Page 201 of The Nanny and the Heartthrob

The breath caught in her throat as the next rush of memories roared in like a tsunami.

She’d sung in front of an audience while being broadcast on the LookyLoo livestream.

That had really happened.

And the crowd had loved her.

She hadn’t heard their applause exactly. She’d absorbed it, consumed it. She’d allowed the adulation to swirl around like a tangible tornado of sun-kissed honey.

Disbelief and amazement swelled in her chest when another jarring realization hit.

Either she couldn’t remember doing it, which would be quite bad, or she’d slept through picking up Aria from her first day of school.

What kind of nanny-aunt did that?

In a state of panic, she dropped her cell on the counter. Taking the stairs two at a time, she flew up the steps and plowed into Aria’s room. “I’m here. I’m awake. Are you okay? Did you like your school?” She surveyed the room, expecting chaos, but found Aria sitting in bed with Landon perched on the edge with an e-reader in his hands. Her old camcorder, from years ago, rested on top of the covers next to Aria.

“We’re okay, sleeping beauty. The million-dollar question is, are you okay?” Landon asked, looking her over as concern clouded his gaze.

She glanced at her crumpled outfit. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Look up,” he instructed.

What?

She cocked her head to the side. “At the ceiling?”

“Yes, and tell me what you see,” he pressed, straight-faced.

She indulged the man. “I see a…wait for it…a ceiling.”

“Does it appear appetizing?” He raised an eyebrow, studying her like a science project.

This would have been an insane line of questioning under normal circumstances. But today had been anything but ordinary.

And just like that, her brain cranked out another bonkers recollection.

And that loopy revelation had everything to do with cake.

She really needed to address her baked goods addiction.

Anyone who could believe—even under the influence—that the ceiling was made of cake really had it bad for confectionary treats. But it had seemed like a reasonable observation at the time.

She crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the bed near Landon. “No, the ceiling does not look appetizing.”

“Thank God,” he answered as relief softened his expression.

“What’s on the ceiling?” Aria asked with a furrowed brow as she scanned the flat surface.

“Nothing is on the ceiling. Your uncle is being silly.” She tapped the tip of Aria’s nose, then honed in on the old camcorder. She picked up the old recording device. “This is what I heard, isn’t it?”

“It’s you, Aunt Harper, when you were a little girl singing that song about your friend’s sisters sucking eggs. I’ll show you,” Aria said, taking the camcorder, and hitting play.

And hello, mortification.

She felt her cheeks heat as she watched the little girl version of herself rage-singing and dancing in the very room they were in right now.

She chuckled and shook her head. She could either laugh or cry at the embarrassing performance. “I can’t even imagine what else is on those old tapes.”

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