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She groans, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips. “I should’ve never told you her name.”
“Oh no, I love it,” I say, grinning. “Agatha. Sounds like the name of someone who drinks hot tea and tells kids to get off her lawn.”
“She’s reliable,” Lila says, sitting up straighter, mock-defensive. “Maybe a little cranky, but she gets me where I need togo.”
“Does she, though?” I ask with a grimace. “Because I’m pretty sure she was begging for mercy the last time you turned her off.”
Lila tosses a crumpled napkin at me, and I catch it midair, laughing. “I’m serious,” I say, leaning forward. “You should let me take a look at her. I know my way around an engine.”
“Really?” she says, raising an eyebrow. “You’re a musiciananda mechanic? Is there anything you can’t do?”
“Cook,” I say, deadpan. “Which is why I’m glad I know a talented chef.”
She laughs again, shaking her head. “I’ll take it under consideration.”
“Fair enough.” I watch as she tucks her legs under her, getting comfortable in her chair. She’s so different from the shy girl who could barely meet my eyes when we first met. Now, she’s relaxed and confident—at least when she’s not overthinking things.
“My dad taught me about cars,” I tell her, not sure why I’m sharing this, but I want to keep the conversation going. “He said if I was going to tour with the band, I needed to know how to fix things myself.”
“Smart man.” She takes another sip of her tea. “My grandma taught me to cook. She said every farmer should know how to feed themselves.”
“Is that why you became a chef?”
She nods her head, smiling. “Yes. My grandmother could make anything taste amazing, even with the simplest ingredients. I used to spend hours beside her in the kitchen, learning all her secrets.”
The way her face lights up when she talks about cooking reminds me of how I feel about music. It’s not just what we do—it’s part of who we are.
“And now you’re here, making Jacksonville a more delicious place one scone at a time.”
“Stop,” she laughs, but I can tell she’s pleased. “What about you? Have you always wanted to be a rockstar?”
“Honestly? I just wanted to play music. The rockstar part kind of happened by accident.” I lean back in my chair. “Sometimes I still can’t believe this is my life.”
She nods, understanding. “That’s how I feel every morning when I wake up and realize I’m actually doing what I love for a living. Even if right now it’s just at abakery.”
“Hey, everyone starts somewhere. One of the band’s first gigs was at a bowling alley.”
“No way!”
“It’s the truth. There was a mix-up, and we couldn’t back out. Cass knocked over three pins during our final song. It was very rock and roll.”
Her laughter carries across the deck, and I find myself watching how her whole face lights up, how her curves shake slightly with each giggle. When she catches me looking, I quickly glance away.
After her laughter, we fall into a comfortable silence that doesn’t need to be filled. That’s one of the things I like about Lila—she’s easy to be around. No pretenses, no trying too hard. Just herself.
After a while, I ask, “So, do you like working at the bakery despite the particular customers?”
“Yes,” she says, her voice softening. “Not what I want to be doing long-term, but it’s a start. Plus, it’s been great for meeting people. I’ve had a few inquiries about private chef stuff already.”
“That’s good,” I say, meaning it. “You’ve got the talent, Lila. People are going to figure that out fast.”
Her cheeks flush a little, and she looks down at her drink, swirling the ice. “Thanks,” she murmurs. “That means a lot.”
“It’s just the truth,” I say, shrugging. “I’ve had your cooking, remember?”
That earns me another smile, and I tuck the moment away, glad I could bring it out of her.
She tilts her head, looking at me. “What about you? When you’re not playing rockstar, what do you do?”