Page 87 of One Last Encore

Ingrid hesitated. "Yeah?"

Eden nodded. Beck had shown up for her when her old band imploded after a messy breakup. He didn’t have to, but he did. And even though Ingrid had been avoiding him like the plague for half a decade, Eden clearly wasn’t done playing cosmic matchmaker under the banner of ‘closure.’

Ingrid frowned. "Feels like you know something I don’t."

Eden shrugged, but her smile was gentle. "Just that he’s not the same guy who left. And you’re not the same girl who got hurt."

Ingrid swallowed hard. "It’s scary," she said, her voice quiet.

"Anything worth a damn usually is. That’s how you know it matters. And if you’re still carrying something for him after five years? That means something."

Ingrid leaned back, letting Eden’s words settle in. Deep down, she knew she was right. Holding onto all these unresolved feelings wasn’t just exhausting, it was corrosive. It burned a hole through her. Avoiding Beck, refusing to talk about the past, all of it was eating her alive. She nodded slowly.

"Hate when you make sense."

"Love when I’m right."

Eden changed the subject. "So, how’s Swan Lake rehearsal going? Still surviving?"

Ingrid groaned, letting her head fall back against the railing. "Barely. If my instructor tells me to ‘elongate my port de bras’ one more time, I will throw a whole ballerina at someone. And those girls may look delicate, but they will take you down."

And she meant that. One time, she had accidentally stepped into another dancer’s spot during a rehearsal, and the pure malice in that girl’s eyes had been enough to make Ingrid update her will.

Eden smirked. "I, for one, would love to see a ballerina brawl. I feel like they fight like swans, graceful on the outside, absolute violence underneath."

"You joke, but I have seen a girl take an elbow to the ribs over center stage placement," Ingrid said, dead serious.

Eden’s eyes widened. "And that is why I stick to the music industry, where all we do is write passive-aggressive lyrics about each other and pretend we’re fine."

"Yeah, well, in ballet, we silently destroy each other and pretend we’re fine. Totally different sport."

Eden snorted, shaking her head as Ingrid sighed and raked a hand through her hair. "I keep trying to remind myself it’s been five years since the last time I did Swan Lake. I’m a different person now. A stronger dancer with more experience."

Stronger dancer? Yes. Stronger person? Debatable. If anything, she just had fancier ways of repressing her feelings now. Avoidance, for one. Humor, for another.

"You’re an unbelievable dancer. Swan Lake is light work for you now," Eden said, so firm it was like she was trying to manifest confidence into Ingrid’s bloodstream through sheer force of will.

Ingrid tried to absorb the compliment, took a steadying breath, and immediately got ambushed by her own brain.What if you’re actually worse now? What if everyone’s just being nice because they feel bad for you? What if you peaked in college and now you’re just a walking cautionary tale?

"Stop whatever you’re thinking," Eden leaned in slightly, her gaze locking onto Ingrid’s. "Just trust your gut–with Beck, with Swan Lake. You know when something’s right. You just have to surrender to it."

Ingrid visibly flinched. "Surrender is a strong word," she muttered. So is ‘gastroenteritis,’ and she would rather deal with that.

Eden raised a brow. "Oh, please. You’ve thrown yourself onto a stage with a sprained ankle, danced through a fever so bad I thought you were going to hallucinate mid-pirouette, and willingly done fouetté turns in pointe shoes for fun, but talking to one man? Suddenly, that’s too dangerous?"

"That man could emotionally vaporize me," Ingrid shot back. "Gravity at least has the decency to play by the rules."

Eden let out a knowing laugh, shaking her head. Ingrid scowled. Eden had once been just as stubborn, just as determined to keep herself locked behind sarcasm and carefully placed walls. But then Ronan had crashed into her life, and now she was all soft edges and romantic bliss like a reformed cynic in a romance movie.

Ingrid eyed her friend suspiciously. "You’re so disgustingly happy now. What’s next on the agenda for ‘Little Miss Life All Figured Out’?"

Eden grinned. "Writing more music, recording. Loving my hot husband, just living the dream, basically."

Ingrid groaned. "Ugh. Brag much?"

Eden batted her lashes innocently. "Would I?"

"Yes," Ingrid deadpanned. "And I hate that I can’t even be mad about it."

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