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“Good luck, dudes. Catch you later,” Tanner called, tucking the plastic bag beneath his shirt.
“Wait, what about your uncle?” Landon called, tossing a glance at the snoring baker.
“I’d let him sleep. This isn’t a tricky recipe. Make sure you follow every instruction to a T,” the guy replied, then slipped out the door.
She scanned the kitchen and zeroed in on one appliance.
The oven.
It was as if the shiny metal box called to her.
Bake in me, Harper.
Fill me with sugary deliciousness.
“I hear you, oven,” she whispered.
Landon watched her closely. “What did you say?”
“I’m connecting with the oven,” she answered, then slid her gaze to Tanner’s box of ingredients. She peered inside, suddenly fascinated with all things baking-related, and spied a rainbow of color scattered about the bottom. “A bunch of lollipops fell out of Tanner’s plastic bag,” she said, choosing a pink one. She sampled the sucker. “Watermelon. It’s so watermelon-y but still a touch earthy,” she gushed, then concentrated on the contents. “What do you think the number one cookie cutter is for?”
Landon cocked his head to the side. “To cut the cookies into the shape of a number one. Are you sure you’re okay? Schuman went over that in his intro.”
“Oops, my mind’s on candy and cookies. Mm-hmm,” she hummed, sucking the daylights out of the watermelon lollipop. “Let’s get this baking show on the road.”
Landon scanned his phone. “Recap, Miss Lollipop Lover, we’re baking sugar cookies for an organization that’s turning one today. Hence, the number one cookie cutter.”
“Hence,” she giggled. “You sound like Shakespeare.”
Was her husband always this funny?
“Harper, focus,” the man chided.
That’s precisely what she needed to do.
“Sugar helps my focus,” she replied. She plucked a purple lollipop from the box and slipped it into her mouth. “What do we do first, heartthrob?”
“Get your phone and open it to the email with the livestream link. We can film using yours and follow the recipe on mine.”
She retrieved her cell from her tote and opened her email. After scrolling through a digital mountain of junk, she spied a message from Luxe Media and Entertainment. “Are you sure you don’t want me to do the reading?”
The man grinned, and she could feel the elation coming off him like rays of sunshine.
More sunshine.
“I’m good,” he said, wonder coating his words. “This new font is—”
“—the cat’s meow.Meow, wow, wow, wow,” she meowed, punctuating eachowby waving the lolly like she was conducting a feline quartet. She stuck the candy into her mouth. “I don’t know why I’m talking like a cat.”
“It’s probably nerves,” Landon replied, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. “You’re a pianist. What do you usually do before you perform to work out the anxious energy?”
“It’s been a while. I haven’t performed since Vance left me,” she admitted.
Had it been that long?
Landon’s eyes glowed with a fiery intensity. “What did you do before that douche nozzle?”
She pushed aside the rush of angry Vance Vibe vibes and thought back to her childhood. “I’d sing. I’d make up songs just like I used to do with my grandparents on our walks to the bakery.”
