He opened a liquor cabinet, and fingering a bottle of Ripasso, Matt skipped it, opting for the Sangiovese instead. He poured them each a glass. “Cheers.”
“Salute.” She clinked her glass with his and took a sip. “You must do a lot of cooking in here.”
“Nope.” His chin dipping, Matt shook his head. “I know it looks like I would, but I order out mostly. Every night, I open up Uber Eats and ask myself what country’s cuisine I want for dinner.”
“But…”
The delights she could create in here. What a waste of a glorious kitchen.
“A very close friend of mine designed the renovations on this place.” A sheen appeared in his eyes. Then he blinked, and it was gone. “His wife and Tay’s helped me choose what appliances to put in. Look, I’m a simple guy. I can grill a steak and shit, but why bother when it’s just me, ya know? Still, the girls insisted I needed all this stuff, and said I’d thank them for talking me into it someday.”
“I’d say they chose well.”
“I’m glad you approve,” he said, and took the pizza out of the oven, carrying it over to the coffee table, along with the bottle of wine. “Maybe one evening you can help me make use of it.”
“Maybe,” she said, sinking into his fluffy cloud sofa. There was no doubt in her mind that the piece was authentic Restoration Hardware.
Matt handed her a slice of pizza on a plate and cozied up beside her. “So, tell me all about you, Gina Rossi.”
“What is it you want to know?”
The question was too broad, not that she knew how to answer it, anyway. He already knew her family, where she grew up—all the mundane facts people usually spout off when asked about themselves.
“Everything, pizza girl.”
“That’s not my actual job. I’m an RN—labor and delivery.” Glancing over at him, Gina blew on her pizza before taking abite, and the corner of his mouth ticked up. “You knew that already, didn’t you?”
“Sara told me,” he confirmed with a nod. “Do you love what you do?”
“I love it but hate it too.” She washed her pizza down with the heady, dry red. “I’m sure that doesn’t make any sense.”
“Enlighten me.” His palm settled on her arm, fingertips caressing her skin.
“I love my job; the hours not so much.” Gina put her plate on the table, and turning toward him, she attempted to explain. “I work night shift. Every other weekend. Holidays. Overtime. I thought once nursing school was over, I’d get to have a life again, but I was wrong.”
“What do you do when you’re not working? Besides making cannoli and delivering pizza, that is.”
“Catch up on sleep, mostly.” She winced.Good one, Gina. “And sometimes, I pick out a book to read in the park.”
“Pick out a movie and lay your head right here,” he said, patting his sculpted bare chest.
“But I don’t know what movies you like.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Matt shifted his weight, and leaning against her, he pressed the remote into her palm. “I’ll like whatever you choose.”
That he could be so charming surprised her. Gina assumed a man in his position, with his looks, wouldn’t even bother trying. Had she misjudged him?
Maybe, but then the wolf charmed Little Red Riding Hood, too, until he tried to eat her.
Sparing Matt the pain of a chick flick, Gina clicked on the first comedy she saw and noticed pages of handwritten sheet music scattered on the far end of the table. “What’s that?”
“Songs for the new album,” he said, like it was no big deal, and then straightened the mess of papers into a neat stack. “I was working on the rhythm parts before you got here.”
“You write them?”
“Taylor and Bo come up with most of the music.” His head tipped to the side and his gaze never leaving her, Matt refilled their glasses with wine. “We all have a hand in it, though.”
She had no idea how a song was written. Was there a process? Gina thought there had to be, but musically, she was inept. What a spectacular thing it must be to pluck notes out of your brain and put them to words.
