He had the girl he’d been dreaming about for years, the one who he was head over heels crazy for, the one he’d followed to college to be with—and for the program, of course. Clara Grant. In Miller’s eyes, perfect.

Only… he wasn’t happy.

Sure, he was at the University of North Carolina School of the Arts. Sure, he was pursuing directing. Sure, he wasn’t far from home—but Winston-Salem, where the school is, was a lot different from little old Dylan.

Clara was different, too. Now, more than ever, her acting seemed like an escape from her real life. She spent less time with Miller and more on the stage, and it felt like she was avoiding him.

It hurt. Miller needed a break, an out—to do something without Clara for once. So when a guy from his short film class offered Miller his second ticket to the ballet, he took it without a second thought.

Enamored.

That was what Miller was feeling as he watched the show’s highlighter spin on stage. Entranced, allured. Obsessed—enchanted.

He had to know you. Had to. When you stuck around after the show, sitting on the stage in your skirt and your pretty pointe slippers, he made his way down, hands in his pockets and a flush crawling up his neck.

“Hey! I mean, uh, hey,” Miller coughed awkwardly, his face getting hot. “I-I really liked your dancing. You’re really, uh… good.”

His face burned hotter. Good? Just good? This is what it felt like to have a crush on Clara in the tenth grade—

Oh. Oh, no.