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“That’s not all you were thinking about,” he replied with a wicked grin that had her pulse hammering.
Now she was the one doing the sizing up. “How do you know that, heartthrob?”
He leaned in and twisted a lock of her hair around his finger. “You bit your lip. When you do that, I know you’re thinking about the ways I can make you—”
“Scream!” came Damien’s voice, twanging the word into two syllables, and the crowd went wild.
“That was frighteningly accurate,” Landon murmured, rocking a shit-eating grin.
“You’re terrible. And for your information,” she said, turning on the sass, “I was thinking about Aria and how well she’s doing.”
It wasn’t the whole truth, but it wasn’t officially a lie.
The man raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”
“Yep,” she replied, then bit her lip—because why not. If she was a little hot and bothered, it only made sense for the man to share in the agony, and it sure helped shut down the doomsday voices in her head.
A rapid peppering of footsteps pulled her attention from her pop star as a production assistant hurried toward them.
“I can take the macarons,” the man said, eyeing the cookies. “Wow, these look amazing, unlike…”
Unlike?
He had to be talking about Barbie and Vance’s entry.
That was a freaking great sign.
“I mean,” the guy said and cleared his throat. “You’ve got about seven minutes till Donna and Damien invite you onto the stage. They’re introducing a few volunteer instructors and talking about the music program,” he explained, lowering his voice.
The second challenge had brought them to an abandoned tire factory that had been renovated, but there wasn’t a tire in sight. With a banner attached to the front of the structure with the wordsNew Beats Music Centerprinted in bold lettering, rows of instruments had replaced the assembly lines. The place wasn’t far from the Helping Hands Shelter and Community Center in a rougher but rapidly evolving part of the city. A volunteer from the organization had greeted them when they’d arrived and explained that the sprawling brick building had recently been converted into a musical artists’ enclave, serving teens and young adults who had found themselves on the wrong side of the law and needed a change in their life trajectory. And from what little she’d seen of it, she was already impressed with the assortment of practice rooms, casual seating areas perfect for collaborating, and where they were now—an intimate indoor concert hall.
She craned her neck to see what was happening on stage and caught a glimpse of several older adults fanned out around Donna and Damien. She narrowed her gaze. A few of the people looked familiar, but she couldn’t quite place how she knew them.
“Several of the students wanted to know if you’d be able to stay for a Q and A session after the contest portion of the livestream. Would you be up for that?” the production assistant asked.
That was pretty awesome.
“Look at that,” she teased, tapping Landon’s arm. “The youth of today want to pick your brain.”
“And yours as well,” the PA added, turning to her.
She wasn’t expecting that.
“Could you spare a few minutes after the competition?” the guy pressed.
Landon checked his watch. “We need to leave no later than three o’clock to pick up our niece from school.”
Our niece.
There it was again—two words that made her heart go all gushy and gooey like chocolate ganache filling.
“That should be plenty of time. Thanks, Mr. Paige. Thanks, Mrs. Presley-Paige.”
Mrs. Presley-Paige.
And just as the warm fuzzies nearly had her melting into a pool of goo, that little gnawing voice inside her head returned, whispering the million-dollar question.
How much longer will you be Mrs. Presley-Paige?
