Page 15 of Baking With A Rockstar

He pokes my arm with his finger. “Hey, don’t be mean. I have no problem owning my weaknesses.” The corners of his eyes crinkle with laugh lines, and I like that he doesn’t take himself too seriously.

That’s a big plus in my book. It might even earn a gold star.

Patting his arm, I try my best to refrain from more laughter. “No worries at all. No matter what they look like, they’ll still taste delicious.”

He lets out a big breath. “Phew. I’m so happy to hear that. I was actually worried for a moment I ruined them.”

“Nope, we’re all good.” I smile at him and can’t keep the grin off my face for the remainder of the time we work in silence.

Once we’re done with everything, I point toward the abandoned stool. “Why don’t you relax now and do your...musing thing—whatever that entails. I’ll just clean up quickly.”

Turning around, I walk over to the big sink but not without hearing his low chuckle behind me. This man is a walking ray of sunshine, and I can’t remember the last time I’ve smiled this much. I try to focus on the huge pile of dirty bowls and other equipment that has piled up over the past few hours rather than how his laugh reverberates through my entire body—well, at least I try to. With determination, I shove up the sleeves of my shirt and turn on the faucet.

Hudson suddenly appears next to me, nudging me aside with his hip. “I clean, you dry.”

My breathing hitches and I tell myself to use caution—a huge amount of caution—after the way everything went down with Sebastian. I’ve had more than enough time since last year to dissect my past relationship with him, making me realize how toxic and bound to fail it was from the beginning. Being careful seems to be the last thing on my mind when it comes to Hudson though. No, that’s actually not true. It’s on my mind, prominently so, but shoved back into the corner and all but forgotten within the first minute of him being around me.

“Sponge?” He holds out his hand, and I silently place it in his palm, trying hard not to touch his skin in the process.

Been there, done that. With my luck, a moan might just slip out of my mouth at the contact this time, or something equally embarrassing. “You really don’t have to do this. You already help me at the bakery, and let Mira and me stay at your house too. I feel like I’m taking over your whole life. I don’t want to be even more of a burden.”

I lower my head a little, not wanting him to see the vulnerability I’m sure is visible in my eyes. I’ve been trying hard to not let the past rule my present, but that’s always easier said than done.

Words stay with us, no matter how hard we try to forget them.

The feeling of not being enough has lessened over time, but it’s moments like these that bring it all back. Doubt is an ugly part of the brain that should stay hidden forever, but seldom does.

I look up just as he lifts one of his hands to my face before dropping it at the last moment. His gaze holds mine, determination unabashedly portrayed in his eyes. “You listen to me, Charlie. Neither of you are a burden to me. No, I didn’t expect to come home to a couple of roommates, but I’m glad you’re here. Very glad, actually. I know it sounds completely crazy, but these couple of days with you guys have been better and far more fun than most of my last year. So please stop apologizing and saying negative things about you or this situation. I really don’t like hearing them.”

I blink, disbelief rattling my very core. I swallow a few times to try and get past the lump in my throat that’s suddenly keeping me from breathing properly. I’m not sure if he can see the emotions on my face, but if he does, he doesn’t let it on. “Thank you, I appreciate that.”

“It’s nothing. Really.” His hand touches my arm lightly, only for a second, but long enough to still feel his warm fingers imprinted on my skin moments later.

Sebastian’s hands were usually cold.

I’m not sure where that thought just came from but I shake it off. Rather, I’m trying to think of something else to say, needing the distraction before I turn into an emotional mess from his words. “So, why don’t you tell me what exactly you mean when you talk about your muse sessions? That way, we can avoid further confusion about it. The other day, it seemed like you didn’t want to talk about it in front of your grandma. Is it a secret?” I lean in a little, curiosity taking over.

He doesn’t laugh like I expect him to, so I watch him for a moment as he adds a few drops of soap into the water. When he finally turns my way, I’m surprised to see the serious expression on his face and a sigh escape his lips. “Actually, I’d really appreciate it if you could keep this between us. It would make my life a lot easier if no one else knew about it.”

This new bit of information stuns me for a moment. “Oh okay. Sure, no problem at all.”

“Thank you.” He lets out another big breath, and I wonder what’s up with all of this.

There’s clearly more to these sessions than I thought there was. Or maybe I just don’t get it because let’s face it, this isn’t my scene at all. I mean, I didn’t even know who he was when we first met.

The comforting sound of the running water stops when Hudson turns off the faucet. With the sponge in his hand, he starts washing one of the mixing bowls I used earlier. I’m not sure what I expected, but this seems more normal than I thought it would. Somehow, I thought I’d find the picture of my rockstar roommate washing the dishes to be hilarious, and maybe even slightly odd. Instead, it feels like no big deal—just two people sharing a completely normal and mundane task.

While I’m still clueless about what’s going on, I’d really like to change that if possible. “Can you at least tell me what exactly it is you’re planning on doing during these sessions?”

“Sure.” It seems like taking a few minutes was all he needed to get out of his funk, and he’s back to smiling. In the short amount of time we’ve spent together, he seems like a normal guy—contrary to the moody, brooding, or just plain arrogant kind of musicians you hear a lot about in the media. “Let’s just say that my creative juices haven’t been flowing very well over the past few months, and I need to rectify that. Very badly and very quickly.”

“Huh.” And here this man surprises me again with his answer. That was definitely not at all what I thought he was gonna say. “Are you talking about writing songs?” I stop drying the bowl in my hand, tilting my head to look up at him. “Wait. You do write your own songs, right?”

Without warning, my face is suddenly covered in water drops and soap bubbles.

I blink at him for probably a solid minute while my brain is trying to catch up with what just happened. “Did you… Did you just flick water at me?” I wipe my hand over my face and look at Hudson incredulously.

“Sorry.” He’s laughing—big, loud belly laughs that make me want to join in too. “Strong reflexes to being insulted, I suppose, or maybe it was payback. I still owed you one for the fun welcome home with the dough.”

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