Page 59 of One Last Encore

"Winnie the–"

He gestured lazily at her oversized shirt and lack of pants. "No pants, just a shirt. Classic Pooh Bear. And honestly? You’re pulling it off."

A smile slipped free before she could stop it. She pulled on the baseball shorts, somehow slipping them on without flashing him. "Better?"

Finn tilted his head, considering. "Now you’ve upgraded to Adam Sandler."

She rolled her eyes, yanking the drawstring tight so they wouldn’t fall.

"It was nice actually meeting you," Ingrid said dryly. "Please don’t give me any more ammunition to make embarrassing life decisions."

"Can’t make any promises," he said easily. "And don’t be a stranger. Now that you’ve cased the place, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around."

Ingrid slid on her stilettos, ignoring the absolute catastrophe that was her outfit: basketball shorts, an oversized T-shirt, and heels.

It screamed walk of shame. Like, full-volume, Broadway-musical-opening-number screamed it. The only thing missing was a spotlight and a dance number.

Finn’s gaze practically singed the back of her head, brimming with barely contained amusement. But Ingrid was nothing if not committed. She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and owned it.

CHAPTER 17

BECK. EARLY NOVEMBER, FIVE YEARS AGO

He was losing his mind. He was sure of it. His thoughts looped endlessly, circling the same name. It was a constant reprise.

Ingrid.

Even nights out didn't dull it. Drinks after gigs usually did the trick, numbing the sharp edges of his thoughts and drowning out the usual memories he couldn’t afford to keep. But it didn't work. She was still there.

With a groan, Beck dragged a hand through his hair and kept walking, jaw ticking at the thought of her slipping out before he was even conscious. No note, no goodbye, just the ghost of her perfume on his pillow and a bruised ego.

Finn had nearly choked laughing. "She didn’t even wait for the cab to stop, did she? Just took off like it was a heist."

It had been two days since he’d seen her. Two days without her sharp tongue, her guarded smiles, the way she watched him like she was always on the verge of running. He still didn’t have her number, so he had no way to reach out.

He had even checked her social media, but she rarely posted. When he searched for her, he found himself staring at her last post from the summer. Her long blonde hair was loose and windblown, laughter frozen midair as she leaned into Eden. Sun-drenched, carefree. She looked happy, the kind of happy he wanted to give her. If she would let him.

So he did the only thing he could. He went to where he knew she’d be, to the dance wing after class.

As he reached the studio, he stopped short, fingers grazing the cold metal of the doorframe. He saw her through the doorway.

Her movements were hypnotic, her body gliding across the studio floor like water over smooth stones. Her movements were poetry in motion, each step a graceful brushstroke on the canvas of the studio floor. Her body seemed to shimmer under the soft light, her movements fluid and hypnotic. Beck found himself holding his breath, his chest tightening as he watched her.

Then she stopped. Her gaze swept the room then locked onto him like she felt him watching her. His pulse quickened when her eyes met his.

"She’s still in New York?" Beck teased, leaning against the doorframe with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Could’ve fooled me with how fast you left my bed. Do I snore or something?"

"I figured you didn’t want me to linger," Ingrid said, her tone guarded. She focused on smoothing her bun, fingers running over already flawless strands.

"Well, you figured wrong. I want you more than lingering." Beck’s voice was quieter now.

She was inescapable to him, threaded through his thoughts, tangled in every quiet moment. It wasn’t enough to catch glimpses of her. He wanted to know the secret language of hersilences, the hidden places where her dreams lived, the exact way her warmth would seep into him and never let go.

Ingrid’s hands stilled mid-motion. Her expression was neutral, but the restless twitch of her fingers at her side gave her away.

"You scared me in the cab," she said, her voice firm but edged with something softer. "That was really dangerous."

Beck’s grin faded. "I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t like the way he looked at you, and when I drink, I get impulsive." He glanced away, guilt settling in his chest. "I didn’t mean to scare you."

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