He understood why she’d called. Within half an hour, both he and Sydney were beating a steady path from the kitchen to the dining room and back again. He’d forgotten how much he’d once enjoyed this interaction with the customers, hearing their rave reviews of the food, answering their inquiries about his grandparents and other family members. There was one screwup: the sous chef put fusilli instead of rotini with Mrs. DiCenzo’s chicken Parm, but the error was quickly rectified and the customer’s displeasure alleviated by a complimentary serving of tiramisu.
He was delivering two large pizzas to a family of six—regular Saturday-night customers—when he saw them walk in. Jordyn and her sisters. And, as usual when he saw the stunningly beautiful middle Garrett sister, his heart skipped a beat.
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