Page 112 of The Pucking Arrangement

His grin turned wicked.

“And when we’re not performing? Swimming, sailing, eating today’s catch straight off the grill. Living like gods.” He spread his arms wide, the stormy wind catching the edges of his shirt, making him look like some kind of tempest-born deity. “A summer of music and sun, with the whole world watching.”

As if I needed more persuading.

And the crazy thing?

Tanglewood would have made this impossible.

If I’d gotten in, I’d already have my summer planned. I’d be locked into a rigorous schedule, bound to classes, workshops, rehearsals.

There wouldn’t be space for Dubrovnik.

For the kind of summer that could launch me into the stratosphere.

And maybe—just maybe—Tanglewood didn’t happen for a reason.

The thought hits me like lightning.

Maybe I was so focused on one door that I didn’t realize another, bigger one was waiting to open.

And now, here it is.

Flung wide open.

Waiting for me to go through it.

Lightning slashed across the sky, illuminating the skyline in a jagged burst of silver.

But for once, it wasn’t the most dramatic thing happening.

My stomach bottomed out. My pulse pounded.

This is it.

It’s happening.

The opportunity I’ve been waiting for. The one I can’t afford to pass up.

Luka, oblivious to the storm inside me, continued wrapping his cello, shielding it from the rain.

“My fall tour starts in September.” His voice hummed with energy, vibrating with possibility. “Thirty cities. I open in Vienna, then Prague, Salzburg—every major music capital. Paris, Berlin, London—” He spread his hands like he was offering me the world. “Finishing with a homecoming run through Eastern Europe.”

Then he paused. Locked onto me with those sharp, gleaming eyes.

“And I want you with me.”

The words crashed into me harder than the thunder overhead.

“What do you say?”

It was like my brain short-circuited, completely forgetting how nouns and verbs were supposed to work together.

My mouth opened—nothing came out. Just air.

My fingers clenched around my cello case, my heart hammering so hard it felt like it was trying to break free.

“Think of the content,” Luka pushed, already framing imaginary shots with his hands. “Behind-the-scenes footage, rehearsal clips, live performance snippets. Some venues even allow full recordings. Our channels would blow up.” He spread his arms wide, pure showman. “We’re electric together,draga. A powerhouse couple on stage.”

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