Larry raised his head off the couch, blinking sluggishly. Upon seeing his empty living room, he realized he had fallen asleep, and he quickly swung himself to a sitting position, yawned, and trudged to the door, grabbing his wallet.

A delivery boy stood on his welcome mat with an aromatic box promising cheesy goodness topped with pepperoni and little anchovies. Larry paid the bill and gave a generous tip before retreating to his kitchen table. He yawned, stretching, and opened the lid. He smacked his lips and started to lift a triangular slice, not bothering to grab a paper plate from his pantry, then he lowered it back into place. He gazed at the sliced-up pie.

I wonder if Petunia's eaten dinner yet.

His stomach dropped a little, almost making him lose his appetite altogether, but he took a deep breath. He jumped off his chair, closed the box again, grabbed his keys, and went out to his car.

It was a short drive to Petunia's house, but it seemed a lot longer. Larry could feel his heart throbbing in his chest the entire time, and twice he nearly made a U turn, but he kept his car rolling forward.

Outside her apartment, he parked, drew a deep breath to calm his nerves — and dropped his green head on the steering wheel. He almost turned the car back on to leave, but he forced himself to straighten and reached for the pizza box. It was still warm, but not as piping hot as before.

"At this rate, this will be an anchovy-and-pepperoni popsicle, and that doesn't sound very appetizing to serve to a girl." Larry tilted his head, reflecting on that. "Or anybody, really. …Unless you're a penguin."

But there weren't any penguins here — even though Petunia had really wanted to take home the trained penguins they had rented for The League of Incredible Vegetables — and there was no point wasting a good pizza and gas money. Larry forced himself to open the car door — then take off his seat belt — then hop toward Petunia's apartment — then double back to grab the pizza he had almost forgotten — then hop across the parking lot and up the stairs.

Outside her door he took yet another deep breath, readjusted his hold on the pizza box, and knocked. He tried to act suave — the way Minnesota Cuke looked when he wanted to impress Julia — but the moment she opened the door, his mouth dropped open into a silly smile instead. She wore her usual white blouse and long brown skirt, and her polite, curious expression morphed into a radiant smile that warmed Larry right through.

"Ms. Petunia!" he greeted without thinking.

"Hey, Mr. Larry," she said, taking it in stride. "What brings you here?"

Larry almost slapped the pizza box against his head. "Ah, I shoulda called first. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," she said with a hint of that cute giggle. "Is that a pizza, or did you want me to help you with your recycling?"

"A pizza," he answered. He gave the box a slight shake. "I was about to eat, but then I wondered if you— uh, are you hungry?"

"You know, I was just now trying to decide if I wanted pizza or tacos for supper."

"Well, you're welcome to half," Larry grinned nervously, hoping, hoping, hoping she'd say—

"Sure!" She drew back to give him room to enter. "My roommate's not back from visiting her mom, so it's nice to have some company."

He had only been inside her apartment once. There was some cheap but comfortable furniture, a few pictures on the wall, and a few potted flowers over by the windows. The place smelled nice, like she just sprayed FeBreeze, and Larry also caught a hint of that perfume she usually wore.

"So, what kind of pizza did you get?"

That brought him back to earth. He opened the lid sheepishly. "Pepperoni and anchovies — but you can pick the anchovies off if they gross you out."

Petunia looked thoughtful. "You know, I've never had anchovies before."

"It's an acquired taste," Larry grinned.

"Well, I won't know if I don't try," she said. "I'm up for an adventure."

While Larry carried the box to her table, Petunia pulled out a big bottle of root beer from the fridge, and served them both glasses.

"There's a rerun of Touch by an Angel about to come on," she said as she handed him his beverage, along with a clean plate and a paper napkin. "Do you want to watch it with me?"

"Wow, that takes me back," Larry grinned, nostalgic. "Years ago, I was a part-time clerk at a video store, and I'd set up my VCR to record new episodes on nights I had to work."

She laughed. "Wow, I haven't used a VCR since I was a kid."

Larry winced. "Yeah…"

Petunia's eyes widened. "Oh, Larry, I didn't mean it like that."

"Well, you didn't lie," Larry said graciously. "I'm pretty old."

"You are not," she insisted. "You're just… older. That's all."

His pulse accelerated, hopeful. "You really think so?"

"Sure," she nodded firmly. "Actually, it explains a lot about your maturity."

Larry stared at her, wondering if he had heard her right. "Did you say 'immaturity'?"

"No, maturity."

So he had heard right.

"Nobody's called me mature before," he murmured, flattered.

"I think you're very mature, Larry," she smiled, hopping up to sit on the table, which brought her right next to him. Her skirt grazed his side. "I see it in your silly songs all the time."

Okay, something must have been off.

"It's not Opposite Day, is it?" he asked, eyeing her carefully. "Because that's not my favorite holiday."

Petunia shook her head. "Larry, there are different kinds of silliness. There's the kind of silliness you have when you're a little kid, and there's a kind of silliness that is crafted into an art, the way great comics do. You fall firmly into the latter."

"I do?"

"Sure, you put a lot of effort into your lyrics, not to mention your performances. When we did the staplers song together, you kept tweaking things, trying to make it as funny as possible."

Larry ducked his head modestly. "It's for the kids, after all."

"But you don't skimp on your art just because 'it's for kids,' Petunia went on. "An operatic aria about your hairbrush, a tango with a melodramatic soap opera mixed in, a yodeling song where a bear attacks you. That takes skill to pull off, and some of the best art comes from people with life experience. So, yes, I think you're mature, Larry — and you express it through a youthful demeanor."

If it were possible for him to blush, he would have been red from top to bottom.

"Wow, I never knew you felt that way about my silly songs," he smiled shyly, playing with his plate.

Petunia looked embarrassed. "I never seemed to find the right time to mention it."

"I'm glad you told me." He cleared his throat. "I like getting feedback. From you."

"I'll try to be more vocal then," she promised. She met his eyes, then quickly hopped off the table and reached for a slice. "So then, pizza and TV?"

They settled on the couch and turned on the television to watch the last minutes of some program which Larry didn't recognize while they waited for the Touched by an Angel rerun. Petunia carefully nibbled on her pizza slice. Fortunately, she didn't find the anchovies super-mega gross, but she commented on the saltiness and umami flavor.

"If you really don't like it, I can order you a fresh pizza," Larry offered.

"Oh, you don't have to. Like you said, it's an acquired taste."

"I don't mind," Larry insisted. "I want you to feel like you can be honest with me, whether it's about pizza or silly songs. 'Open rebuke is better than secret love,' after all."

"Proverbs Twenty-seven, Verse Five," she said promptly. "That was one of my memory verses way back in Sunday school."

It was?

"Bob and I were talking about it earlier," he said, amazed. "W-What are your thoughts about it?"

Petunia smiled wryly. "The 'open rebuke' part isn't a whole lotta fun, but the Bible also talks about wise men loving correction, while foolish people reject it. I don't like messing up, but I want to be able to accept corrections graciously when I do."

Petunia reached for her root beer.

"What about the" — he fidgeted with his plate — "secret love part?"

Petunia started, and her glass nearly fell over.

"Secret love?" she repeated.

Larry took a deep breath, struggling not to backpedal all the way to the next town over.

"What do you think about people hiding their love for someone?" he asked carefully.

Her pretty eyes darted about awkwardly. "Well… it can be difficult to confess your heart to that special person."

"That's for sure." Larry gulped a little. Even though he had been drinking root beer, his mouth felt strangely dry.

Petunia pulled her red braid over her slim shoulder and began to play with the end.

"But I guess if… if that person was the one God meant for you… then you owe it to yourself to try."

"If you r-really liked somebody, how would you t-tell them?"

She swiveled toward him, gaping a little. "Do you like someone, Larry?"

Larry's throat constricted, and he jerked a quick nod, not trusting his voice to come out right.

Petunia stared. Then, after a pause, she smiled. A little smile, not the sweet, vibrant one which had drawn Larry to her. Petunia seemed to deflate slightly — or maybe she was having a bad reaction to the anchovies — or maybe she was mentally rehearsing for a somber scene and forgot to tell him. Larry couldn't be quite sure.

"Good for you," she congratulated. "You know I'm always happy to give you advice, if you need it."

She reached for another slice of pizza, but she did not take a bite.

"H-How would you like a guy to l-let you know what he f-feels?" Larry stammered.

Her red mouth warped slightly. "Well… I suppose if it was me… and you came over to tell me you liked me…"

Larry scooted closer without thinking. "Yeah?"

She looked down at her plate.

"I'd want it to happen in a quiet moment," she said. "No big public displays. Maybe you might draw me aside at a party, or maybe we'd be sitting together on a couch or walking through the park. Something intimate and cozy. And then…"

"Then?" Larry leaned toward her.

The corners of her lips twitched upward into an odd little smile, almost wistful.

"When the moment was right, you might look me in the eye and say, 'Petunia, would you like to grab dinner sometime, just the two of us?' Then I'd say yes, and we'd see where things progressed from there."

"J-Just like that?"

"I'm a simple gal," Petunia replied. "I look for sincerity. Flowers and chocolates are nice, but they don't mean anything if the heart isn't there."

Larry stared at her. His heart hammered in his chest like someone was playing the drums for a swing-dance party, and his body felt like a cucumber-shaped bag of jelly. A part of him wanted to play it safe, to turn back to the television screen and watch angels help people. Before he could twist away from her, however, he saw Minnesota Cuke flash across his mind.

"C'mon, Larry. Who else do you need to show up before you make a move?" his character demanded.

Larry grimaced, but he did his best to steel himself. Trying not to overthink it, he reached for the television remote.

"Petunia?"

She lifted her head, and he hit the mute button. Their eyes met. For a moment, he did not speak, struggling to make his tongue obey him.

Then, quietly, he asked, "Would you like to grab dinner sometime, just the two of us?"

Her eyes shot wide open — but she said nothing.

Larry started to panic. Stammering, he leaned back. "Maybe I shouldn't have asked that while we're having pizza, but w-would you want to? Not like when we go to Burger Bell, b-but a nice dinner. The kind you dress up for."

She blinked a few times. The silence stretched.

Larry swallowed. He felt tempted to cry "Psych!" and go back to his pizza, but he forced himself to hold her gaze, waiting, waiting…

Her cute mouth quivered. "Do you… really want that, Larry?"

He nodded, gulping again. This is the part where she tells me she's flattered but doesn't think of me that way.

He was sure — like, two plus two equals four, Larry-Boy fights bad guys, super-mega kind of sure — those were the words resting on her lips.

…But he sure was surprised when her lips actually said, "Of course I'll go out with you, Larry!"

He started back, wondering if he had slipped into another daydream and would soon see Minnesota Cuke and Larry-Boy stroll into the room to partake in pizza. He glanced at the nearest door, but when no costumed cucumbers appeared, he realized this was very real.

His face brightened like a light bulb. "You mean it?"

"Sure, I do!" she giggled. "I've been trying to work up the nerve to ask you on a real date, but you beat me to it."

"I did?" he asked eagerly. "You were?"

She nodded, shyly averting her eyes. "For a while now."

Larry couldn't believe his ears, but if Petunia had said it, it must be true because Petunia wouldn't lie to him about a thing like that.

"Then, uh, how about tomorrow night? Are you free?"

"As volunteer work."

"Great!"

They began discussing where they might like to go — Petunia's uncle knew of a nice Italian place on the other side of town — and that reminded Larry of a story Aunt Ruth told him about her trip to Europe — and then Petunia was laughing — and Larry felt a lot less nervous — and then they were talking comfortably like they usually did. When Petunia's roommate returned later, they were still talking, and only then did they realize they had missed the Touched by an Angel episode. At least it had been a rerun.

THE END