4. Nick
NICK
Pick-a-Little, Talk-a-Little - The Music Man
“Any time.” My voice has never been this hoarse, and my lungs squeeze out short, tight breaths like I’m running. But I stand perfectly still, too afraid to move and break whatever spell we’re under.
She’s here. She’s here, close enough that the heat of her body seeps into mine. She’s here and looking at me, really looking at me.
She’s here .
Her blonde hair’s pulled back, but my fingers itch to tunnel through it, feel how soft it is.
I try to ignore the way she slots perfectly next to me—puzzle pieces clicking together—because I’m supposed to be mad.
Or confused? Actually, I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel when the woman who has consumed so many of my waking thoughts, and dreams, and fantasies, loudly proclaims we’re dating after not speaking to me for twelve years.
She takes a step back. “I didn’t mean to blindside you.”
Why did she step back? I should pull her in again.
“Nicholas!” Chelsea shouts over the crowd.
Normally, I’d be thrilled to see Chessie with her wife, Nat, in tow.
We met when I started teaching at Conservatory five years ago, and our friendship has grown into something real, genuine.
I’ve even visited both of them in the city when Nat got me tickets to a show she was directing.
But her presence pops the bubble Junie— June —and I have been in.
“Glad you’re back,” Chessie whisper-shouts in my ear as she leans in for a hug.
I hug Nat next, yelling over her head, “Glad to be back.”
Chessie’s short bob sways at her chin as she tilts her head toward June. “Who’s your friend?”
I glance at said friend , but her attention is solely focused on Nat. So, I ask, “Uh, June?”
She turns, meeting my eyes again, and something in my chest settles before her gaze flits to Chelsea. “Hi, I’m Juniper, the new voice instructor.”
“Chelsea Winters, orchestra conductor, and music director for the musical. This is my wife?—”
“Natalia Rivera, I know. Holy shit, please excuse my fan girl moment.” June cuts Chessie off, reaching out to shake Nat’s hand.
Nat laughs, brushing her purple-highlighted hair behind her shoulder before taking June’s hand. “I didn’t realize my reputation preceded me.”
Me either .
“I read your interview with Playbill a couple months ago. You were amazing.” June’s blue eyes are bright, hands flailing, as she continues, “What you said, about our generation growing into new roles in theatre, grappling with what growing older means, really resonated with me.”
Nat blinks fast, smiling. “Wow, thank you. Can we hug? Is that weird?”
“Oh my god, I would die,” June pronounces before launching herself at Nat. The two women hug, bouncing on their heels and laughing.
Chessie breaks in, a Cheshire cat smile directed at me. “So, June, how do you and Nick know each other?”
June’s face freezes. She’s clearly forgotten how much Conservatory thrives on gossip. With one comment to Shaw the twatwaffle, the entire bar assumes we’re dating.
I reach a hand around her back, and she relaxes into my touch. My heart jackhammers in my chest and ratchets up further when she bites her bottom lip, replying, “We went to high school together.”
“We reconnected this past year,” I say.
She looks up, a blinding smile painting her gorgeous lips.
Jesus, she just gives that smile away for free.
I don’t know how committed she is to this dating pretense, but I’ll go along with it for now—I don’t want to embarrass her.
June clears her throat, focusing on Chessie again. “Yeah, reconnected.”
Ethan chooses this moment to appear. When he leaned in close to June earlier, something built under my skin and gripped me tight, tensing all my muscles. A dangerous voice had echoed in my mind, one I had no business listening to.
She’s mine .
Ethan shoots June a smile, and I instinctively pull her closer. His eyes widen on mine.
“Anyone need a drink?” His shit-eating grin practically screams you’re so screwed . No argument there. “I need two .”
I don’t even care about his stupid bet anymore because it’s June . My hand slides across her shoulder blades as I reach for her hand, unwilling to let go of her as I head for the bar. Piss poor teacher’s salary be damned, I’ll buy a round for everyone if Junie Danielowicz keeps smiling at me.
We traveled in the same circles in high school—orchestra, musicals, marching band—but never really spoke.
I stared at the back of her head in Bio II every day of senior year, hoping she’d wear her hair up so my eyes could trace the delicate curve of her neck.
The thought knocks me back to the present.
How would the skin of her throat feel beneath my fingers?
She’s so close, only a few inches and I’d find out.
Screw my fingers, I could use my mouth?—
A line of fire shoots down my spine and I shift to face the bar before she notices the sizable bulge in my jeans. “What’re you having?” I rasp.
“White wine, please.” She leans in and whispers in my ear, and I shudder.
I keep my eyes on the bartender, needing a minute to get it together. But how can I when every cell in my body screams her name?
I watched her perform in every musical as I sat below in the orchestra pit.
Even junior year, when my mom died and I played piano for Carousel .
When June sang “You’ll Never Walk Alone,” I was grateful the pit was dark and out of the way so I didn’t have to hide my silent tears.
That song came to me at a time when I desperately needed it, inspiring me to pursue a performance degree, even though that fell through in the end.
June has always been gorgeous. Hell, anyone with eyes would agree. But after Carousel , she was more. Her voice helped loosen the complicated knot of grief and loss and anger that had tightened and trapped me after I lost my mom.
Anyone can sing a song. But to make music, the kind that burrows into your soul, that’s more than talent. It’s a gift. It’s been thirteen years, but I’ve never forgotten it—her music. That’s the feeling I search for when I watch the TikToks she posts.
She lays her hand on top of mine where it grasps the lip of the bar.
I feel like I’m on Bridgerton or something, the way a gentle brush of our hands stirs a riot of feelings in my chest. June licks her lips, then says, “Thanks again. I—I have no idea what happened. My brain sort of left my body and?—”
Ethan slides between us, grabbing the beer I’d ordered for him. He takes a huge swig and sighs, saying, “Ahhh, tastes like a winner.”
Right, we’re surrounded by people. Once Ethan leaves, other faculty members approach.
The night wears on, and everyone asks how June and I met, how long we’ve been together, and worry walls up my heart.
June’s all smiles; this is a performance for her.
The rising tide of emotions builds and builds, even though I dam them up brick by brick.
Except I can’t make myself walk away. I spent over a decade convincing myself that my high school crush was nothing.
But having her here, next to me, touching me? This is no passing teenage crush.
If I only get her for tonight, then I have to pretend this was a one-time ruse for the next six weeks … I’ll lose my fucking mind. Holding her hand is the most alive I’ve felt in a long time, and while that scares the shit out of me, I can’t let go.
June must sense my warring feelings. Her smiles go from conspiratorial to questioning. I hate that the light in her eyes dims, that I’m the one to do it, but I need to protect myself.
Eventually, Ethan approaches once again, eyes holding mine for a second. He’ll go along with our ruse, but his nosy ass wants the details. I give a slight nod in agreement.
He claps me on the back and says, “I’m taking off. Juniper, it was nice meeting you.”
A blush creeps from her cheeks down her neck. Is she flustered because of Ethan? That jealous voice returns, pounding in my head.
“You too.” June bites her lip, a worried line deepening in her brow. “Thanks for not saying anything. About us.”
It must be embarrassment painting her cheeks, nothing more. The snarling in my chest quiets. For now.
“Any time. But my silence has a price.” He points a finger between us. “I’m gonna need this story.”
She chuckles. “Not much to tell.”
Hurt bangs against my protective wall, but I refuse to let it in. I’ll keep a stranglehold on my dignity and stay away. As casually as possible, I let go of her hand. It’s strange and wrong, but I push those feelings aside and say, “I should go, too. See you tomorrow?”
She blinks, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Of course, yeah.”
“Hey, June, do you need a ride back to campus?” Ethan’s question is for Juniper, but he stares at me, head tilting in challenge.
“It’s fine. I’ll walk with everyone else when they take off.” Her smile is forced. Have her eyes been this tired all evening?
“I could drop you off,” I offer, gritting my teeth. Good job walking away . But I can’t leave her to walk back to campus in the dark, even with a group of people.
“Oh, thanks.” Her face brightens.
Because of me.
I could become addicted to that smile—the rush, the satisfaction of being the one to put it on her face. Like I can lay claim to it. My heart twists, just shy of painful, but it feels good, too.
“Glad that’s settled.” Ethan winks and herds us out the door into the parking lot with minimal fanfare from everyone still inside.
“Night, kids!” He jogs to his car and speeds away, leaving June and I alone. In a dark and quiet parking lot. Not a bar full of people.
The lulling hum and buzz of streetlights and nighttime insects grows louder. Gravel scrapes under June’s shoes and I turn in her direction. She wrings her hands, probably working up to how to let me down easy. This has to end. She’s not mine, she’ll never be mine.