CHAPTER NINE
I Can’t Resist
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
I tug the curtain aside and peer out the window just as the Philadelphia skyline comes into view, its mix of old brick and shining glass glinting beneath the late-morning sun. Light spills through, warm against my skin, and I squint slightly, shielding my eyes as I take it all in.
From somewhere behind me, I hear Cody’s voice rising above the hum of the bus, rattling off animated directions to Elias about the legendary cheesesteak spots we’re headed toward.
From everything I’ve heard, Pat’s and Geno’s sit right across the street from each other, locked in an eternal battle for Philly’s cheesesteak crown.
Elias manages to find an open lot to squeeze our rolling house into, the brakes sighing as we come to a stop. Before the bus can even settle, the guys start piling out, energy high.
I move toward the front just as Elias rises from the driver’s seat. We reach the door at the same moment. He catches my eye, then makes a small gesture for me to go ahead. I flash him a grateful smile and step down onto the cracked pavement.
Cody is already outside, shielding his eyes with one hand like a makeshift visor, pointing dramatically toward our destination. The rest of us fall into an easy line behind him. Elias, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans, drifts beside me.
As we weave through the growing crowds, we arrive at a corner that looks straight out of a foodie’s fever dream: Cheesesteak Corner.
Two rival joints, Pat’s and Geno’s, stand proudly across from each other, neon signs blazing, the air thick with the scent of sizzling meat and onions.
Lines snake down the sidewalks, customers shouting orders over each other while workers in grease-stained aprons sling sandwiches with assembly-line speed.
I watch as a man hesitates too long at one of the order windows, only to be dismissed with a swift wave of a hand. “Too slow!” the sweaty, dark-haired worker barks, his tanned skin gleaming under the sun as he gestures to the next person in line.
We hover for a few moments, taking it all in—the noise, the smell, the chaos—trying to figure out our plan of attack.
“I have an idea,” I say, my voice lifting above the chatter. “What if we split up? Get sandwiches from both places and then share? That way, we can taste-test them both.”
Jasper’s face lights up.
“Genius.” He loops his arm through mine like we’re old partners in crime, claiming me on his team.
Grady glances at Elias, who gives a silent nod of approval.
Cody, however, frowns dramatically, looking wounded.
“So you guys are just gonna pair up and leave me out?”
Grady claps him on the shoulder.
“Looks like it. You’re on your own, Sunshine.” He smirks, heading toward Geno’s while Jasper and I veer toward Pat’s.
Laughter bubbles up between us as Cody stands there, mouth agape, baby blues wide with betrayal. After a few steps, I turn back, my heart tugging a little. I wave him over. His face breaks into an instant, goofy grin as he jogs to catch up, slinging an arm around both Jasper and me.
As we move closer to the order window, Cody leans in.
“Did you hear? Elias gave up his bunk for Ramona last night.”
He delivers the news like he’s just revealed national secrets, eyebrows waggling for effect.
Jasper lets out a low whistle. “For real? Damn, Ramona, what kinda spell did you put on him?”
I laugh awkwardly, shrugging. “He was just being nice. I’m sure it wasn’t a big deal.”
Both guys share a knowing look, snorting under their breath.
“Yeah, no offense, but Elias doesn’t exactly hand out niceties like Halloween candy,” Jasper says. “The guy’s practically allergic to sharing his space. Always has been.”
Before I can respond, we reach the counter, the shouts of orders and the clatter of sandwich presses filling the air around us.
I open my mouth to order, but the thought lingers in the back of my mind like a pebble in a shoe.
Why would he give up his space for me so easily?
The goods in hand, we find a small picnic table and crowd around. Elias ends up next to me with Jasper on my other side.
Our elbows brush as we settle in, my eyes going straight to the connection.
The unexpected touch sends a jolt of awareness through me.
I half expect him to shift away, to reclaim the space between us, but to my surprise, he doesn’t.
He stays close, solid and steady, and suddenly all I can think about is the small patch of skin where we’re still connected.
When I look up I notice Cody’s gaze is locked onto the spot that my eyes just left. He doesn’t say a word, just smiles softly and returns to his meal.
All satisfied after our cheesesteak feast, the guys and I decide to explore more of the city.
We stumble upon a place called the Magic Gardens.
The moment we step inside, it feels like we’ve stumbled into the dream of a mad genius.
It’s equal parts junkyard and kaleidoscope.
The walls aren’t really walls at all, more like living mosaics built from bottle shards, bicycle wheels, and shattered ceramics.
The path beneath our feet is a checkerboard of tiles, some smooth, some chipped, some painted with cryptic messages or tiny portraits I can’t stop squinting at. The air smells faintly of sun-warmed stone and something earthy, like clay.
I run my fingers lightly along a surface of cracked tiles and melted glass.
Everything has texture. Nothing is flat or predictable.
The sun filters through the bottles overhead, casting colored shadows that dance along the ground like stained-glass spirits.
I pause beneath an archway made from twisted metal and mirror fragments.
It feels like standing under a cathedral’s ribs, sacred and strange.
“This place is sick,” Jasper says, spinning in slow circles, the mosaic reflections glinting off his sunglasses.
“I feel like I’m inside someone’s brain,” I reply, still absorbing the details. “Will you take a photo of me?”
“Duh. Hand it over.”
I pass him my phone and move beneath the archway, propping my hands on either side. I offer a smile and he snaps a few shots.
“Thanks,” I say, taking my phone back. I scroll through the photos, heart warming a little at how vibrant the moment looks frozen in time. I send one off to my parents and Ashton, imagining my brother’s enthusiastic double text reply already, then tuck the phone into my pocket.
Grady’s crouched in the corner now, photographing Cody pretending to chug from one of the glass bottle fixtures with full dramatic flair.
I glance around and notice Elias standing apart from the group, focused on a tall installation covered in crushed mirrors and ceramic suns. His arms are folded tightly, like he’s trying to keep his own reflection from getting in.
I step toward him quietly, careful not to disturb whatever headspace he’s in.
“Pretty cool, huh?” I offer.
He doesn’t respond right away. Doesn’t even look over. Just keeps staring at the piece like it might reveal something if he waits long enough. His sunglasses make it hard to read him, but I can see the tension in the way he holds his jaw.
Eventually, he turns toward me and slides off his sunglasses, revealing amber eyes that catch the afternoon sun like they’re lit from within. The way he looks at me makes my breath stutter, my body shifting awkwardly as if I suddenly forgot how to exist in my own skin.
His gaze flicks down quickly before lifting to meet mine again.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs.
I nod, smiling because my brain has short-circuited and forgotten any other possible response.
I slip away without saying more, rejoining the others now clustered in a narrow corridor. My footsteps echo as we explore further, but part of me keeps drifting back to Elias.
We spend the rest of the day playing Philly’s ultimate tourists.
Liberty Bell, Independence Hall, and a handful of dusty museums. We laugh, joke, and take ridiculous photos.
And Elias is there for all of it, but always just on the edge.
Like a shadow walking beside us, never fully stepping into the light. He’s not rude, just… elsewhere.
And it’s not that the guys don’t include him. I watch closely, they do.
It’s him. He keeps a subtle, intentional distance.
When I talk to him, he never shuts me down. But he never leans in either. There’s a hesitation there, like he’s holding a door half-shut—not to be cruel, but because he’s afraid of what might come through if he opens it.
Which, if I’m being honest, only makes me want to knock louder.
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
The Philly show was exhilarating, but with the next show set for Boston tomorrow, we all decided to crash on the bus again tonight and make the drive in the morning.
And again, I’m trapped in a rolling tin can with four sweaty musicians, and let me tell you, the air quality has taken a serious hit.
I really need to have a talk with them about personal hygiene.
The second we all pile onto the bus, the scent of sweat, stale beer, and post-show exhaustion settles like a funky little cloud over us. It’s not overpowering, but it definitely lingers, like an uninvited guest that refuses to take the hint and leave.
Elias, blessedly self-aware, retreats to the shower in the back, leaving the rest of the guys to collapse into their bunks like a pile of discarded marionettes.
Meanwhile, I take it upon myself to do some mild disaster recovery.
Call it survival instincts, but if I’m going to live here, we’re at least going to have some semblance of cleanliness.
I tidy up the living space, reorganize the snack stash (because Cody is a menace and keeps throwing empty wrappers back in the basket like some kind of anarchist), and wipe down the sticky surfaces that I’m choosing not to investigate further.
It’s going well, until I realize we’re out of paper towels. No big deal. I remember Vernon mentioning that there are extras in the supply closet right outside the bathroom.