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“I’m not grinning.”

“You’re doing it right now.”

I look away.

“Haven’t you got anything better to do,” I say bluntly, fed up with the inquisition. “Go talk to Cassie, Theo. See if she’ll take you back… for the fifth time?”

Theo’s smirk vanishes. Josh snorts.

“Low blow, Thorne,” Theo murmurs.

I haven’t mentioned Ellise because I haven’t spoken to her yet. Whatever happened on Friday night belongs to the two of us until we’ve had the chance to figure out what it means. I’m not about to let these two idiots turn it into common gossip before I’ve even seen her.

Which is becoming a problem, because I haven’t seen her at all since Friday.

I’ve ‘accidently’ walked past the library twice already today, outside her dorms, and the east corridor. I keep telling myself she isn’t avoiding me, though as the hours pass by, I’m not entirely convinced anymore. I contemplated messaging her over the weekend, but didn’t want to seem like I was chasing, so I have been casually lingering, hoping to bump into her.

“Where are you guys with the plan for the Music and Literature night?” I interject, taking control of the conversation to shut them up.

The event isn’t until early January, which means we’ve still got a couple of weeks to get everything locked in before the holiday break wipes everyone out for Christmas.

I hate admitting it, but I’ve spent the better part of two solid weeks burning through my contact list, calling in every favour that I can. All to make sure the night is flawless.

“What’s the word on the press side?” Theo asks, recovering his bruised ego quickly enough to chime in.

“I dropped a line to that contact at the Times—the arts guy who I met after the solo at Carnegie Hall. He said he'll be there,” I reply.

“I’ve messaged some of the players in the ensemble. They said they’d come, too,” Marco states with a relaxed shrug.

“Oh, and a few poets I know from class are also going to come,” Theo adds, flicking his surfer blonde hair out of his eyes.

Josh studies the rigid set of my shoulders. “You’re really going all out on this one, aren’t you?”

“It’s about standards.” I lie smoothly. “I said I’d do it, and won’t do a shit job. My name is attached to it.” Pushing off the wall, I decide I’m done with this conversation. “Anyway, practice room is booked for two. I’ve got to work on my solo. Catch you guys later.”

They call something behind me through the entrance hall, but I don’t look back.

The main staircase sweeps upward toward the practice rooms on the top floor, and today the winter light coming through the glass-domed ceiling is doing something extraordinary. It reflects off the white marble, illuminating the exact person I’ve been hunting for.

She’s standing at the top of the staircase, her black violin case hanging from her shoulder. She looks deep in thought, her brow slightly furrowed as she looks down at something in her hand.

She hasn’t noticed me yet. For a second, I stop at the bottom of the steps, looking up at her, completely paralysed.

Then she spots me.

I watch the exact second the realisation hits her face—taking in the fact that I’m standing at the base of the staircase, staring up at her like an absolute idiot. Something flickers across her piercing blue eyes, as she begins to close the distance between us with carefully precise steps. I automatically walk up to meet her.

We meet somewhere in the middle.

“Julian.” She pauses on the step above me. “Hi.”

“Hi.” I am apparently incapable of doing better than that.

Neither of us know what the fuck to do with ourselves. It’s bloody awkward. We don’t know where to put our hands or where to look.

The lingering memory of where our hands and mouths were on Friday night hangs thick in the air between us.

“How are you?” she asks finally.