Page 70 of One Last Encore

"Week two, actually. I saw you drinking it at practice." He grinned. "Swear to God, I’ve never seen anyone look at whipped cream like that. I was genuinely a little jealous."

Ingrid laughed, a little caught off guard. "That’s ridiculous."

"You say that," Beck said, squeezing her hand, "but I saw you eyeing that mug last Tuesday like it just whispered sweet nothings and promised you a stable future."

Her cheeks warmed, partly from his observation and partly from the fact that yes, she had, in fact, gazed lovingly at a cup of hot chocolate before.

"You noticed that?" she asked, her voice quieter now, surprised.

"Yeah," Beck replied, his tone gentler. "I notice everything about you."

His eyes were on her, and a warmth bloomed in her chest. His messy brown hair swayed in the cool breeze, a few strands lazily brushing against his forehead, like even his own hair couldn’t resist caressing his face.

They reached a café, a cozy little spot tucked away on a street corner. Beck ordered two hot chocolates and a plate of croissants while Ingrid settled into a slightly wobbly table with mismatched chairs.

When he brought the mugs over, he carefully placed hers in front of her before sitting across from her with his own.

She sipped hers tentatively. Beck, however, just held his cup, his fingers wrapped around it like he was absorbing warmth through osmosis. It wasn’t the first time she’d noticed that henever actually drank the hot chocolate he ordered. It was like he only got it so she wouldn’t feel awkward sipping hers alone.

His eyes stayed on her, not in a way that felt intrusive, but soft and steady. The tenderness in his gaze made her stomach flip.

"What’re you thinking about?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"I was wondering what’s going on in there," Beck leaned forward slightly, tapping the side of her head lightly with his warm fingers. Then, after a beat, his voice dipped lower, softer. "And… how much I want to kiss you. But I don’t want to scare you off."

Did this man not have a filter? It was oddly refreshing the way he never seemed to hold anything back with her. What had first read as cocky now just felt… honest. Like he wore the charm for everyone else but let her see the real thing underneath.

It was disarming. Especially for someone like her, someone who spent so much time holding everything in.

Her cheeks warmed, and before she could stop it, a smile tugged at her lips–soft, unguarded, and entirely his fault.

She hesitated, her hand tightening around her cup. "Let me say something first," she started, her voice steady despite the anxious thrum in her chest. "After that, you can decide if you still want to kiss me."

Her gaze dropped to the cup in her hands, watching her reflection ripple in the liquid. Fear gripped her throat, but she forced herself to swallow it down. Her hands clenched, nails biting into her palms.

Beck noticed. His hand moved across the table, gently uncurling her fingers and smoothing his thumb over the small crescent indentations left by her nails.

"There’s nothing you could say that would change my mind about you," he said softly, his voice warm and reassuring.

She stared at him. It should have felt reckless, the way he said it, like caring for her wasn’t something she had to earn. But maybe that was the point. Maybe real love was someone willing to sit beside your shadows, unafraid of the mess, holding space for even the pieces you’d tried to bury.

Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself.Here goes nothing.

"I wanted to tell you about the scars."

CHAPTER 20

BECK. EARLY NOVEMBER, FIVE YEARS AGO

Those scars had been stuck in his mind for days. He still felt them under his fingertips, raised and even. The memory of them lingered in the back of his head, keeping him up at night for the past week.

He’d sent her a couple of texts, casual enough not to push, but she hadn’t responded. She had gone radio silent on him.

He wanted to see her, talk to her, do something, but he knew better than to force it. Her story was hers to share when she was ready.

So when he found her standing in front of his apartment, it didn’t feel real. For a second, he thought he might be imagining it. But then it hit him, and the wave of disbelief gave way to something warmer, heavier.

She’d come to him.

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