Page 6 of No More Love Songs

“No, thanks.” He grins, still chewing.

“Are you sure?” I offer again.

“Yep.”

I nod. I’d like to think that settles the matter, but I know it’s not likely. Still, I do the natural next thing and scoop up another bite.

“Oh, that looks good.”

“You’re killin’ me, kid.” I laugh. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll share with you if you share with me.”

He nods, smiling broadly. “Okay.”

It doesn’t deliver the most filling meal, but at least I finish dinner with something in my stomach.

If I’m being honest, food isn’t the main meal at this table anyway. It’s the conversation. I don’t even participate in it. I just like to listen, soak it up, let it surround me like a warm hug. The love that abounds among these five people is apparent in every laugh, every word, every exchanged glance, and it’s above and beyond anything I’ve ever put in my cheesy love songs.

Even if I don’t have this for myself, I love getting to come here and visit what my brother and Gray created out of their romance.

“So, you got the label to approve the new direction you’re going in with this album?” my brother asks after the kids have cleared their plates and taken dessert to the living room to watch a movie.

“Not exactly,” I admit, eyeing Grayson and wondering how much he’s going to tell my brother about the deal I made with Janelle.

“She gets to record her album her way as long as she promises to do everything she can to fall in love with love again in time to re-record it before the deadline, should she feel compelled to do so.”

Apparently, we’re telling him all there is to know.

“Oh?” Brice perks up at the conditions set forth for me. “Who gets to decide what everything entails?”

Grayson smirks. “Me.”

“Perfect.”

I glare at my brother. “Why is that perfect?”

“Because that means I get to play too.”

“How do you figure?”

He points at Gray. “Spousal privileges.”

“That’s bullshit,” I grumble, but I’m at the end of my argument. I’ve used this card in my favor one too many times when I wanted Grayson’s input on something my brother had control over. Can’t exactly put up a fight now just because it’s working against me.

“Going underground tonight?” Brice asks. It’s his equivalent to asking us if we’re headed for the studio in the basement. Grayson had it built when Maya was born and two parents for two kids seemed prudent. We’ve done all of our major recording here since. Final polishing still happens at one of the label’s studios, but all of our creative work, all the gold, that comes to life here. Underground.

“Yep.” I offer the answer I think sums it all up.

Grayson likes more details. “We’ve been in the groove the last two days. Might as well keep it going. Plus, the sooner we get this done the sooner we get to put your sister on Tinder.” He wiggles his brows, first at my brother, then at me.

I do nothing of the sort in return. In fact, nothing on my face wiggles. It does the opposite. “That’s never happening.”

“We’ll see,” my brother teases.

“You guys keep it up and you’re going to kill my muse and then I’ll have no choice but to drag out the recording process until seconds from the deadline.”

They both zip it after that.

After a moment of silence to acknowledge the truce, Grayson starts to drum his fingers on the table anxiously. “I’ll make coffee?”

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