The crackle of the fire in the small stone hearth filled the living room with soft warmth. Shadows danced lazily along the wooden walls, the faint smell of pine smoke mingling with the scent of cocoa and burnt popcorn. A mug sat forgotten on the edge of the low coffee table, and someone’s phone played lo-fi beats through a tinny Bluetooth speaker. It was the end of a long day—hiking, laughing, a car that nearly got stuck in mud—and now all four of them were lounging in the cozy rental house, somewhere at the edge of nowhere.

Jake was sprawled across the rug, lazily flipping through a travel magazine he’d found. Rory and Mason were locked in some competitive mobile game, their occasional curses piercing the otherwise mellow atmosphere. Eliza sat cross-legged in the armchair, tucked into her dark pullover, burgundy beanie pulled low over her brow. She was quiet tonight, watching the fire like it might answer something for her.

Jonah sat in his usual place—far end of the couch, socked feet tucked under his knees, silent. He looked like part of the furniture. Forgotten. But then he did something none of them expected.

He reached for the old acoustic guitar leaning against the wall. No one had noticed he’d brought it. He didn’t say a word. Just pulled it into his lap, thumbed the strings softly—testing, tuning, coaxing a voice from the worn wood. Then, like he’d done it a thousand times, he started to play.

It wasn’t loud or flashy. Just a quiet, slow melody that hummed through the room like a memory you’d forgotten you loved. The fire crackled in time, the lo-fi music was quietly shut off, and the room stilled. The others looked up, surprised—but it was Eliza who reacted first.

“Wow,” she said softly, setting her mug down. Her voice broke the moment like glass. “I didn’t know you could play guitar. That’s... really cool.”

Jonah looked up, just briefly, then back down at the strings. “I don’t usually play around people.”

“Well, you should.” She stood, stepping over Jake’s legs, ignoring the way Rory looked up from his screen to watch her move. She walked to the couch and without asking, sat down right next to Jonah. Not just beside him—close. Close enough that their knees brushed and the edge of her tousled hair grazed his shoulder.

He swallowed, faltering slightly on a chord.

Eliza smiled, her eyes lit by the fire and something else. She tilted her head to get a better view of his hands, watching the way his fingers moved across the frets. “You play beautifully,” she said, quieter now. Just for him.

Jonah didn’t answer. He kept playing. Not because he didn’t want to speak—but because he was afraid if he did, the spell would break. She was right there. Sitting beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her scent—something warm and soft, like cedar and cinnamon—made his head foggy. He’d imagined this before. Hundreds of times. But now that it was real, he felt paralyzed in it.

“What’s the song?” she asked.

“Just something I made up,” he mumbled.

“Wait—so not only do you play, but you write music too?” she said, brows raising. “Jonah. Come on. How are you hiding this?”

“I don’t know,” he said, voice low. “Didn’t think anyone would care.”

Eliza leaned back against the couch, her shoulder brushing his arm again. “Well, I care,” she said.

The room had gone silent around them. The others had gone back to their distractions, or maybe they were pretending not to watch. Jonah didn’t know. Couldn’t care.

She was looking at him with that thoughtful, melancholy gaze of hers. Like she was trying to solve a riddle. Her dark eyes lingered on his profile, and he tried not to squirm under it.

“Play something else?” she asked.

He nodded, starting again. This time something softer. Slower.