Page 42 of One Last Encore

Her stomach took a nosedive. Her mind briefly entertained the idea of flinging herself off the fire escape to avoid this conversation entirely. She could probably survive the fall. Worst case scenario, she’d haunt this building just to make his life miserable.

Slowly, as if steeling herself for impact, she turned her head.

And there he was.

Those denim-blue eyes locked onto hers, flooding her brain like a dam breaking loose. That shade of blue was his and his alone. They were the color of well-worn jeans, faded and softened by time, familiar in a way nothing else ever could be. He used to feel like that too, like something that smoothed her over and made her softer without her even noticing. Until one day, he didn’t anymore.

Time had been kind to Beck. Five years ago, he was attractive enough to ruin her life; now, he was downright catastrophic. Life hadn’t worn him down; it had refined him. The jaw was sharper,the brows more defined, and that smirk? Still lethal, just more practiced.

Why couldn’t he have aged terribly? Developed an unfortunate, irreversible case of goblin posture? Maybe a receding hairline? But no. Of course not. Beck had to reappear looking likethat.

Ingrid tightened her grip on her wine glass, willing it to tether her to whatever remained of her sanity. "If that’s the case, you should be a ghost and just disappear."

The words came out a little harsher than she meant, but honestly? Him showing up out of nowhere and casually invading her personal space was just one step away from trespassing.

Freddie, seemingly pulling out of her trance, yowled in response. The cat padded over to Beck, balanced on the fire escape’s metal grate before rubbing against his hands.

"Well, you're the expert," Beck replied softly. The gentleness in his tone made her heart clench involuntarily. She had disappeared five years ago, and she’d made it look easy. Just pack up, catch a flight, and never look back. Easier to bury the pain than face it head-on.

"People move, Beck. It’s not that deep."

She was lying through her teeth. It was that deep. It had always been that deep. She left because of him, because staying had felt impossible. And once she was gone, staying away had been easier. At least, that’s what she told herself.

Beck let out a quiet scoff, though there was no real bite to it. "You didn’t even finish your last year at Julliard."

She crossed her arms, trying to brace against the way his words grazed old wounds. “I got an offer from a great company.”

Paris Opera Ballet had extended her a spot during the winter intensive, and she’d said yes. It was a dream opportunity. And, conveniently, it also meant an ocean between them.

"Yeah?" His gaze didn’t waver. "You wanted New York City Ballet. Not that French company."

He wasn’t wrong. But the way he said it, so sure and so familiar, was almost laughable. Like he still knew her. Like he still had the right to.

"I’m at New York City Ballet now," she said, forcing a shrug, as if the weight of it all didn’t still press against her ribs. "So it all worked out. For both of us."

Beck let that sit for a moment before his voice dropped, quieter but sharper. "I don’t think you have the right to say that. You have no idea what my life was like after you left."

That landed like a slap, and she had no quick retort for it. Because he was right. She didn’t know. And not by accident, she had made an effort not to know. She had avoided updates, scrolled past mutual friends’ posts, and treated any mention of his name like it might burn her alive. She didn’t want to know if he was happy. She didn’t want to know if he was dating. She definitely didn’t want to know if he had moved on like she was just some half-forgotten chapter in his life.

She could already hear her therapist sighing, taking off her glasses like this was especially disappointing.And what do we call that, Ingrid?Avoidance. With a capital A.

He looked at her, and she could see the realization settle in. That she wasn’t going to ask about his life. That she had no plans to bridge the canyon of five years between them.

"It’s interesting," he said.

Oh, great. Now he was making vague observations. What was interesting? The fact that she could still feel this stupid, infuriating fire in her chest whenever he looked at her? That her stomach still did a ridiculous little flip like it hadn’t gotten thewe’re-over-thismemo?

Fine. She’d bite.

"What is?"

"That you can still speak. I was starting to think you’d taken a vow of silence just to protest me moving in next door."

"No. Just avoiding you like my life depends on it."

"Well, you suck at it because I found you easily," he replied, scratching under Freddie’s chin with the ease of a man who had no right to be so comfortable here.

"I was foolishly hoping you went out on Halloween like a normal twenty-six-year-old."

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