Page 8 of State of Mind

Her smile softened, and she beckoned him to the kitchen area where she laid out the lease for him to sign. “Can I ask you something?”

He braced himself, because he knew it was coming. He and Adriano looked almost nothing alike—his baby brother had outgrown him by the time he was sixteen, and Adriano’s body had been carefully sculpted and shaped for his job. Luca had always been more on the waify side, no matter how many hours he dedicated on weights, and eventually he gave up trying. He took after their mother more than their father anyway, with his black hair and thick brows.

But Nellie also knew who he was—and he had to assume a lot of the town did as well. “Sure.”

“How are Noah and your brother doing?”

He froze, pen poised over the signature line, because that wasn’t what he was expecting. Adriano was a porn star, but he was also a social media celebrity, and his deafness set him apart from others. Luca knew his brother both hated and capitalized off it—and it had primed Luca to field personal questions about what it was like to have Adriano as a brother.

He hadn’t expected the genuine question or the honesty in her tone. “Uh. They’re good.”

Her face softened. “I actually didn’t get to meet Adriano more than a couple of times while he was here. I was going through some family shit.” Her brow dipped in a faint scowl, and he bit back his desire to pry. “Anyway, we miss Noah.”

Luca signed his name, then set the pen down and pressed his hand to the paper. “He and Adriano were pretty caught up in getting settled, so I didn’t get to know him well.”

She lifted a brow. “Hasn’t he been there for almost two years?”

Luca barely managed to keep himself from wincing. “Yes, but he’s in school so they moved to LA. It’s not as close as people might think. Adriano usually texts though, and he seems happy. And Noah seems like a good guy.”

“He is.” She said it sharply, like a simple, immutable fact—and Luca had to wonder what it was about the soft, shy baker that had everyone in a goddamn tizzy.

Was it something in the fucking water, or…

“Anyway,” Nellie went on, “we’re all glad he’s happy, but we miss Bubbe’s.”

Luca blinked, pretty sure that was Noah’s old bakery. “Someone else runs it, right? He mentioned something about some guy…taking over?”

Nellie gave him a long once-over, then shook her head. “He and his brother sold it off before Noah left. It’s a place called Whipped now.”

“What is that?” His first thought was kink club, but he wasn’t entirely sure Savannah, Georgia had a dark side. At least, not compared to what he could find in Hollywood.

Though if he was being honest, he wasn’t entirely disinterested in seeing what the other side of the country had to offer.

“Gluten-free cupcakes,” she said, and he allowed himself a tiny spark of both relief and disappointment. He probably wouldn’t have been able to resist temptation, but he knew it was better if he did. Nellie grabbed the paper he finished signing and pulled it toward her. “I know this isn’t usually your scene—which I guess is what you were looking for according to your email?”

Luca shrugged. It was true, but he was starting to doubt himself. “Something like that.”

“Savannah is a good place, but it’s not for everyone. And believe me, I know our reputation to most of the world. Georgia peaches,” she said in a heavy, affected southern accent like she was Scarlett O’Hara. “But trust me, this place will surprise you if you’re not careful.”

He took half a step back, because it almost sounded like a threat. Her eyes were soft though, and there was something in them that was almost like pity. In spite of how much he probably deserved it, it still stung.

“My family wasn’t always like this,” he said after a beat.

“This?”

“Rich,” he clarified. “My parents both worked nine-to-fives in retail, but then Adriano started making a ton of cash in college. Then my oldest brother started up his own law firm, and things just snowballed. One of my brothers went off to New York—and he works in finance. My sisters both live in Miami, and they own a clothing line together. And I…”

He stopped, because what was he? A failed mogul?

Someone who was getting ready to sign papers to sell off two art galleries that didn’t mean jack or shit to him? A man without passion, without point, without any sort of real future—just money in a bank account he hadn’t even earned?

It made him feel like an even bigger asshole.

“I don’t judge people just because they don’t live like I do,” he said quietly.

Nellie’s mouth turned up in the corners, and she laughed gently. “We are who we are, Mr. Moretti, and even if you do judge us, that’s not going to change anything.”

“Fair,” he said, ignoring another small sting.

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