The latest version had been turned into a mock-up video spliced together with images, the work of someone’s overactive imagination. The tiara was turned into a silver keg, and instead of Waverly placing the crown on her replacement’s head, she was knocking her out. Little cartoon blue and yellow birds flew around her replacement’s head.

      “Well—” Waverly sighed “—here’s what you’ve missed.” Dread washed over her. How long after he watched the video would it be until he keeled over with laughter?

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