His Assistant - Alexa Land Page 0,39
showed him how to soften butter in the microwave, which was actually news to him. It was then that I realized he hadn’t been exaggerating when he said he didn’t know how to cook. A lot of people said that, but he meant he didn’t know how to do it at all.
Making this meal seemed to really matter to him though, so I was careful not to just take over. I gave him a couple more pointers when needed, and then I sat on the counter, sipping my martini and grinning as I watched him at my stove. He stood vigil with a spatula in his hand, and every five seconds or so, he bent over, raised one of the sandwiches, and peered underneath to make sure it wasn’t burning.
Once they were golden brown, he carefully transferred them onto a pair of mismatched plates, and we sat down at my kitchen table. He watched me closely as I tore off a corner and ate it, and then he asked, “Is it okay?”
“It’s absolutely perfect.”
His face lit up as I took another big bite. He was so proud, as if he’d done something important. And I got it now. Given what I’d just learned about his life, especially the fact that he grew up with a critical father, it was no wonder he was always seeking approval.
After we finished the meal and cleaned up, Harper followed me into the living room. He settled onto the couch and indicated the guitar as he asked, “Would you play me something?”
I muttered, “You don’t really want to hear me play, do you?”
“Of course I do. I’ve watched every video on your YouTube channel, but you haven’t added a new one in over six months.”
“Yeah, it started to feel kind of pointless.” I picked up the guitar, then sat down facing him, with my back to the armrest.
He took off his sneakers, then leaned against the other armrest and put his warm feet on top of my cold ones. “Why did it feel pointless?”
“Because those videos just aren’t getting any traction. I’ve held steady at about twenty thousand followers for years, and let’s face it, they’re probably all Dallas’s fans who were curious about his twin brother.”
“We’re going to work on this while we’re in Hawaii.”
“Work on what?”
“I’ll be your videographer, and we’ll film some new content for you,” he said. “Maybe some sexy shirtless videos on the beach, what do you say?”
I laughed at that and told him, “I don’t think anyone wants to see my alarmingly pale and generally underwhelming chest.”
“You’re so hard on yourself.”
“I’m realistic. I’m just not built for the whole beefcake thing. I’d have to hire a personal trainer and start working out four hours a day like my twin obviously did to pull that off, which isn’t going to happen.”
Harper shook his head. “You don’t even get how sexy you are, even when you’re wearing what’s basically a poncho. Which begs the question, why are all your clothes two sizes too big for you? Or five, in the case of that giant T-shirt.”
“I don’t like to attract attention to myself.”
He grinned and said, “Well, that’s an awesome attribute for a performer.”
“It’s one thing to be the center of attention when I’m onstage, although even then I dress in the same jeans and flannel shirts I always wear. But in general, I prefer to fade into the background.” I began picking out a song on the guitar as I added, “As for this T-shirt, it’s very soft, and I was all about comfort tonight.”
He listened to the tune I was playing for a while, and then he asked, “Will you sing me something new without all the kinks worked out yet?”
I shot him a look. “Going back to what you were saying before about my tendency to rehearse the life out of everything?”
“That’s not exactly what I said. I think it was more along the lines of letting yourself make mistakes.”
“Okay. Well, this one’s going to be rough as hell because I’m still working on it, so here goes nothing.”
I felt too self-conscious to look at him while I sang a new song that didn’t even have a name yet and played along on the guitar. It was a sad little song about giving up on a dream, and I didn’t even know why I picked that one, except that it meant something to me.
Once I finished, I put the guitar on the coffee table and murmured, “Told you it