Bella Garten

The pizza guy took a deep breath as he approached the next address, hoping—praying—that this delivery would be normal. No weird encounters, no awkward situations. Just a straightforward drop-off, cash exchange, and maybe a good tip. That’s all he wanted.

He was at a rundown house at the corner of a street. On the way, he saw plants and vines. Suddenly, he thought of Poison Ivy and on the off chance that it was here, decided to avoid and step over all the plants.

He checked the name again: Bella Garten. At least the name sounded normal enough.

"Probably not Ivy, right?"

Hop, hop, hop.

Well, better safe than sorry.

He pressed the doorbell, and the door opened after a moment. Awaiting was a woman in a sharp, striking pink suit. A beautiful black woman with a calm, almost regal demeanor and hair in a top-knot. She glanced at him, eyes disinterested, a rose in one hand and a phone in the other.

"Please. Call me Gardener in front of company," Bella, or at least that was who he assumed she was, said to the person on the phone. "I have other business to attend to now. Bye."

Beep.

She ended the call. That was a good sign, right? She put it away and looked at him.

“Your pizza,” he said, holding the box out with one hand, the other holding a debit card machine.

Bella Garten took her time inspecting him, not the pizza. For a moment, he wondered if she was going to comment on how he was still catching his breath from the hops to avoid the plants. She didn’t immediately say anything, simply stepping forward to accept the pizza, and he couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly cool she seemed. Her whole vibe screamed confidence.

'She’s like a boss from a movie,' he thought, mentally kicking himself for how out of place he felt in his greasy delivery uniform. He couldn’t help but admire her, but more than that, he hoped this delivery would go as smoothly as possible.

She reached into her jacket and handed him a tip—more generous than most, but her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than normal. Just as he was about to thank her and leave, she grabbed his wrist.

"You avoided my loves."

The pizza guy froze, blinking. Loves? Loves...

"You mean the plants?"

See, it wasn't just Poison Ivy. There was a small, tiny sect of women that were super duper protective over plants. You know the term cat lady? Well, now there was plant lady. And, if his senses were correct, this black lady was one of those plant ladies. Hopefully she didn't have the same poison ivy shit that Poison Ivy had.

Bella Garten nodded, visibly pleased. "So you did avoid them."

"I, ah, I have plants at home. I'm pretty conscious of it, haha."

That really seemed to impress her. "That's good. Very good." She slowly released his wrist. She was surprisingly strong. "Good and handsome."

"H-huh?"

“Mmm-hmm. I bet you get that a lot, don’t you?”

He chuckled nervously, shifting on his feet. “Not really... mostly just deliver pizzas.”

Bella raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. “Pity,” she replied coolly, handing him more money and this time with a bit more flair, her fingers brushing against his hand longer than necessary. “If I were you, I’d be making better use of those looks."

“Yeah... uh, thanks.”

She smiled, but it wasn’t the kind of warm, friendly smile he was used to. It was the kind that made him feel like he was being sized up, maybe even toyed with. The kind that said she knew exactly what she was doing, and it was working.

“Tell you what, why don’t you give me your number?” Bella Garten said as if it were an order. “Might come in handy someday.”

Somehow, his brain short-circuited, and before he knew it, he was scrawling his number down on a piece of paper, handing it to her with shaking hands.

“Great,” Bella Garten said with a satisfied smile, slipping the paper into her jacket pocket. “I’ll be in touch.”

And just like that, the door closed in his face.

He walked down the small staircase, once again avoiding the vines and grass.

Between the weird encounters, flirtatious women, and... this, he was starting to think he was either the luckiest or the unluckiest pizza delivery guy in Gotham.

Somehow, he was thinking it was the first one.