Chapter 19Ingrid. Early November, Five years ago
INGRID. EARLY NOVEMBER, FIVE YEARS AGO
After squeezing through two packed subway rides, dodging an impromptu breakdancing show, and narrowly avoiding a flying fingernail from a woman clipping her nails beside her, Ingrid finally made it to Brooklyn.
"Finn!" Ingrid called, her voice cutting through the quiet street.
The shaggy-haired man turned at the sound of his name, a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips.
"Hey, I almost didn’t recognize you in real clothes. What are you doing here? Looking for Princess Peach? Hate to break it to you, but wrong castle," Finn said, smirking like he was expecting a standing ovation.
Ingrid blinked, momentarily thrown. Then she caught the not-so-subtle glance at her red beret. Oh my God. He was calling her Mario from that video game.
"Seriously?" she deadpanned. "This is vintage Chanel. Not plumber cosplay."
"I bet you’re here for another cuddle session. Too bad Beck isn’t home," Finn teased, taking a slow drag of his cigarette before he crushed it under his shoe, flashing a wolfish grin. "But I could step in if you’re desperate…"
"That won’t be necessary," a deep voice cut in from behind her.
Beck appeared at her side, all casual confidence and perfectly timed entrances. Without slowing down, he handed a pizza box to Finn like he’d spent years cutting him off mid-nonsense.
He slipped an arm around Ingrid, pulling her closer. And just like that, the nerves buzzing under her skin melted away.
"You look amazing," Beck murmured, his voice sending goosebumps over her body. The way he looked at her, his gaze lingering on her plaid skirt and black turtleneck made her stomach flutter.
Before she could even think about what she was doing, her arms slipped inside his jacket, drawn to the warmth radiating from him. Wrapped in his arms, she felt safe. Secure. Like she belonged there.
"I love the look, it’s very Cher from Clueless ," a voice chimed in.
Ingrid blinked, startled. She turned to see a shorter guy with raven-black hair, casually munching on a garlic knot like he’d been there the whole time.
"Where did you come from?" Ingrid asked before she could stop herself.
He grinned around a bite. "The shadows. But technically? The pizzeria on Bedford."
"This is Reef," Beck said, resigned. "He just… appears. Especially when carbs are involved."
"I am summoned by yeast," Reef said solemnly, raising the garlic knot in the air. "Also, it is a pleasure to officially meet you. You’re even prettier up close."
"Thank you?" Ingrid raised an eyebrow, thrown. "Are you always like this?"
"Oh no," Reef said. "Sometimes I play guitar."
"Hey, I play bass!" Finn called from behind them. "You don’t hear me bragging. And I’m wicked good with my fingers too."
He wiggled said fingers suggestively. Reef high-fived him with his free hand, his other still gripping the garlic knot.
Beck let out a long breath, the kind that said this has happened before. His chest vibrated lightly against her arms. He shifted slightly, subtly placing himself between Ingrid and the two-person tornado.
"Don’t mind them," he murmured near her ear, his breath warm against her skin, sending a shiver straight down her spine. "Complete pigs."
"Well, these pigs brought pizza and garlic knots," Reef announced proudly, shaking a greasy white bag in the air. "So it’s join us, or no pizza for you."
Before Ingrid could respond, Finn began snorting dramatically, stomping around in a circle like an actual pig.
She pressed her lips together, fighting the very real urge to laugh.
Beck ignored them entirely, his focus solely on her. "Forget the pizza. I’ll get you hot chocolate and croissants," he said softly, holding out his hand.
Ingrid turned to Finn with a playful smirk. "Bye, Shaggy," she said, giving him a quick wave before glancing at Reef. "And I guess that makes you Scooby."
Reef froze mid-bite, the garlic knot hovering in front of his mouth like she’d just called him a crusty sock.
"I beg your entire pardon?" he said, genuinely appalled. "Scooby? This "–he gestured to himself like he was showcasing a luxury car–"is giving dog to you?"
Finn lost it, laughing so hard he nearly dropped the pizza box. "Oh my God, dude. She pegged you in five seconds flat. That’s brutal."
"I am deeply offended," Reef declared. "I’m at least a Velma. Mysterious. Brilliant. A little spicy."
"You’re a snack-hoarding menace with zero boundaries," Finn wheezed. "You’re like if Scooby and a raccoon had a baby and raised it in a Taco Bell dumpster."
Beck chuckled under his breath, clearly resigned to the madness. He slipped his hand into Ingrid’s and gave her fingers a soft squeeze as they turned to leave.
"Don’t encourage them," he murmured near her ear, amused. "Now he’s going to talk about this for a week."
Behind them, Reef called out. " VELMA , you hear me? I solve mysteries and I do it in style!"
"You drooled on your shirt ten minutes ago," Finn added helpfully.
Ingrid waved over her shoulder, a smirk tugging at her lips as their bickering faded behind them. Beck guided her down the street, his fingers warm and steady in hers.
The city noise dulled to a hum, their steps falling into an easy rhythm.
"Sorry about them," Beck said, glancing at her with a sheepish smile. "They’re not exactly used to... guests."
"They’re great," Ingrid said, laughing. "Totally chaotic, but somehow weirdly charming."
Beck chuckled. "Try living with them, it wears off fast. I figured something quieter might be more your vibe. Hot chocolate and a croissant felt like… peace."
"How’d you even know I’m obsessed with hot chocolate?" she asked, turning to him with a curious smile. "You figured that out, what, week three?"
"Week two, actually. I saw you drinking it at practice." He grinned. "Swear to God, I’ve never seen anyone look at whipped cream like that. I was genuinely a little jealous."
Ingrid laughed, a little caught off guard. "That’s ridiculous."
"You say that," Beck said, squeezing her hand, "but I saw you eyeing that mug last Tuesday like it just whispered sweet nothings and promised you a stable future."
Her cheeks warmed, partly from his observation and partly from the fact that yes, she had, in fact, gazed lovingly at a cup of hot chocolate before.
"You noticed that?" she asked, her voice quieter now, surprised.
"Yeah," Beck replied, his tone gentler. "I notice everything about you."
His eyes were on her, and a warmth bloomed in her chest. His messy brown hair swayed in the cool breeze, a few strands lazily brushing against his forehead, like even his own hair couldn’t resist caressing his face.
They reached a café, a cozy little spot tucked away on a street corner. Beck ordered two hot chocolates and a plate of croissants while Ingrid settled into a slightly wobbly table with mismatched chairs.
When he brought the mugs over, he carefully placed hers in front of her before sitting across from her with his own.
She sipped hers tentatively. Beck, however, just held his cup, his fingers wrapped around it like he was absorbing warmth through osmosis.
It wasn’t the first time she’d noticed that he never actually drank the hot chocolate he ordered.
It was like he only got it so she wouldn’t feel awkward sipping hers alone.
His eyes stayed on her, not in a way that felt intrusive, but soft and steady. The tenderness in his gaze made her stomach flip.
"What’re you thinking about?" she asked, breaking the silence.
"I was wondering what’s going on in there," Beck leaned forward slightly, tapping the side of her head lightly with his warm fingers. Then, after a beat, his voice dipped lower, softer. "And… how much I want to kiss you. But I don’t want to scare you off."
Did this man not have a filter? It was oddly refreshing the way he never seemed to hold anything back with her. What had first read as cocky now just felt… honest. Like he wore the charm for everyone else but let her see the real thing underneath.
It was disarming. Especially for someone like her, someone who spent so much time holding everything in.
Her cheeks warmed, and before she could stop it, a smile tugged at her lips–soft, unguarded, and entirely his fault.
She hesitated, her hand tightening around her cup. "Let me say something first," she started, her voice steady despite the anxious thrum in her chest. "After that, you can decide if you still want to kiss me."
Her gaze dropped to the cup in her hands, watching her reflection ripple in the liquid. Fear gripped her throat, but she forced herself to swallow it down. Her hands clenched, nails biting into her palms.
Beck noticed. His hand moved across the table, gently uncurling her fingers and smoothing his thumb over the small crescent indentations left by her nails.
"There’s nothing you could say that would change my mind about you," he said softly, his voice warm and reassuring.
She stared at him. It should have felt reckless, the way he said it, like caring for her wasn’t something she had to earn. But maybe that was the point. Maybe real love was someone willing to sit beside your shadows, unafraid of the mess, holding space for even the pieces you’d tried to bury.
Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself. Here goes nothing.
"I wanted to tell you about the scars."