Page 19 of Dissonance

The smell of food drifts between us, warm and fragrant and considerably more appealing than the wine I’d been pretending was dinner.

“Have you eaten?” he asks, holding up the bag.

“Is that your apology?”

One corner of his mouth lifts. “Figured you’d appreciate this more than flowers.”

Pursing my lips, I glance at what he’s offering. He’s not wrong. And Lockie doesn’t show up uninvited at a woman’s door with takeout and an almost-smile unless he means it. Which is exactly why I step back, half-laughing, half-huffing at myself for doing it. “You don’t know what I like.”

“I do,” he says, walking past me. “Or I did. We’ll see if I still remember.”

The door closes behind him with a soft snick, sealing us into the quiet warmth of my apartment. There’s no pause, no waiting for me to lead. He moves through the space with quiet certainty, past the entry table, toward the kitchen. He’s only been here once. Long enough ago that I’d convinced myself I’d forgotten he ever was.

Apparently, not well enough.

I rarely have people here. Not like this, not at this hour, not with wine already open and jazz playing and my defenses somewhere back in the office where I left them. Heat creeps up the back of my neck as I follow him. I don’t know what’s worse: that he remembered the layout, or that some part of me knew he would have.

Pausing by my sofa, he glances at the laptop still open, head tilting toward it. “Still working?”

“I was almost done,” I lie.

He hums like he doesn’t believe me—he shouldn’t—and disappears into the kitchen. I follow, grabbing plates and cutlery as he unpacks the containers, the two of us moving around the space in a way that shouldn’t feel this natural. Hotel rooms, rushed mornings, stolen hours that’s more our thing, not quiet dinners in my apartment.

“Thai,” he says, sliding a bowl of Panang curry toward me. “From that place you ordered the night we—”

I raise an eyebrow when he stops. “The night we…?”

His eyes lift to mine. My stomach flips, just once. Oh. The first and only time he was here.

“So, what were you working on?” he asks, nodding when I show him an empty wineglass.

I pour the red, shrugging lightly. “Gold Coast Live Series tried to lock Sip Station into an unpaid meet-and-greet after a fourteen-hour travel day.”

“They can’t do that,” he says, frowning, his fingers grazing mine as he takes the glass.

“They’re not. Not anymore.”

We take our bowls to the living room, and I close the laptop, shifting it aside one-handed to make room. I tuck one leg under me, my music filling the silence between bites.

“Sydney added a second night,” I tell him around a mouthful, unable to stop the sound of pleasure when the spicy coconut hits my tongue. “Sold out in three hours.”

“The Opera House?” His eyebrows lift when I nod. “That’s massive, Thea.”

“It’s earned,” I correct, warmth rising in my chest. Sip Station’s worked so damn hard for this, and watching it happen, seeing them soar, it’s indescribable.

We fall quiet again, finishing the last of the food. I set my bowl down and reach for my wine, shifting to face him. The cushion between us feels smaller than it did before, his arm stretched out along the backrest behind me. He’s not touching, but his fingers are close enough that I’m aware of every inch of the distance.

Three years since we’ve been alone together like this, and my body still hasn’t learned a damn thing.

“That company of yours,” he says, breaking the silence. “Still just you and the assistant?”

“And a PR manager.” A thread of pride weaves into my voice. “After some things went down with Sip Station a couple of years ago, you remember their drummer, Paige? I brought on her best friend, Olive, full-time, too. She handled the fallout brilliantly.”

The corner of his mouth lifts. “But you’re still doing all the hard parts yourself.”

“Control issues make excellent business models,” I tease. Unsustainable, sure, but true.

This is the version of me he’s always known. Before the titles and the contracts and the carefully built reputation. The girl who planned five steps ahead because she always knew she wanted to build something of her own.