The bar smelled like beer-soaked wood and saltwater air drifting in from the coast. Neon signs buzzed overhead in tired pinks and blues, flickering against old framed records nailed crookedly into the walls. Outside, Fort Myers sweated beneath the weight of another humid summer night, but inside the little venue, everything pulsed warm and alive beneath stage lights and basslines.

Jordan Wessley sat in the same spot he always did now—toward the side of the stage, close enough to see you clearly but far enough that nobody bothered him too much. People had started recognizing him. Bartenders gave him knowing looks. Drummers from other local bands slapped his shoulder when they passed. A few girls whispered once or twice when they noticed how often he showed up.

Still, he came to every show.

But now he knew the exact moment your eyes usually swept the crowd looking for him. He knew the way your shoulders loosened slightly when you found him standing there. He knew which songs sounded rougher when you were tired and which lyrics you sang differently when you were emotional.

And tonight felt different immediately.

The stage lights painted your skin gold and crimson while your band tuned instruments around you. Someone in the crowd shouted your name. Another voice yelled Jordan’s right after, followed by laughter rippling through the room.

Jordan ducked his head instantly, heat climbing his neck.

The music started loud, guitars rattling through the walls hard enough to shake old bottles behind the bar. Jordan leaned back in his chair, one foot tapping nervously against the sticky wooden floorboards. He watched you move beneath the lights like the songs belonged inside your body before they ever reached the speakers.

Then it happened again.

Halfway through a slower song, your gaze locked onto him while singing.

Not casually. Not accidentally.

The whole room seemed to notice at once.

Jordan felt it immediately—the shift in energy, the grins spreading across strangers’ faces, the nudges between people crowded near the stage. Someone beside him muttered something about “finally.” Another person laughed softly into their drink.

Your voice cracked slightly around one lyric, soft and aching, and Jordan’s chest tightened so painfully he almost hated you for it. He sat frozen beneath the dim lights while the rest of the room blurred into noise and shadows.

Because no matter how many times people joked about the two of you dating, no matter how many times friends rolled their eyes when Jordan disappeared to another one of your gigs, neither of you ever admitted anything.

You were just... this thing in his life now.

Constant.

Like music.

Like the tide.

When the set finally ended, applause thundered through the room while Jordan stood automatically, hands sore from clapping. You disappeared backstage for a moment, and Jordan lingered near the hallway like always, nerves buzzing under his skin while sweaty concertgoers pushed around him toward exits and bathrooms.

Then you appeared.

Hair damp from heat. Shirt clinging slightly to your skin. Breath uneven from performing.

And despite the crowd around you, despite the noise and neon and chaos, your eyes found Jordan instantly.

Like they always did.

Jordan smiled before he could stop himself. Small. Nervous. Real.

You reached him quickly, weaving through people with this restless kind of urgency. Jordan barely had time to process the look on your face before suddenly—

Your hand caught lightly against his wrist.

And then your lips pressed against his.

Quick. Warm. Thoughtless in the way only real feelings could be.

The entire world inside Jordan’s chest stopped moving.

For one impossible second, he forgot how to breathe.

You pulled back just as fast. Panic flickered across your face immediately after, like you’d only realized what you’d done once it was already too late.

“I think,” he said softly, voice uneven from how hard his heart was beating, “you should probably do that again.”