Page 108 of One Last Encore

"Watch where you’re going, man," Beck said. His voice was calm and firm, with no bite.

Ingrid froze, instinctively bracing herself. She knew the old Beck. The one who’d jump to his feet the second someone so much as looked at her. The one whose jaw would clench, fists already curling, looking for something to hit. There was a time when tension like this would've lit him up like a fuse.

But now... nothing. He didn’t so much as flinch. He didn’t rise. He just turned back to her, voice soft.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I’m good," she said, brushing at her dress where a few drops had splashed.

Without a word, Beck grabbed a napkin and handed it over. "Damn shame," he said, eyeing the spill. "That wine had a promising future."

Ingrid let out a surprised snort as she dabbed at the fabric. "You’re disturbingly calm."

"I contain multitudes now," he said with a casual shrug, but there was something behind the joke, a flicker of honesty in his smile.

She studied him for a moment. The Beck she’d known would’ve escalated things without thinking, chased the high of confrontation just to feel something. This Beck? He stayed seated. He made a joke. He passed her a napkin.

"And you?" she asked, tilting her head, her curiosity catching up with her. "What was it like, moving to L.A. after you graduated?"

Beck leaned back, running a hand through his hair. "Chaotic," he admitted, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Moving out there felt like stepping onto another planet. Everything was shiny and weird and overpriced. I swear, even the air had a surcharge."

Ingrid chuckled, and he glanced at her, his grin widening. "I mean, New York isn’t much better," she pointed out.

"True," he said, nodding. "But in L.A., if you're broke, people just assume you're an artist. Here, they assume you're a liability."

She laughed, shaking her head.

"But it wasn’t all bad," Beck continued. "I met some great people, and the music scene was intense, but in a good way. It pushed me to be better, to figure out what I really wanted. Not just with music but with... everything."

Her brows lifted slightly, intrigued. "And did you figure it out?"

"Some of it," he said, shrugging one shoulder. "The rest... well, I’m still working on it."

He smiled at her then, something soft and genuine, and she felt it settle warmly in her chest, spreading outward like a slow-burning flame.

After a while, they found themselves back outside, wandering toward the subway. Beck led her onto a train heading downtown, and she followed without question. The city blurred past them in streaks of light and shadow. Her focus kept drifting to him, tothe way the overhead glow cast sharp lines across his face, and the way his hands flexed against his knees as he spoke.

He talked about whatever popped into his head. Stories about growing up on the outskirts of Philly, his first disastrous gig in LA, and a failed attempt at surfing in Malibu. She listened, smiling despite herself, caught up in the easy cadence of his voice.

He led her to the East River. The Brooklyn Bridge loomed above them, its lights shimmering against the dark water. And when Beck reached for her hand, she let him take it.

His palm was warm against hers, and she felt it everywhere. That slow, curling heat that spread through her chest and tightened in her throat. She told herself it was just the cold that made her skin tingle, but deep down, she knew the truth. She had missed this. She had missedhim.

With a teasing grin, he nudged her backward until her spine met the cold steel of the bridge’s beams.

"Remember this?" he murmured, his voice low, intimate. His hand rested lightly on her arm, thumb brushing absently over her wrist.

Her breath hitched. His face was close, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath against the cool night air. The way his eyes lingered on hers sent a slow, dizzying rush through her veins.

She wanted to kiss him. So badly. It would only take a shift, a tilt of her head, and she’d feel the warmth of his lips against hers again. The thought sent her pulse racing, her mouth suddenly dry.

"Of course, I do," she said quickly, pushing him back softly, untangling her fingers from his.

The memory of that night when she had told him she was falling for him flashed through her mind. He had looked sohappy, so whole, and she had felt something mend inside herself just by seeing it.

And now, he was looking at her the same way. Like he could still see her. Like he knew exactly what she was thinking, the emotions she was trying so desperately to bury. His gaze didn’t waver.

"I used to come here all the time after you left," he admitted, shifting his focus to the river. The city lights reflected off the surface, fractured and scattered, like pieces of something broken but still beautiful.

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