Page 44 of One Last Encore

The words slipped out before she could stop them, and regret hit instantly. Why did she sound like she was still stuck in the past? Like some sad, lovesick girl who hadn’t quite caught up with reality?

"Yeah," Beck murmured, too softly. "Feels like yesterday."

The quiet of his voice made something in her chest tighten. Five years, and the ache still lurked beneath the surface, just waiting for a moment like this to remind her it had never really left. Was it normal to still feel this way? She doubted it. Emotions had their own stubborn timelines, and hers refused to obey logic when it came to him.

Back then, it had felt like she was trying to hold on to someone slipping through her fingers, someone who didn’t want to be saved. He hadn’t been ready. And now, five years later, he had become the man she always believed he could be.

But without her. Without her, he’d picked up the pieces. Without her, he’d turned it all around.

She took another sip of wine, hoping to drown out the bitterness that clung to her thoughts. She didn’t know why it bothered her so much. She was happy that he was happy, truly. But it still hurt. Hurt that he hadn’t wanted her there with him while he did it. That she wasn’t important enough to include.That, in the end, she hadn’t been part of the version of his life that finally worked.

"Was the hot chocolate as good as it was back then?"

"I wouldn’t know," she replied dryly. "The last cup I got… I poured it down the drain." She glanced at him, challenging him to say something.

His laughter erupted, wrapping around her like it always had. As he laughed, the neckline of his T-shirt shifted, and she caught a glimpse of a thin gold chain resting on his collarbone. When she looked up again, his grin was still there, his eyes crinkled with amusement.

"I should have figured," he said, tilting his head as if sizing her up.

"Nice try, though," she added, her lips betraying her with the faintest twitch of a smile. She turned her focus to the parade of kids in Halloween costumes, their laughter ringing through the crisp evening air.

Then she saw her. A girl who was college-aged, tight red dress, devil horns perched on her head.

Ingrid stiffened. Willed him not to notice. His gaze followed hers, landing on the girl for just a beat too long before sliding back to Ingrid with a slow, knowing grin.

"Sooo, you still have that devil costume or what?"

Her head snapped toward him, heat prickling at her neck. "Are you serious?"

His smirk deepened. "It’s Halloween. You can put it on. I won’t judge. If anything, I strongly encourage it."

She groaned, rolling her eyes, though she couldn’t stop the laugh that slipped out. "You have serious problems."

"I have solutions," he corrected smoothly. "It’s called giving the people what they want. And they want you in a smoking hot devil costume."

"By ‘they,’ you mean you," she shot back.

"Obviously." His grin widened, flashing white teeth against the fading sun.

"You’re still a freak," she teased, shaking her head as a reluctant smile tugged at her lips.

"Only when it comes to you," he said softly.

The teasing faded, and something else slipped in. Her skin prickled under his gaze, like he’d just peeled back a layer she wasn’t ready to show. She hated it. Hated how easily he got under her skin.

"Goodbye, Beck," she said abruptly, standing before she could second-guess herself. She needed distance, needed space to breathe.

"Wait," he said quietly, his voice cutting through the air like a blade, and she stilled, her breath catching in her throat.

"We should talk. About the way it ended."

Her pulse quickened. No. They couldn’t do this. Not now. Not ever.

Talking meant reopening wounds she’d spent years stitching closed. It meant acknowledging the night that had changed everything. The night she needed him most, and he wasn’t there.

"There’s nothing to talk about," she said, her voice brittle.

"Yes, there is." His tone softened, but the frustration lingered. "Are you telling me you’re over everything?"

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