“Nope. You just go chill over there and stay out of the way. It’ll go faster that way.”
I arched a skeptical eyebrow, slightly disappointed that she wasn’t thinking about all the kitchen touching. But she ignored me and started to take things out of the paper bags, putting the Pinot Grigio in the fridge to keep it chilled.
“You want some music?” Nothing set the mood like a good piece of music, and this was the second-best option, since she didn’t want me in the kitchen with her. Since she wasn’t writing, it shouldn’t bother her.
She looked up from turning the oven on. “You want to bang those drums now?”
“No,” I said, laughing at her expression. She could be unexpectedly adorable. “I meant we should listen to something.”
“Why?”
I searched her face. She was genuinely perplexed. She’d told me she didn’t listen to music, but…how could she not listen to something while she was making dinner? “Because it’s relaxing?” And it would be fun and sexy and…
She shrugged. “If it makes you happy. Whatever you want is fine.”
I put on something jazzy and smooth on the Bluetooth speakers.
“How come you aren’t playing your music?” She minced garlic using a knife, with an expertise and precision that surprised me, then tossed it into a pan of olive oil. Contrary to what she’d claimed, I didn’t expect her to be good at it. She’d said she rarely cooked, so when would she have practiced?
“It isn’t really, you know, dinner prep music.”
“I want to listen to it anyway.” She slathered warm butter and the lightly cooked garlic and olive oil inside the French bread.
I was flattered, but also wondered why she was insisting on it. “I thought you wanted me to decide.”
She rolled her eyes. “Because I assumed you’d play yours. What rock star wouldn’t?” She wrapped the bread in aluminum foil and put it in the oven, which was now hot.
“One who understands time and place?” Also, as much as I loved my band, we didn’t exactly put out date music. We had maybe three songs that could be termed romantic, but I didn’t want to just loop those three forever.
She smiled. “Yeah, but I want to listen to it. I was going to check out more of your music, but…got a little distracted.” Something flashed through her gaze, but it was gone when she blinked.
“Okay.” I swapped out the playlist to one I’d created for Axelrod. Our debut hit split the air, the fancy guitar solo by Max kicking off the song. “So. About work and sound.”
“Yeah?”
“If you’re done with your writing, is it such a big deal if I drum again?” I’d been pretty good about taking care of myself. I wanted to try to see if anything would pop into my head. An inspiration. A word. A note.
“Hmm. That depends.”
“On…?” I asked, hoping she wasn’t going to ask for a kidney.
“Your keeping windows closed and not doing it for hours on end.” She put a bowl of frozen jumbo shrimps under running water to defrost them and glanced at me. “You’re a vocalist, and your band has a drummer. Do you really need to practice for that long?”
“It helps me think. And I want to see if I got my creative mojo back,” I said, since it wasn’t like she was going to tell everyone on streets.
“What’s wrong with your mojo?”
“It’s been sort of MIA since my health incident. The one I told you about in the car.”
She looked me over, her eyes going soft. A warmth that had nothing to do with physical attraction unfurled. It was like…she actually cared about me as a human being, not as some hot celeb dude she could take selfies with to post on social media for likes and comments.
And I liked her. A lot. Not just for her body, not just because the kiss had been hot, but because she made me feel like a person. Somebody worthy of something genuine.
“Aren’t you completely recovered now?” she asked finally.
“Physically, yeah. But I have to be creative, too. It’s what I do. I don’t know what I’d be without it.” I didn’t want to be a parasite who didn’t do anything except live off a trust fund. Grandma had always felt that that was a despicable way to live, and I agreed one hundred percent.
“But your band has other people, like your drummer friend. Devlin. And the guitar guys. Max and Cole, right?”