We’d spent the last six months working on music together.Just the two of us.
And sometime in between her scribbling lyrics in her notebook and me teaching her chords, something had changed.Something I hadn’t noticed—until this moment.
Until she sat frozen on that bed, gaze locked on the screen, pretending I wasn’t standing next to her in a towel.
I should have walked away then.IknewI should have.I should have grabbed my phone and left the room to get dressed, just like I’d done a hundred times before.
But instead, I hesitated.Instead, I lingered.For just a second too long.
My fingers curled around my phone, but my eyes flicked back to her.
And there it was.
The way her breath shuddered in her chest before she covered it up.The way her hands tightened around the laptop.The way her jaw flexed, like she was forcing herself to look unaffected.Like she knew I saw it and she was mad at herself for slipping.
It was so quick, so fleeting, that for weeks afterward, I convinced myself it was nothing.That I had imagined it.Because just as fast as it happened, she shut it down.
She scoffed.Rolled her eyes in true Anna fashion.
And before I could process the moment we just had, she chucked a pillow straight at my face.
“Jesus, put some clothes on, Price,” she huffed.“Nobody wants to see that.”
I laughed.
Not because it was funny—but because it was safe.Because that’s what we did.We covered things up with deflection and sarcasm.
And just like that, the moment was gone.But it wasn’t forgotten.
I remember walking out of that room feeling… off kilter.
Like I had seen something I wasn’t supposed to see—just like I had tonight at Nocté.
Like I hadfeltsomething I wasn’t supposed to feel.
And just like she did, I began to bury it.
I told myself it meant nothing.Because ithadto mean nothing.She was Ethan’s little sister.No way was I stepping into that’s hornet’s nest.
So I told myself, whatever that was, whatever IthoughtI saw—it didn’t matter.
Except, what if it did?
Because tonight?
She looked at me the exact same way.Shereactedthe exact same way.
And this time, she can’t blame it on being thirteen, or some dumb childhood crush she outgrew.
This time, it’s real.
And I don’t know what the hell to do with that.
I press the heels of my hands against my eyes, but it doesn’t help.
Because now, I can’t stop thinking about her.
Not just the way she reacted tonight.