Why did Ethan have to bring it up?And why does it sound like he knows something?Maybe Joel told him.Or worse—maybe Joel toldMom.
If she’s using the hanbok parade as some kind of Trojan horse to force me and Joel into the same room, I might actually lose it.I mean, I love Mina, but introducing her to the world doesn’t have to come with a side offamily drama.
I groan, letting my head thunk back against the chair.Ethan’s probably right about one thing: I won’t be able to avoid Joel forever.Duluth isn’t big enough, especially with Mom’s enthusiasm for a guest list that always includes people we’retotallynot still mad at.
I glance at the drawer again, half-expecting the envelope to wiggle out on its own, like it’s taunting me.“Just open me, Anna.What’s the worst that could happen?”
Oh, I don’t know.Everything.
I shove the thought aside and spin my chair toward my laptop, resolutely ignoring the drawer.Joel Price can have his stupid homecoming, his stupid guitar, and whatever he stuffed into that envelope.
Me?I’ll be over here, pretending I don’t care.
Because denial?Denial is a perfectly valid coping strategy.
CHAPTER2
Joel
The Twin Ports haven’t changed much.
Superior still feels like the scrappy underdog to Duluth’s polished charm, but there’s something comforting about that.The streets are a little quieter here, the buildings a little rougher around the edges.It feels more real—less like it’s trying to impress you.
Which is good, because I’ve had enough of trying to impress people.
I park my Jeep outside Club Nocté and kill the engine, staring up at the venue like it holds the answers to questions I’m too scared to ask.It’s a good spot, though.A regular stop for touring acts who are in the know—intimate but not claustrophobic.It’s the kind of place that could give you momentum if you play it right.
But let’s be honest—I didn’t come back just to play it right.
I came back for Anna.
That thought lands like a punch to the gut, but it’s the truth.Eighteen months since I last saw her, and I still haven’t figured out how to fix things with her.
The envelope didn’t help.That much is obvious.If it had, I wouldn’t be here, trying to convince myself that proximity might be the key to earning her forgiveness.
I run a hand through my hair and sigh, leaning back against the headrest.
Knowing her, she’s probably still furious.And I can’t even blame her.I was stupid and thoughtless.But if I’m going to make this right, I can’t keep avoiding her—or the consequences of what I did.
My phone buzzes in the cupholder, Ethan’s name lighting up the screen.
Dinner.My place.7 PM.You’re coming.I need adult conversation.
I snort, shaking my head.Classic Ethan.He’s never been big on subtlety.
Fine,I type back, hitting send before I can overthink it.
Hopping out, I shove my phone into my back pocket and grab my guitar case from the backseat.The cool September air hits me the second I step out of the Jeep, sharp and bracing like a wake-up call I didn’t ask for.The sign above Club Nocté’s door flickers faintly in the twilight, its neon casting a deep red glow on the cracked pavement beneath my boots.
This place is the kind of venue that makes you work for it, where the magic isn’t handed to you—you have to earn it.
I shoulder my guitar case and step inside Club Nocté, the steel door closing behind me with a heavy clang that echoes in the dimly lit space.The hum of the place is almost palpable—low conversations, the muted thrum of a soundcheck in progress, and the faint clink of glassware from the bar.The energy here is grounded, intimate, and alive in a way that makes you feel like you’re part of something bigger the second you walk in.
At the far end of the bar, a man I assume is London St.James looks up from a laptop.His sharp features are illuminated by the glow of the screen, and the easy confidence in his posture tells me he’s in charge.
“Ah, Joel Price,” he says, his voice smooth but with an unmistakable edge of enthusiasm.He closes the laptop and strides toward me, extending a hand.“London St.James.Good to finally meet you.”
“Likewise,” I reply, shaking his hand.