Page 45 of Spotlight Hearts

My heart stutters.

The Bahamas. With Luca. Alone. For a few days.

I should hate it. Should dread it. Should feel trapped.

Instead, excitement floods me—electric and terrifying. I was already dreading the break—ten days without seeing him, without the excuse of the stage to touch him, without the constant proximity that’s become the only thing keeping me sane. The idea of being somewhere quiet with him, no crew, no cameras forced on us, no bandmates watching… it lights me up in ways I don’t want to examine too closely.

I glance at Luca. He still hasn’t moved. Expression unreadable.

Harry’s voice crackles again, but I keep my gaze on my bandmate. “Kai? Luca? You two in?”

I clear my throat. “Yeah. I’m in.”

A beat of silence.

Then Luca says, “Sure. Whatever sells.”

Harry laughs. “That’s the spirit. Tasha will send details. Enjoy Miami tonight. Make it count.”

The call ends. Luca retreats to his seat without another word. Hoodie pulled up again, sunglasses firmly back in place, headphones back on. He turns toward the window like the clouds are suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

I move back to my seat beside Min-ho. Buckle in. Stare at the seat back in front of me like it owes me answers.

Min-ho glances over, eyebrow raised in silent question. I shake my head—just a fraction. Not now.

The plane levels out. Seatbelt sign dings off. Michael stretches, yawns, starts scrolling on his phone again. Tasha disappears toward the front cabin to handle whatever post-call logistics Harry just dumped on her.

My gaze keeps drifting back to Luca. I really shouldn’t feel excited about this because it’s clear he isn’t comfortable with it.

He’s rubbing at his wrist, and I wonder if it’s bothering him. After the fourth time of watching him rotate it and flex his fingers, I reach into my bag and pull out the small tin of arnica salve I use for muscle pain or inflammation after a hard workout.

I stand and walk down the aisle, my heart beating a million miles a minute, and come to a stop beside his seat.

He looks up, his expression guarded.

I hold out the tin. “For your wrist. It looks like it’s been bothering you.”

He blinks. Once. Twice. Then slowly reaches out and takes it. His fingers brush mine; barely a touch, but it sends a jolt through me anyway.

“Thanks,” he says quietly.

I nod once and turn back to my seat before I do something really stupid, like sit down beside him and confess that keeping things professional sounds like a terrible idea.

I drop back into my chair and buckle up. Min-ho glances at me and lifts his eyebrows while darting his gaze between Luca and me. I shrug, because he knows everything already.

Luca doesn’t open the tin, but he also doesn’t toss it across the plane, so that’s progress right?

I try to focus on anything else. The safety card in the pocket, the ugly carpet, the roar of the plane's engines right outside the window. But my eyes keep drifting back to Luca. I nibble on my lower lip for a minute before deciding to offer to apply the salve for him.

When I stand again, Min-ho shakes his head and focuses back on his phone.

Butterflies, no more like atlas moths, take flight in my stomach, their wings beating in time with my heart as I creep back toward him. He looks up at me, when I appear next to him, and I wordlessly drop into the seat beside him.

I hold out my hand. “I can help.”

Luca’s tongue swipes along his lower lip, as he glances down at the tin in his palm. His fingers tighten around it for a second, like he’s weighing whether to hand it over or close his fist and end this right here.

“It’s fine,” he says.