Her lips curving into a pretty smile, Sara took the box over to the register. “Yeah, she’s a nurse over at Illinois Masonic—labor and delivery.”
As in babies?And here he thought the only thing Gina delivered was pizza.
“You like her, don’t you?”
Matt grinned. He didn’t mean to. It just kind of happened all on its own.
“I knew it.”
Nick came out of the back, wiping his hands on his white apron, staining it with splotches of red pizza sauce. He kissed his wife on the cheek, then greeted him, “Hey, Matt. How’s it goin’?”
“Can’t complain,” he said, handing Sara his credit card. “Meeting up with the boys this morning, and I had a taste for something sweet.”
“Zeppole—good choice.” Nick nodded over his wife’s shoulder.
She giggled. “He came to see Gina.”
“My sister?” His head snapped in Matt’s direction. “What for?”
“She’s your sister?”
The Rossis had a lot of kids. Tony was the oldest. Nick was a couple of years younger. They had another brother, who might have been in fifth grade back then. Hell, Luca was toddling around in diapers. And yeah, a little sister.
No fucking way.
“C’mon, you don’t remember the cute little pain in the ass?” With a toss of his head, Nick chuckled. “Course, she was only six, maybe seven, the last time you saw her.”
Christ…
He was an idiot. How had he not put two and two together? But fuck if it didn’t all make sense now.
“Look, that was a long time ago, dude.” Matt picked up the box of Italian doughnuts before Gina’s brother came up with four and asked him any more questions. “I gotta run, Nick, but good seeing you.”
“Yeah.” He winked. “I’ll let Gina know you came by.”
The guys were waiting for him in the first-floor office when he got to the studio. They sat on eggplant-colored sofas with Brendan, Jesse, and Dillon, twiddling their thumbs while staring at Kyan’s framed architectural drawings that hung on the exposed brick walls.
Taylor glanced at him with a heavy sigh. “You’re late.”
“Chill out, dude.” And he tossed the bakery box onto the coffee table. “I went to Rossi’s and got us some doughnuts.”
Bo snorted.
“Sit.”
“Can’t I get a cup of coffee first?” Ignoring Taylor’s command, he popped a pod into the machine. “What’s this meeting for, anyway?”
“Plans.”
Matt turned around, folding his arms across his chest. “Plans for what?”
“Our next record,” Taylor said. “I’d like to have the demos down by September.”
This wasn’t news to him. It had been almost a year since they put out the last one. Their typical album cycle was eighteen months—two years, tops.
“Want to release it next spring?”
Though they could finish it in time for Christmas, he supposed.
