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Chapter18
LANDON
Commit to each other—for real?
Was she saying what he thought she was saying?
Did Harper want more?
“I mean.” She cleared her throat. “For the next sixty days, we commit to helping each other. We’ve got to be all in, no holds barred. I help you with Aria and your music. You can trust me not to say anything about your process. I understand that you’ve never worked with anyone besides your sister and Trey, but it’s worth a shot, isn’t it? Lucky for you, I’m your wife. I’m pretty sure a judge couldn’t make me testify against you in a court of law, so you don’t have to worry about your secret getting out. I’m legally bound to keep my big trap shut. But I need your commitment for...”
“For…” he stammered.
Forever?
Was that what he wanted to say?
What was going on with him?
“For the baking contest,” she clarified.
He shifted his stance like a nervous teenager. “Absolutely, the reality baking contest. That’s what I was alluding to. But I have to warn you, I don’t know shit about baking.”
She studied the bonbon. “I don’t either, but if we give it everything we’ve got and do whatever our baking mentor tells us to do, I’m sure we’ll win. We’re up against some other pop star team. I doubt they’re master bakers.”
“Master bakers?” he repeated and bit back a grin.
She threw him a dose of stink eye. “How old are you? Twelve? You know what I mean. And come to think of it, baking might be a good thing for your music.”
He lost the master-baker smile. “How could baking help with making music?”
“My grandpa used to say that his best compositions came together when he least expected it, like when he was in the garden or driving or when he and my grandmother went on a walk. Creativity isn’t a faucet you can turn on and off. You can’t force a masterpiece. And if you’re stuck and something’s not working, try another melody, but never stop making music. You’ve got to open your mind to every possibility, and that can require a distraction,” she finished, looking quite satisfied with that little speech as she hoisted herself onto the edge of the countertop.
“A distraction,” he echoed, recalling how he’d pegged her as a beautiful distraction before his defenses broke down and he kissed her in the club.
“Yes, a distraction to usher in a release to get past whatever’s blocking the flow of ideas,” she replied, waving the bonbon to punctuate her declaration.
He prowled toward her as images of their first reckless kiss flashed through his mind. “Are you saying you’ll be that distraction for me for the next sixty days?”
She flashed a sly smirk and crossed her legs. “It would be the wifely thing to do. Call me the nanny-aunt-wife sixty-day distraction.”
He drank her in. She was the epitome of a distraction in those barely-there jean shorts and sheer tank top. “And how do you plan on distracting me, Mrs. Paige?”
Jesus, he liked the way that sounded.
She pressed the tip of the chocolate to her lips and hummed, cooking up a reply. “When was the last time you felt free, like you could do anything?”
That was easy to answer. “Our wedding night in Vegas.”
“Me too, and I think I know why.”
“Because I made you come until you were delirious.”
A blush graced her cheeks. “Because we told the voices in our heads to shut up and we lived like tomorrow would never come. We didn’t worry about the consequences. We took risks. We distracted each other from the bullshit. There was no fear, just…”
Love.
Why was that the first thing that popped into his mind?
