“My dad owns every law firm in this province,” the lawyer’s daughter laughed after ramming her brand-new Tesla into my old Subaru

slightly crooked, slightly drafty, deeply beloved little house in a quiet neighborhood—and put the car in park.“Home,” I announced.

Sophie unbuckled, wiped the last of her tears on her sleeve, and gave me a watery smile. “Can we put pineapple on half?”

“Pizza is not a democracy,” I said gravely. “It’s a benevolent dictatorship. And this dictator says continue reading …