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Maybe they were better bakers than she’d realized.
She drummed a beat on the counter as the man worked.
“I didn’t know you played drums,” he said, glancing over his shoulder.
“I don’t. I’m getting a vibe from the dough. I’ve never been more connected to a kitchen in my entire life,” she replied, snagging a spatula and a whisk from the drawer to add texture to the sound.
Boom, boom, chick, boom, boom.
Landon placed the dough in the freezer, then grabbed his guitar from the corner of the room.
“Are you feeling this, heartthrob?” she asked, switching up the beat.
Boom, chick, boom, boom, chick, boom, boom.
He strummed the guitar and layered in a catchy melody. “Come on, dough, get cold,” he sang, serenading the freezer.
“Come on, dough, get cold,” she added, harmonizing with the man.
Not only could she feel the music, but she could also taste it and smell it. And their voices came together like two lyrical vines wrapping around each other. She closed her eyes, and a pair of images materialized.
Landon and Aria.
She fixated on the vision as a fluttering tingle took over.
Was she floating?
Was she flying?
Could she feel her tongue?
Those were weird questions.
She eased into the vision, walking on sunshine, twirling on cookies, and singing with bonbons. She’d fallen into a dreamy Candy Land with her pop star and her niece, skipping along a rainbow path, laughing and singing as their lyrics lingered in the rays of light.
“Harper, can you hear me?”
“Yeah?” she answered.
“Something is wrong with the cookies.”
Landon sounded awful.
She blinked. “We haven’t baked the cookies. We’re waiting for the dough to cool.”
“That was over thirty minutes ago.”
“Over thirty minutes ago?” she exclaimed, welcoming her opera voice. “How could that much time have passed?”
“You spaced out when you started humming a slow and damned catchy melody. So I kept going. I followed the recipe, rolled out the dough, and made a bunch of number ones.”
“No, that can’t be. I closed my eyes for a few seconds to visit Candy Land. You were there, and so was Aria.”
“Harper, what are you talking about? I made the cookies, but they don’t look right.”
“It’s the butter,” came Mr. Sweet’s voice.
Look who woke up.
