The indignation in his voice broke something loose inside me—a dam I’d built years ago to hold back the hurtand disappointment. No one had ever been so vehemently on my side and supportive of my music.
I looked down at the floor, unable to meet his gaze any longer or else I might actually cry in front of him.
Drew was quiet for a moment, then said softly, “You know, you’ve always been this amazing, even in sixth grade. I remember how you’d hum under your breath when you were nervous. How you’d twist that one curl around your finger when you were concentrating. How your face would light up when you nailed a difficult part in a song.”
I hated—hated—how his words made my stupid heart stutter. “I didn’t think you paid that much attention.”
“I paid attention to everything about you, Harper.” His voice was low, almost a confession. “Even back then.”
The air between us seemed to thicken, charged with a longing I was terrified to acknowledge.
“I thought I was just a joke to you,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “After what I overheard?—”
“What are you talking about?” Drew’s brow furrowed in confusion.
“In sixth grade. At the winter concert.” I swallowed, the memory still painful after all these years. “I heard you talking to your friends. You said I sounded like a dying cat.”
Drew’s face blanched. “What?”
“I heard you, Drew. Outside the gym after the concert. You were laughing with Brad and Michael, and you said?—”
“Don’t say it again,” he begged, his voice ragged. He ran his hands through his hair, distress practically pouring off him in waves. “I can’t believe you heard that. The guys had been teasing me about how much time I was spending with you, and I snapped at them just to shut them up.” He shookhis head. “Fuck, that’s why you called me a loser to your friends, wasn’t it?”
Now it was my turn to pale.
We stared at each other, the weight of nearly a decade’s worth of misunderstandings hanging between us.
“So we’ve been enemies all this time because we both said awful things we didn’t mean?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Drew let out a laugh that sounded more like pain than humor. “Sounds about right for a Dumontier and a Tinsley, doesn’t it? Too stubborn to talk it out, too quick to assume the worst.”
“We were kids,” I said, shaking my head at the absurdity of it all. “Stupid kids who had no idea how to handle our feelings.”
“I never stopped thinking about you,” Drew admitted quietly. “Even when I convinced myself I hated you.”
My breath caught. “Drew?—”
He took a step closer, close enough that I could see the gold flecks in his hazel eyes, count each of his eyelashes, notice the slight stubble along his jaw.
“Harper,” he said, my name almost a sigh on his lips.
He slowly curled a strand of my hair around his finger, his gaze locked on the action. “Just as soft as I always thought it would be,” he whispered.
My breath caught in my lungs when his gaze met mine. His breath was hot against my lips as he said low and ragged, “Tell me I’m not the only one feeling this. Please.”
How was I supposed to say anything when I’d completely forgotten how to speak?
He cupped my cheek with his other hand and his thumb caressed my bottom lip with a touch so tender and yet so explosive that I felt it in my entire body.
I wasn’t sure if I was leaning toward him or if he was drawing me closer, but the space between us was shrinking, his eyes dropping to my lips in a way that made my heart race out of control.
From the corner of the room, Rory let out a wail that shattered the moment like glass. Drew dropped his forehead to mine and let out a ragged breath before pulling away.
“Perfect timing, kid,” he muttered, crossing to the bassinet. “Sorry. She’s probably hungry again. I think she’s going through a growth spurt.”
I nodded, trying to gather my scattered thoughts. My heart was still pounding, my skin humming with awareness where he’d touched me.
“I need to go,” I said, my voice hoarse. “I need to practice more before tomorrow.”
