Page 36 of One Last Encore

"Sorry," she muttered, flustered, suddenly hyperaware of how close they were. His scent enveloped her. It was almostintoxicating, and worse, it was becoming too familiar, too inviting.

Beck’s hand found her waist, his fingers brushing lightly against her ribs as he steadied her.

Ingrid inhaled sharply and stepped back, grasping the cold metal pole with her free hand in the center of the subway car.

With a flicker of self-consciousness, she realized their subway car was empty. Just the two of them. A rare occurrence in New York City, and somehow, that only made her more overwhelmed.

"Two left feet?" Beck mused, amusement lacing his voice. The way his eyes gleamed made her stomach tighten.

"Something like that," she said, aiming for nonchalance, but the heat creeping up her neck was a dead giveaway. He knew she was a dancer. Her balance was practically hardwired into her DNA.

And yet, Beck had her tripping over herself like a rookie in her first ballet class. Not just now. It had been happening for weeks. A glance, a smirk, the way he said her name like it belonged to him. Every little thing sent her equilibrium straight to hell.

Suddenly, this didn’t feel casual anymore. It felt like a date. And that terrified her.

She’d never actually been on a real date before. A few awkward hookups, fleeting, forgettable nights filed away in the "we don’t talk about this" section of her brain. But nothing thatmeantanything.

Every ounce of her life had been devoted to dance: grueling hours, relentless pursuit of perfection, sacrificing normal teenage milestones for pirouettes, sore muscles, and an intimate understanding of blister care. Dating? Romance? Please. It had always been an afterthought, a luxury she convinced herself she didn’t need like decorative pillows or eight hours of sleep.

She stole a glance at Beck, hoping for some kind of clarity. His lips still held the faintest hint of amusement, but his eyes told a different story. Something quieter. Something deeper.

The longer she looked, the more she wanted to kiss him, and the force of that want nearly stole her breath. She’d spent years building walls, chasing perfection, dodging distractions. And now her brain had the nerve to throw it all out the window for him?

There was no routine for this. No choreography. No director shouting cues. Just the terrifying, dizzying realization that once, she wanted something she couldn’t control. The anticipation, the uncertainty, it left her breathless.

"Breathe, kitten," Beck murmured, his voice low and smooth. His fingers brushed against hers inside the pocket of his jacket, a barely-there touch, so light, so fleeting, but enough to send another jolt of warmth through her. It was meant to steady her. Instead, it only made her heart race faster. What was happening to her?

Ingrid took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down, but her mind wouldn’t stop racing. Could he tell she was panicking? Was it written all over her face?

The subway’s speaker crackled, announcing the next stop–her stop. 86th Street.

"My stop is next," she blurted, glancing at him. Her voice came out higher than she meant. "Where do you live, anyway?"

"Brooklyn," he said, easy, like it wasn’t halfway across the city.

She blinked. Brooklyn? That was nowhere near the Upper East Side. He was going completely in the wrong direction.

"You know you’re heading the opposite way, right?" she asked, brows knitting together.

Beck gave a small shrug, like it was obvious. "I wasn’t ready to stop holding your hand."

Simple. Soft. Like he hadn’t thought twice about saying it out loud.

There was no hesitation in his voice, no nervous laugh to downplay it. Just those quiet words, laid bare between them, and suddenly she couldn’t hear anything over the sound of her own heartbeat. He’d added an hour to his commute just to hold her hand for five more minutes.

She swallowed hard, refusing to look away even though his gaze felt like a spotlight. His eyes were searching for something in her, something she wasn’t sure she knew how to give.

She tightened her grip on the subway pole beside her, as if that would somehow ground her. But no matter how firmly she planted her feet, she couldn’t shake the growing feeling that her whole world was tilting, right here, in this moment, with him.

Beck’s fingers, still lightly tangled with hers in his pocket, sent warmth skittering up her arm. It was too much. Too consuming.

She gently pulled her hand away, needing just a little space to breathe.

For the briefest moment, Beck’s expression faltered. A flicker of disappointment crossed his face, so quick, so subtle, that maybe a month ago she would’ve missed it. But she didn’t miss it now. The desire to kiss him doubled, charging through her blood with a heat that made it hard to breathe.

"Can I try something?" she whispered, the words barely audible over the pounding of her heart. Her voice trembled just slightly, betraying her nerves.

Beck’s brows furrowed in curiosity, but he nodded, his gaze steady except for the slight bob of his Adam’s apple.

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