Page 143 of One Last Encore

Letter dated February 2nd, 4 years ago from the present

"RAT!" Ingrid’s scream tore through the apartment like a murder scene in a low-budget horror movie.

Freddie was lounging on the couch, utterly unbothered. She barely opened one eye, stretched like she was on a beach in Ibiza, and resumed doing absolutely nothing.

Meanwhile, Ingrid was frozen in a full-body panic. Her eyes locked on the rat scuttling across her apartment floor like it had a lease and a key. It was the size of a small dog. Maybe a raccoon. Or a toddler. Definitely toddler energy.

She yanked the hood of her sweatshirt over her head. Because obviously, rat-proofing begins with a hoodie.

"Freddie, seriously? This is your whole job. This is your legacy!"

Freddie blinked. Slowly. If cats could roll their eyes, this would’ve been the moment.

"I feed you. I scoop your poop. I buy you gourmet kibble that costs more than my shampoo. And you give me this?"

Freddie let out a tiny yawn. Judged her. Went back to her nap.

The rat vanished behind the bookshelf. Ingrid backed away like she was in a hostage negotiation.

Glancing down at her bare feet, she groaned. There was no way she was dealing with this thing alone. Or grabbing shoes. What if the rat had crawled into her shoe? What if it was living there now?

Nope. Absolutely not. She needed backup. She stormed down the hall and banged on Beck’s door like it owed her money.

A moment later, the door creaked open to Beck, disheveled and sleepy-eyed. Tousled hair. A T-shirt that fit a little too well. Gray sweatpants that should’ve been banned by federal law.

His smirk grew as he caught her staring.

"You didn’t hear me screaming?" she asked, yanking her hood down.

Beck lounged in the doorway, clearly enjoying this. "Screaming? No. And I’d remember. You’ve got a very… memorable range."

She scowled. "There’s a rat in my apartment. Whiskers, claws, possible mob ties. And Freddie’s in there acting like she’s waiting for her room-service order at the Ritz."

Beck snorted. "You left her in there? Alone? Ingrid, she’s a house cat. She once saw a cucumber and boycotted the kitchen for three days."

Ingrid arched a brow. "And yet, here you are, mocking her instead of grabbing a broom and saving the day."

Beck stepped closer, the grin on his face pure trouble. “What do I get out of it? I’m risking my life with bubonic plague.”

“Just don’t get bit and you won’t die a peasant’s death.” With a smirk, she shoved him toward the hallway.

“Wow. So reassuring,” he called back.

“Think of the bragging rights,” she said. “And if you survive, I might be persuaded to share a box of rainbow cookies from Vito’s.”

“Wait—theVito’s? The ones that taste like angels weeping into almond paste?”

“Dad sent more for opening night. Still hasn’t figured out my favorite cookie, but lucky you—these practically have your name written in frosting.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “So, be a good boy and do me one tiny, harmless favor, hmm?” She tilted her head, lashes sweeping low as she looked up at him like she already knew he’d say yes. Beck blinked, his throat working hard as he swallowed.

“Anything you want, Baby,” he said, eyes trailing over her like he was already halfway gone. “You want my soul, I’ll gift wrap it. You want a kingdom, I’ll crown you. Just, please. Keep looking at me like that.”

Her stomach flipped. God. He said it like he meant every word, like he’d already handed her the crown and laid his soul bare at her feet.

He took a few dazed, obedient steps, then suddenly spun back around. "Wait. What’s the plan? Do I seduce it? Offer it cheese? Whisper sweet nothings until it scurries off in peace?"

"You arenotseducing the rat."

"That’s a little closed-minded," he muttered.

---