Page 45 of Perfect Pitch

“No, it’s just...” Mitch pulls up behind an SUV that matches his down to the blacked-out windows. The line of people loops the block almost completely around the building. “It’s going to be a madhouse inside. We won’t make it in for hours.”

“Oh.” I can’t prevent the disappointment that pings through me.

“But I know... someone who could bring us a couple. Anything you don’t like?”

Since he hesitates before he mentions a person on the inside, I assume there’s a woman involved. Jealousy snakes through me. Crossing my arms over my chest, I clutch the elbows. “No, I’m not picky.”

Mitch leans over and tugs at one of the braids that’s escaped my updo. “Thanks.” He pulls out his cell and sends a quick message. A relieved smile crosses his face. “Our order will be ready in about five minutes.”

I smile sweetly. “Must be some kind of friend to do you that kind of favor.”

Mitch drops his phone into the center console. His hand snakes around my neck, pulling me closer. His thumb brushes back and forth under my jaw, causing my stomach to clench and my nipples to harden. “Hmm, yes.”

I lick my lips and Mitch’s eyes shift to them. Imperceptibly we move closer to one another when there’s a forceful knock at my window. I fall back against my seat even as Mitch rolls down the window.

Instead of some knockout wearing sugar in places designed to make Mitch want to lick her from tip to toe, I find myself confronted with a gorgeous blond man with a taciturn expression. “You’d better be grateful he didn’t get out of the car.”

Mitch agrees. “Trust me, I am.”

“He’d have made you introduce your friend.” I can feel the curiosity emanating from the newcomer’s eyes glancing over me from behind his mirrored glasses. He holds out a hand. “Kane McCullough. Co-worker of Mitch’s.”

“Austyn Kensington, friend,” I reply.

A quick squeeze before he lets my hand go. “A pleasure. Now, get out of here before he realizes I delivered his order to you and he makes us listen to ’90s boy bands for the next month.”

Mitch visibly pales. “I’m gone.”

Kane raps the roof. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Kensington.”

Mitch is already pulling into traffic before I can return the sentiment. I let him weave in and out of the vehicles as the air thickens with the yeasty scent of fresh doughnuts and the unusual encounter we just had.

We’re back on our way to Fort Washington when I probe delicately, “Boy bands?”

He groans. “That would be the part you fixate on. Hand me a doughnut.”

I open the bag and the scent assails me just like it does when my mother bakes for Christmas. I hand him one before taking one of my own. I moan when I take a bite. “God, these are delicious.”

Mitch, who has mowed through his first and is licking his fingers, mutters, “Told you.”

“So, no boy bands? Why not? They produced some of the greatest lyrics in the decade.” I nibble to enjoy this treat.

Mitch swerves slightly, sloshing up the international food fest in my stomach. I grab the handlebar. “Um, could we avoid that?”

“There’s only one other person who I know says that.”

“Says what?”

“That boy bands produced some of the greatest songwriters in the ’90s.”

“Smart person. Knows their music,” I mumble around another bite

He barks out a laugh. “Yeah, you could say that.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Celebrity baker, Corrina Freeman, was spotted with her daughter Nicole, wearing matching Day-Glo Chucks. They were headed backstage to visit friends Evangeline Brogan and Simon Houde.

Was it their shoes or their smiles that lit up Broadway?

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