“Yes.”
Ellie leaned in slowly.
Slowly enough that I could have changed my mind.
Slowly enough that the decision stayed mine until the last possible second.
I did not change my mind.
Her lips touched mine softly at first.
A question.
Warm, careful, tasting faintly of lime and the sauce she had incorrectly labeled safe.
I had been kissed backstage, in hotel rooms, at industry parties, and once inside a tour-bus bathroom during a turn so sharp that romance had briefly become a workplace accident.
This was different.
Ellie kissed Annie.
Not the name on the album.
Not the woman on the arena screens.
Just the woman sitting beside her on a questionable pier in a white sundress.
The thought nearly undid me.
I lifted one hand to her jaw.
The kiss deepened.
Her fingers found my waist, light enough to ask permission again.
I moved closer.
Somewhere overhead, a gull screamed.
Ellie pulled back, laughing against my mouth.
“That felt judgmental.”
“I think it was reviewing our technique.”
“Harsh.”
“It lives near the ocean. Probably has standards.”
She rested her forehead against mine.
I was smiling.
Not the smile Sophie had tested.
Not the smile I wore for cameras.
A stupid, helpless smile that belonged entirely to me.
