Page 103 of One Last Encore

But Beck was standing there, looking all eager and hopeful and cute, and, well… she wasn’t made of stone.

"Okay," she relented, forcing her voice to stay casual, as if her heart wasn’t currently beating out of her chest. "I guess I’m in."

He lit up instantly, his enthusiasm so pure she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.

"Where to?" she asked, grabbing her jacket and shoes, determined not to let him know she was already intrigued.

"You’ll see," he said, his grin widening. She should have been worried. Shewasworried.

But somehow, she was still following him out the door, because, apparently, she was still a sucker for him too.

He led her down to the subway station, and as they boarded the subway, a wave of déjà vu swept over her. She stole a glance at him. The Beck she remembered was still there. The same smirk, the same easy confidence but time had done something to him. He seemed softer somehow, like life had worn away some of the rougher edges.

When they got off near Juilliard, her brow furrowed in confusion as he veered toward a churro cart parked at thecorner. Beck raised his eyebrows at her, his mouth quirking up. She shook her head, laughing softly at his antics.

"Two churros, please," he said, handing the vendor a crumpled bill with an easy grin.

He handed her one of the churros, still warm in its crinkly brown bag. The sweet smell hit her nose, and she wrinkled it slightly. "I don’t trust desserts unless they’re drinkable. It’s hot chocolate or death. No in-between."

"You literally eat croissants," he said, already taking a bite.

"Croissants are not desserts. They’re a lifestyle. A flaky, buttery gray area. Next thing you’re gonna tell me is that a quiche is a dessert."

"Why not? It has a crust. It’s basically a pie. Clearly dessert material."

"You’ve just triggered a centuries-old debate and probably offended five generations of French bakers. Congratulations, you’re now banned from every patisserie in Paris."

"Just try it. Live a little, Ingrid," Beck said, his mouth still full, completely unfazed.

Ingrid sighed, eyeing the pastry like it might suddenly sprout fangs. She couldn’t believe she was about to eat something from a cart in a subway station, especially a dessert coated in solid sugar.

With a resigned grunt, she took a cautious bite.

Instant regret. Not because it was bad, but because it wastoogood. Her taste buds were immediately swarmed by the perfect blend of cinnamon, sugar, and what could only be described as magic.

"Well?" he prompted, leaning in, eyes sparkling like he knew he’d won.

"It’s…" She paused, savoring the unexpected burst of flavor. "Delicious," she admitted, eyebrows lifting in surprise.

"Told you," he said triumphantly, his smile stretching wide.

She smiled back despite herself, but then his gaze flicked to her lips, and her breath caught. A warm flutter spread through her at that look, a feeling she hadn’t experienced in five long years. It was as if lightning had struck her skin. Those eyes had a way of both destroying and remaking her with a single glance.

Suddenly, he reached out. His thumb brushing against her bottom lip with a deliberate slowness that made her breath hitch. The touch was featherlight, but it sent a jolt straight through her, every nerve suddenly wide awake.

His eyes locked onto hers and he slid that same thumb into his mouth, sucking it in with a slow pull like he was tasting something he wasn’t ready to give up.

"So sweet," he murmured, voice thick with heat, eyes half-lidded. Then, after a beat, "The sugar, of course."

Her knees actually wobbled. She wasn’t sure if she was about to faint or climb him like a tree.

"Come on, sugar," he drawled, slipping an arm around her shoulders like it belonged there. His touch was casual in gesture, but everything about it lit her up like a struck match. The press of his body so close. The familiar scent of him, woodsy, soap, something darker underneath. It all conspired to scramble her thoughts.

Then, without warning, he stopped. She blinked, slightly dazed, then followed his gaze and felt her breath catch in her throat. The jazz club. The place they’d had their first date.

Beck pushed the door open, and the familiar scent of aged wood and smoky air curled around her. She hesitated, eyes scanning the room like it might’ve changed since she had been here last. It hadn’t.

"You sure about this?" she asked, voice low. Because bringing herself back here felt like it might tear a hole in the space-time continuum. It felt big for some reason. This was his place. This was where everything had once felt so... simple.

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