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She studied the nanny Lamborghini parked in the school lot. “It’s not poop-brown. It’s candy pearl brown sugar. And I’m not going to lie, kid, we’ve had a great time together. I love that you’re writing music and figuring out how to transfer your ideas to your notebook, but I have a feeling you’ll like this school. The kids you met on that video call a few weeks ago will be here any minute. I’m sure they’re excited to meet you in real life,” she said, but Aria wasn’t buying it.
The little girl smooshed another dandelion and fiddled with whatever was in her pocket.
“All right,” she said, trying to engage the kid. “Let’s do one last school supply check. Did you pack your pencils and crayons?”
Aria made a face like she’d been forced to eat stewed cabbage. “Yes, Aunt Harper.”
“And your folders?” Landon added, joining in.
“Yes, Uncle Landy.”
“What about your water bottle?” he pressed.
The child turned and flashed the shiny silver bottle secured inside a mesh pocket of her new backpack. Aria twisted to touch the cap. “And it’s still cold.”
The girl wasn’t pleased, but at least they had the kid talking—and not murdering unsuspecting sidewalk vegetation.
She met Aria’s cornflower blue gaze. “And the highlighters? Just in case you want to use them.”
The Bonbon Barbie method of utilizing color to ground musical notes had clicked with the kid. But it was one thing for Aria to use highlighters when it was just the two of them at home. She wasn’t sure if the child would feel comfortable trying them out at school.
Aria blew out an exasperated breath. “I’ve got them in yellow, orange, blue, green, purple, and pink, Aunt Harper,” she replied, then gave her guardians a suspicious once-over. “Why are you asking about what’s in my backpack again? We checked it two times before we left for school and three times last night.”
“I thought we only checked it twice last night,” Landon replied.
Aria puffed up. “I checked it by myself. I came down to the kitchen, but you guys were busy in the music practice room in the basement.”
This wasn’t good.
She froze and plastered on a nervous grin.
“We thought you were asleep,” Landon said and tossed aholy shitlook her way.
And holy shit was right.
After rethinking getting freaky in the kitchen with a seven-year-old in the house, they’d spent the last two weeks taking advantage of the soundproof practice room in the basement, which clearly wasn’t as noise-tight as she’d thought.
She widened her plastic expression. “You didn’t hear anything, did you, Aria? You just checked your backpack, then skedaddled back to bed, right?”
Had she just used the word skedaddled?
Aria scratched her chin. “I heard a little bit of a song you were singing, Auntie Harper. It went like this: ‘Yes, yes, yes…oh, yes,’” the child crooned like she was narrating erotica.
And oh no.
A few parents glanced their way.
They could not be pegged as the porno people.
“You could call it the ‘Oh Yes’ song,” Aria added, her voice echoing from sea to shining sea. At least, that’s how it felt.
“Yes, oh yes,” Landon blurted toward the group of judgy-eyed parents. He removed his cap, revealing his identity. “That’s what we were doing, working on a song. I’m a musician. I’m pop star Landon Paige, and that’s what I do. Yes, oh, yes.”
What a time for the usually incognito celebrity to blow a gasket. But in for a penny, in for a pound.
“Yep, we were working on a song. A lively song with a vigorous beat and the repeated use of the wordyes,” she added like she was trying out for an infomercial.
Aria stared at them as if they required immediate psychiatric intervention—which was debatable. The child twisted her lips into a smirk. “I know what you were really doing down there.”
