ELLE’S POV
I had no idea if it was the way he asked me to jump in that annoyed me or the silly smirk on his face. That infuriating, confident smirk that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. The same smirk that had preceded a hundred pranks and jokes at my expense over the years.
"No thanks," I replied, starting to walk again. The concrete sidewalk stretched ahead, my escape route from Noah Crawford and his persistence.
The low rumble of his car engine followed me as he kept pace with my determined strides. Through the open window, his voice carried on the afternoon breeze. "Don't be difficult, Willsmith."
I continued walking, fingers tightening around my backpack strap. My shoes scraped against the pavement in rhythm with my racing thoughts. Behind me, the car door opened and slammed shut. Then footsteps, quick and purposeful.
He caught up in seconds, his hand closing around my arm. His grip was firm but not painful as he pulled me to a stop. The warmth of his fingers seeped through my sleeve, an unwelcome reminder of how close he stood.
"Let go of me!" I snapped, trying to wrench my arm free. My voice echoed in the empty street.
"Will you just listen for one second?" he demanded. The usual mockery was gone from his tone, replaced by something I couldn't quite identify. Frustration? Desperation?
"Why should I? So you can humiliate me some more?" The words tasted bitter on my tongue. Months of his teasing and pranks had built a wall between us that felt impossible to scale.
He didn't say a word. In the silence, my mind traitorously sprung back to the kiss earlier, it was unexpected, confusing, electric. Heat rushed to my face, and I looked away quickly, hoping he wouldn't notice the flush spreading across my cheeks.
The quiet stretched between us like a living thing. A car passed. Birds called from a nearby tree. I shifted my weight, ready to leave again, when he blurted out, "What about I teach you how to play the chords? For free?"
The words stopped me in my tracks. I turned slowly to face him, sure I'd misheard. "What did you say?"
"I heard you in there, trying to learn. And I heard what that judge said about Juilliard." He shifted uncomfortably, one hand raking through his dark hair, like admitting this was physically painful. His gaze darted to the music building behind us, then back to me. "I could teach you if you want."
I stared at him, suspicious. The sunlight caught the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, making them almost seem sincere. "Why would you do that?"
"Maybe I'm trying to be less of a jerk," he shrugged, not quite meeting my eyes. His shoulders tensed under his navy jacket. "Or maybe I just can't stand hearing you murder Beethoven for another minute."
I wanted to say no. Every instinct screamed that this was a trap, another elaborate prank designed to make me look foolish. But the judge's words from this morning's practice session echoed in my mind: "Find someone to teach you proper technique. It could open many doors." Doors I desperately needed opened if I wanted any chance at Juilliard.
The breeze picked up, carrying the scent of his cologne—something woody and unexpectedly subtle. I crossed my arms over my chest, building a barrier between us.
The tension between us eased, just slightly.
My frustration and anger melted away, replaced by a surge of hope so sudden and powerful that it overwhelmed my usual caution.
Without thinking, I launched myself forward, propelled by gratitude and relief. The moment I realized what I'd done—that I was jumping into Noah Crawford's arms—I froze, mortified. His arms wrapped around me reflexively, strong and steady. For a heartbeat, we stood there, locked in an embrace that felt both wrong and strangely right.
Time seemed to slow. I became acutely aware of everything: his heartbeat against my chest, the soft fabric of his jacket beneath my fingers, his breath warm against my hair. When I tilted my head to look up at him, the mockery I expected was absent from his expression. Instead, his eyes darkened, his gaze dropping to my lips, just like earlier.
The air between us charged with electricity. My breath caught in my throat as he leaned down, closing the distance between us millimeter by agonizing millimeter. My eyelids fluttered closed, anticipation coiling tight in my stomach.
A deliberate cough shattered the moment.
"Am I interrupting something?" Lucas's voice, heavy with amusement and something sharper, cut through the tension.
I jumped back from Noah's arms like I'd been shocked, my feet hitting the pavement with a thud. Heat blazed across my face as I smoothed my shirt with trembling hands. Lucas stood a few feet away, backpack slung over one shoulder, eyebrows raised in silent question.
"No," I said too quickly, voice higher than normal. "Nothing. We were just—"
"Discussing piano lessons," Noah finished smoothly, though the slight flush on his neck betrayed him. "I'm going to help Elle with her technique."
Lucas's eyes narrowed, flicking between us. "Piano lessons. Right."
The moment—whatever it had been—was gone, leaving nothing but confusion and the lingering sensation of Noah's arms around me. I stepped back further, creating distance, trying to gather my scattered thoughts.
What had just happened? And worse—what would have happened if Lucas hadn't shown up?