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I smiled as I shut the door, thinking it was a typical bachelor fridge.

I closed my eyes for a moment and just listened to Devon play, letting the music sink into my soul.

He was an extraordinary piano player, and jazz music was hard to play at this level.

Anna hadn’t been exaggerating.

Devon wasthatgood, not only with his technical skills, but putting emotion into the piece.

I couldn’t resist just standing there for a minute, soaking in the joy of listening to an incredible musician.

I finally opened my eyes, knowing that I had to make my presence known. It felt rude to be in his house and not announce myself.

All I had to do was follow the music until I was at the door of his music room.

“I’m here,” I announced loudly, hating the fact that the beautiful song stopped the moment that he saw me.

“Sorry,” he muttered as he stood up from the grand piano that had been placed in the middle of the room. “I didn’t hear you.”

God, he looked good.

He was dressed casually in jeans and a white T-shirt with a classic rock band logo on the front.

The shirt looked like he’d had it for a while, and it molded lovingly over his muscular chest and biceps.

Devon might be a jerk sometimes, but I had to admit that he was a gorgeous grump.

“Your playing is phenomenal,” I said honestly. “And this room is incredible.”

He had top-of-the-line instruments around the massive room along with some that I knew were vintage or antiques.

“Do you play?” he asked curiously as he walked toward me.

“Yes,” I admitted. “But not like that. I studied piano from the time I was in grade school, but my skill level is mediocre. I haven’t practiced in a long time. Why aren’t you a professional musician?”

He grinned as he stopped in front of me. “I had a band when I was in high school. I thought I wanted to be a rock star, but I couldn’t sing worth a damn. I can hold a tune, but I didn’t have a great voice for a lead singer. That’s when I decided it was going to be a hobby. It’s a passion of mine, but I’m better at writing music and playing instruments than I am at singing.”

“Still,” I objected. “You could have been a professional musician without being a singer.”

I had my doubts that Devon couldn’t sing. Most likely he just preferred not to do it.

He shrugged. “Sometimes you don’t always want your passion to be a way to make a living. It can take the fun out of it. I’m happy with the way things turned out. I’m good at what I do, and I manage to work with some creative businesses. You love to cook, and you’re incredibly talented at it, but you didn’t become a chef for a living.”

Devon just kept surprising me.

He thought a lot deeper than the shallow, billionaire playboy I’d always imagined he was.

“You’re right,” I confessed. “Having to do it every day for long hours probably would take the fun out of a passion. Speaking of food, I made you something that I left in the fridge. And I brought some things to make lunch. I wanted to do something to thank you for teaching me to ride.”

He looked surprised. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” I insisted. “It’s not much. It’s just lunch and a hummingbird cake.”

His grin widened. “I have to admit that I have no idea what’s in a hummingbird cake.”

I smiled back at him. “It’s a southern recipe. Your mom mentioned that you love pineapple. It has pineapple, bananas, a sweet glaze, and pecans.”

He raised a brow teasingly. “Sugar? I thought you were preaching at me to eat healthier.”