Page 111 of One Last Encore

She glanced down, a flicker of surprise in her expression before her lips curled into a small, knowing smile. Not just any smile,thesmile. The one that softened her entire face, made her dimples appear, and left him utterly brainless. He knew he was staring, but damn it, how could he not?

Then came a terrible realization: other people were probably seeing that smile. People who weren’t him. Strangers. Casual bystanders. Some guy in a hoodie who didn’t even appreciate greatness. His gaze swept the room, half-tempted to start throwing out silent threats.Look away, Chad. You haven’t earned this.

He didn’t deserve it either. He knew that. But he was a selfish bastard, and if she was handing out sunshine, he was going to roast in it like a lizard on a rock.

When he looked back at her, she was still smiling at him. Just for him. Just like that, the jealous flare in his chest cooled into something else, something softer. Warmer. Less murdery.

He settled behind his drum kit and picked up his drumsticks, the familiar weight familiar in his hands. He didn’t get nervous.Not when there was something to prove. And there wasalwayssomething to prove. That had become the rhythm of his life. Any nerves had long since been evicted, replaced by the sharp, almost petty determination that kicked in whenever there was an audience.

Ingrid moved into her starting position, head bowed, one arm extended like a sculpture come to life.

Beck struck the first beat of the snare drum. Instantly, she moved, her body weaving through the space like the music had been made for her. Because it had. Every note, every rhythm, every pause had her name written all over it.

Every beat pushed her forward, every move syncing with his like they shared the same pulse. It wasn’t just skill. It was something deeper, something unspoken. Like their bodies knew how to speak a language only they understood.

And even knowing how professional she was, Beck couldn’t shake the feeling that this moment was different.Special.

Everything, every decision, every twist of fate had led to this: their chance meeting, the late-night rehearsals, his grandmother’s love of ballet. It didn’t feel random. It didn’t feel like coincidence. It felt inevitable.

As the music swelled and softened around them, his thoughts kept circling back to her—the way she moved, the way she smiled, the way she made him feel like he was exactly where he was meant to be.

The final note rang out. Ingrid’s movement stopped in perfect tandem.

Silence stretched for half a second before the studio erupted into applause.

Beck didn’t hear it. His focus was locked on Ingrid, her chest rising and falling, her skin glowing, her eyes searching for his.

"Bravo! Bravo!" the instructor exclaimed, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. "Flawless! So imaginative! We have the winning performance!"

The class broke into another round of clapping, but Beck barely registered it. Ingrid was still looking at him and standing there with that soft, heart-flipping smile. And God help him, he was completely done for.

Because she looked proud,reallyproud, and it hit him straight in the chest. That feeling, of someone actually being proud of him, was rare. He’d spent most of his life bracing for disappointment, always waiting for the other shoe to drop. But now, here she was, and that look on her face let something loose inside him.

Before she could even open her mouth, he was already on his feet. He left the drum kit behind, sticks forgotten on the floor, and crossed the room in a few quick strides.

He wrapped her up in his arms, lifting her slightly off the ground like she weighed nothing, and buried his face in her shoulder, letting the applause fade into a distant hum. This was the only thing that mattered.Shewas the only thing that mattered.

Ingrid let out a startled laugh as he spun her, her arms looping around his neck. "Beck!" she squeaked, though she wasn’t exactly protesting.

"I don’t know how I got so lucky," he murmured against her neck, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "You are more than I deserve."

That made her pause. She pulled back slightly, eyes narrowing, her expression flashing with something that looked almost like anger. Then, without a word, she grabbed his face and kissed him.

The room exploded. Catcalls, whistles, dramatic gasps, and someone actually whooped. Laughter mixed with applause, andBeck couldn’t hear a thing over the roaring in his chest because holy shit, she was kissing him.

And not just a quick peck, either. This was a statement. A public, no-going-back, everyone-is-seeing-this kind of statement. It was one thing to kiss in a grimy dive bar; it was another to do it in front of all her dance colleagues. His heart pounded so hard he was surprised it didn’t sync up with the clapping. Somewhere in the background, their instructor let out a strangled cough.

"Oh, my!" he stammered, clapping his hands together like he had just walked in on something he absolutely did not want to see. "Looks like our performers are… very connected to the energy of the performance!" His tone suggested he wished he had taken the day off. "Alright, alright, settle down!"

Ingrid finally pulled back, her expression calm but resolute, as if she hadn’t just turned his entire existence upside down. Around them, the noise slowly died down.

"There’s no luck involved," she said firmly, her voice steady, leaving no room for argument. "You deserve every good thing that happens to you."

Beck blinked, completely thrown off balance. By the kiss, but also by what she had said. So confident. So certain.

Meanwhile, he was fighting every instinct screaming at him to doubt it. He wanted to believe her. He really did. But that old familiar doubt was already creeping in, loud and annoying as ever. How could she be so sure of him when half the time he wasn’t even sure of himself?

Still, he pulled off a faint smile, trying not to let the mess in his head show.

---