delicate (tayvis one shots)

la piazza

Taylor Swift was tired. Tired of the chaos, tired of the world always watching, and tired of having to be everything to everyone. It was why she had decided to escape to a small town in Kansas, a place no one would think to look for her. She needed peace, and she needed pizza—good pizza, like the kind she remembered from her days traveling through Italy.

She'd heard about a local spot, La Piazza, an authentic Italian restaurant known for its wood-fired pizzas. The story was that the owner's grandfather had passed down the business on his deathbed, and since then, the grandson had poured everything into it. Something about that made her feel drawn to the place—like there was a shared understanding of inheriting something bigger than yourself, just as she had with her music.

The sign above the door was simple, with the restaurant's name carved in a rustic, hand-painted font. The windows were fogged from the warmth inside, a welcome contrast to the cool autumn air. Taylor slipped in, hoping no one would recognize her in the quiet, dimly lit dining room. She wasn't Taylor Swift here; she was just a woman in need of a good meal and some peace.

Behind the counter, tossing dough in the air like he was born to do it, was a tall man, muscular with the kind of build you'd expect from an athlete. His dark hair curled slightly at the ends, and his arms rippled as he worked the pizza with precision.

"Can I help you?" he asked, his voice deep but gentle, snapping Taylor out of her thoughts.

She blinked. "Oh, yeah, just a table for one, please."

He glanced around the room, which was nearly empty save for an older couple in the corner. "We're not too busy tonight. You can sit anywhere you like."

She chose a small table by the window, where she could look out onto the quiet street. As she sat, the man disappeared into the kitchen, leaving her to her thoughts. It wasn't long before he reappeared, sliding a menu in front of her.

"I'm Travis, by the way," he said, offering a smile that could melt hearts. "I'll be your server and your chef tonight."

Taylor smiled back, feeling a little more at ease. "Nice to meet you, Travis. Any recommendations?"

He leaned on the counter, crossing his arms as if he were genuinely considering her question. "Well, I'd say go for the Margherita pizza. Simple, classic. It's what my grandfather used to make every Sunday."

"That sounds perfect," she replied, her voice warm.

As he headed back to the kitchen, Taylor allowed herself to relax for the first time in days. The aroma of fresh tomatoes, basil, and bubbling cheese filled the room, making her stomach growl in anticipation.

It wasn't long before Travis returned with the pizza, setting it down in front of her. "Made with love," he said with a wink.

Taylor laughed softly, cutting a slice. "I'm sure it'll taste like it."

He lingered for a moment, wiping his hands on a towel before pulling out the chair across from her. "Mind if I sit?"

Taylor raised an eyebrow, surprised but not opposed. "Sure."

They sat in comfortable silence as she took her first bite, closing her eyes as the flavors melted in her mouth. "Oh my God, this is amazing."

Travis grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Glad you like it. This place has been in my family for generations. My grandfather was the one who taught me everything I know."

There was a wistfulness in his voice that Taylor recognized immediately—the kind that came from carrying a legacy. She looked at him more closely, noting the tiredness around his eyes, the weight of responsibility he likely carried.