I should let this drop.
But my mouth?It has other plans.
“What did you think of the song?”
She stops.
Back still turned.
Not facing me, not running either.
For a second, I wonder if she’ll ignore it.If she’ll pretend she didn’t hear me, pretend like it didn’t mean anything.
Then she speaks.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
A slow grin spreads across my face.
Because that?
That right there?
That’s not a no.
I take a slow step forward, testing the waters.
“You don’t know what I’m talking about?”I repeat, drawing out the words.“That’s interesting.Because I was under the impression you left Nocté halfway through my song.”
Anna stiffens.Just the slightest twitch in her shoulders, like I caught her.
“Coincidence,” she mutters, still not turning around.“Not everything is about you, Joel.”
“True.”I nod, even though she can’t see me.“But thiswasabout me.Specifically, a song I wrote.One youdefinitelyheard.”
“I hear a lot of things.”
I can’t help it—I smirk.
“And yet, you ran.”
That does it.
She whirls around, arms crossed tight over her chest, chin tilted up in thatclassicAnna way.
“I didnotrun.”
I raise an eyebrow.“Mmhmm.”
“Ileft.”
“Uh-huh.”
“There’s a difference.”
“Right,” I say, dragging the word out.“One is controlled.The other is running away because you felt something you didn’t want to feel.”
Did my song really make herfeelsomething?