Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
The kitchen feels different now. The same granite counters, the same stainless steel appliances, but the air between us has changed. Charged with something between electric and dense.
I only have the capacity to make a sandwich. Ryder pulls bread from the pantry while I retrieve cheese and deli meat from the fridge. We move around each other carefully, like we’re both hyperaware of the space we occupy. Of how close we are. Of what just happened upstairs.
The kiss.
My fingers tremble slightly as I set the cheese on the counter. I still feel the ghost of his lips on mine. The warmth of his hand cradling my face.
“Mayonnaise or mustard?” Ryder asks, his voice slightly rough.
“Both.”
He nods, retrieving the condiments without looking at me.
The silence stretches, weighted with everything we’re not saying. I focus on layering cheese and turkey onto bread, trying to ignore the fact that my heart is still racing.
Ryder assembles his sandwich with the same careful attention. When our hands accidentally brush reaching for the same knife, we both pull back as if we’ve been burned.
“Sorry,” I murmur.
“No, I—“ He stops, running a hand through his hair. “It’s fine.”
More silence. The kind that makes my skin feel too tight.
I finish making my sandwich and move to the island, settling onto a stool.
Ryder takes the seat beside me, close enough that our knees touch.
I take a bite of my sandwich. Chew. Swallow.
Take another bite. We eat without speaking.
The only sounds are the soft patter of rain against the windows and the occasional rustle of movement.
From the corner of my eye, I watch Ryder eat his own sandwich. His jaw works methodically, and he seems as focused on eating as I am. Like if we just concentrate hard enough on this mundane task, we won’t have to acknowledge what happened upstairs.
But I can’t stop thinking about it. The way he looked at me. The gentleness of his touch. The careful way he asked if it was okay before—
“So,” Ryder says suddenly, breaking the silence. Then he stops, as if he’s not sure what comes next.
I look at him. He’s staring at his sandwich as if it holds the secrets of the universe.
“So,” I echo.
Another beat of silence.
“The storm stopped,” he offers.
I glance towards the window. He’s right; the rain has faded to a light drizzle.
“Yeah.”
“You handled it really well.”
“Thanks to you.”
His eyes flick to mine, and I see heat there. Memory. My face burns, and I quickly look away.
This is excruciating.
I’m about to say something when the sharp click of heels against hardwood echoes from the hallway. Ryder and I both straighten immediately, putting a few more inches of distance between us, acting like guilty teenagers caught doing something we shouldn’t. Which, I suppose, we kind of are.
Miranda sweeps into the kitchen, her phone in one hand and her leather-bound planner in the other. She’s changed from this morning’s workout clothes into a black cashmere sweater and tailored pants.
“There you are,” she says to Ryder. “I’ve been trying to reach you for the past hour.”
“My phone’s upstairs,” Ryder replies, his voice carefully neutral.
Miranda sets her planner on the counter and flips it open. “We need to go over your schedule for the weekend. The venue is confirmed for tonight, and there are several changes to the original timeline.”
Tonight? I glance at Ryder, but his attention is fixed on Miranda.
“The sound check is at six,” Miranda continues, consulting her notes. “Doors open at eight. You’re on at nine-thirty. Mr. Kensington has given me the names of the other executives from the label who will be there.”
Ryder nods casually. “Cool.”
“Mr. Kensington was very pleased with the meeting last night,” Miranda continues. “Tonight is pivotal. It’s like a mini-showcase, but none of the competing bands are in the lineup.”
My stomach tightens. Competing bands? Wow. This showcase really is make it or break it for Ryder.
Ryder leans further toward Miranda, sneaking a peek at her planner. “Sounds good.”
“Tonight’s performance could be the deciding factor in whether he wants to invest in more than one album.”
“That’s good,” Ryder says, though his voice lacks enthusiasm.
Miranda’s eyes narrow slightly. “It’s more than good, Ryder. This is the opportunity we’ve been working toward.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Her tone sharpens. “Because I would have assumed you’d be in the practice room all day.”
Ryder sits back with a shrug. “Sue me. I got hungry.”
Miranda’s eyes flick my way, and then back at him. “Mm-hmm. Just try to keep the distractions to a minimum.”
“I’ll be ready,” Ryder says firmly.
“You’d better be.” Miranda taps her pen against the planer. “Chase and Brooks are already at the venue doing preliminary setup. You need to be there by six at the latest.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Good.” Miranda’s phone buzzes, and she glances at it, frowning. “I need to take this.” She heads toward the doorway, then stops, turning back. “Alice, you’ll have dinner on your own tonight. Mrs. Gallagher won’t be coming in.”
“That’s fine,” I say quietly.
Miranda nods and disappears down the hallway, already answering her phone.
The silence that follows feels heavier than before.
I take another bite of my sandwich, forcing it down past the lump in my throat. Competing bands. Executives. This is real. This is Ryder’s future, and it’s happening tonight.
“You okay?” Ryder asks softly.
“Yeah.” I set down my sandwich, no longer hungry. “That sounds like a big deal.”
“It is.”
“Are you nervous?”
He runs a hand through his hair, that familiar gesture of stress. “Terrified.”
The admission surprises me. Ryder always seems so confident on stage, even with his stage fright.
“You’ll be amazing,” I say wholeheartedly.
“I don’t know.” He pushes his plate away, appetite apparently gone. “Last night at Chase’s house, his dad was laying out all these expectations. Talking about image and marketability and whether we can sustain a career.”
“That’s a lot of pressure.”
“Yeah.” He leans back on his stool, staring at the ceiling. “And now tonight, with all these executives watching... one mistake and it’s over.”
I think about yesterday, playing the keyboard with him. How he couldn’t play alone but could with me beside him.
“Do you want me to come?” The words slip out before I can stop them.
Ryder’s head snaps toward me, surprise clear on his face. “To the venue?”
“Yeah. I mean, if it would help.” My face heats. “Yesterday, with the piano, you said—“
“You’d do that?”
“If it would help you,” I repeat.
Enthusiasm brightens his expression. “It would. Dang, Ally, it really would.”
The nickname sends a thrill through my body. “Then I’ll come.”
“You sure? I get it if crowds aren’t really your thing right now.”
“I’ll manage.”
He reaches over and takes my hand, his fingers threading through mine on the counter between us. The gesture feels natural, as if we’ve been doing it for years.
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
Miranda’s heels click back down the hallway, and Ryder quickly releases my hand. We both grab our sandwiches like they’re the only interesting things in the room.
Miranda appears in the doorway, phone still pressed to her ear, and her expression darkens.
“What do you mean he’s sick?” A pause. “The photographer can’t just cancel four hours before—“ She pinches the bridge of her nose. “No, I understand it’s the flu, but I was promised a marketing budget from the label. I mean, why else am I working with you people?”
I blow out a constricted breath. You people?
She paces toward the window, her posture losing some of its measured control. “Fine. Yes. I’ll figure something out.”
Miranda ends the call and stands there for a moment, staring out at the rain with her jaw clenched.
“What happened?” Ryder asks.
“The photographer won’t be there tonight. He’s out sick.”
“Can you get someone else?” Ryder asks.
“On four hours’ notice?” Miranda turns back to us, frustration radiating off every line of her body. “I doubt anyone halfway decent is available tonight.”
I watch the tension build in her shoulders and the way her fingers tap against her phone. Calculations are running overtime, trying not to spiral as she racks her brain for a solution.
“Alice could do it,” Ryder says.
Both Miranda and I turn to stare at him.
Miranda’s lip upturns. “What?”
“Alice could take the photos.” Ryder gestures toward me. “She has a professional camera. She’s good at it.”
Miranda’s gaze lands on me, immediate dismissal in her eyes. “Alice can’t do it.”
“Why not?” Ryder challenges.
“Because she skipped every photography class this week.” Disappointment gives Miranda’s voice a hardened edge. “How can she handle taking professional photos when she can’t even manage to attend a simple class?”
Heat floods my face. It’s a good point.
“She used to take professional photos,” Ryder counters. “For loads of important events. Weddings, hello? She knows what she’s doing.”
Miranda’s eyebrow arches skeptically, and she taps her phone against her chin, taking a beat before responding.
“Alice was taking photos of me upstairs,” Ryder’s voice gains confidence. “They were really good.”
Miranda’s expression shifts, suspicion creeping in. “Upstairs? When you were practicing, or instead of it?”
Ryder huffs and rolls his eyes. “Forget the practicing for one second. I’m telling you, the girl is good.”
“Forget the practicing?” Miranda scoffs. “I’m sorry. Is this the same Ryder Hamilton I signed on as a client, or not? Because the musician I know lives only for the music.”
“I do.” Ryder sits taller. “I do, and Alice can capture my music in a single shot. Do you remember the photo I posted of me sitting by a pond? Remember how the promotions guys went on and on about the spike in engagement?” Ryder gestures at me. “Alice took that shot. I’m telling you, she’s good.”
Miranda’s gaze shifts between us, and I see her mind working. She pauses, something clearly occurring to her, and her eyes narrow slightly as she looks at me. “I remember the glowing report about photography on the transcript from your old school.”
My breath catches. She remembers that?
“I had a good read over every subject, Alice, before I filed everything away.”
Files. My mind flashes back to Miranda’s office upstairs. Three filing cabinets, one marked: ‘Personal.’
Miranda taps her phone against her palm, thinking. As the silence stretches, Ryder’s tension builds beside me.
“Fine,” Miranda says with a huff.
“Fine?” I echo.
“You can come tonight as the photographer.” She holds up a hand before either of us can react. “On the condition that you won’t have a breakdown.”
I sit back, frowning. “Breakdown?”
“Alice, it’s no secret your transition here has been rockier than the mountains outside this window,” Miranda says, gesturing to the cold, overcast landscape outside.
“Tonight is a very important step in both mine and Ryder’s careers.
We can’t have it be overshadowed by a girl making a scene in the middle of the venue. ”
Icy prickles line my skin, and I shake my head. “I won’t make a scene.”
Miranda gives me more eye contact than I can handle. “I mean it, Alice. Don’t say yes to this unless you can handle it.”
I swallow a wadded lump of fear. “I can handle it.”
Miranda shrugs, opens her planner, and makes a quick note. “Fine. Be ready by five-thirty to leave the house.”
When I reply, “Okay,” Miranda’s already marching her high heels out of the kitchen like she has a million to-do list items to check off.
The weighted pressure she leaves behind feels enormous. I stare at my half-eaten sandwich, my appetite completely gone. My hands are trembling, and I press them flat against the counter to steady them.
“You okay?” Ryder asks quietly.
I nod tentatively. “I think so.”
“Sorry if I overstepped. It’s just, before… upstairs. You said you didn’t want to stop taking photos. You seemed to light up.”
“I did.” I look at him, finding something solid to anchor to in his dark eyes. “I want to do this. I want to try.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I take a shaky breath. “Besides, someone needs to make you look good.”
He laughs, the sound breaking some of the tension. “Pretty tall order.”
“I’m up for the challenge.” I slide my hand over his. “Besides, with you around, taking photos doesn’t seem as scary anymore.”
“That’s good.” His pinky rubs against mine. “Because I need you around. My muse. The thought of playing music in front of a crowd seems less scary if you’ll be right there.”
“Hey, you’re a rockstar, remember?” I lean into him. “How can some random people scare you? The stage is yours to own.”
Ryder mumbles a laugh. “Thank you for doing this.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I might be terrible.”
“You won’t be.” His thumb brushes across my knuckles. “You’re going to be amazing.”
The certainty in his voice makes my chest ache. “How do you know?”
“Because I’ve seen what you can do.” He lifts our joined hands, pressing a quick kiss to my knuckles. “I’m really glad you’re coming tonight.”
A breathy sigh escapes me. “Me too. I can’t wait to watch you perform live.”