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He zipped past a slew of Bake or Bust PAs, then bolted out the backdoor, hightailing it to the Lamborghini.
“This is the way to get around,” Harper remarked as he helped her into the car and handed her the cardigan.
He jogged around to his side, fired up the engine, and hit the gas.
They might have lost, but they’d gone out in style.
Relief and a buzzy euphoria flooded his system as he navigated through the lot and maneuvered the car onto the street.
“The audience loved you,” he raved. “Your rendition of the song took my breath away.”
“It’s notmyrendition. It’s the original version,” she corrected.
How had he not put that together?
He reached over and held her hand. “That makes sense. When you sing it, it’s got a heart and a soul. It was you, through and through. And Vance—”
“—looked ready to poop his pants,” she answered with a rhyme and a giggle. But the bubbly reaction was short-lived. She stared at their joined hands. “We didn’t win.”
“We didn’t. But we got one vote from a granny named Granny B.”
She sighed. “And we forgot to take a piece of ceiling cake with us.”
“We’ve got bonbons at home.”
She lit up. “And lollipops.”
“No,” he replied, stretching the syllable. “We’re laying off the lollipops for the rest of today and probably for the better part of the next decade.”
The next decade?
They’d agreed to sixty days, not over three thousand.
Did he want three thousand more days with her? Was that possible?
She released his hand. “Where’s my bag, heartthrob?”
He glanced at her and pushed aside the wistful thoughts of a decade by her side.
“It’s in the back. But I don’t think there’s any cake in there unless you travel with a slice.”
It was a possibility. The woman was a baked goods super freak.
“There’s no cake in my bag. The cake was in the auditorium.” She twisted in her seat, grabbed her tote, then proceeded to whip out her brown feathery mask and her laptop.
“What are you doing with those?”
“It’s time for Bonbon Barbie to teach a lesson,” she answered smoothly. “I’m going over exceptional girls bake delicious fudge. You know,E,G,B,D, andF, the notes on the lines of the treble clef.”
“You plan on doing that in the car?” he exclaimed.
He’d hardly come down from the Bake or Bust adrenaline rush. He needed a second to catch his breath.
“Sure, I’ve done it before.”
He’d bet his villa in Italy she’d never taught a class while under the influence of a hallucinogenic substance that made her think buildings were made of cake.
“Harper, hold on. We’re almost home.” He pulled into the driveway and cut the engine.
