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I sighed. “You said sometimes the song don’t need more notes. It needs more feeling.”

“Exactly,” he said. “You was tryna perfect the melody, but the soul was missing. And that ain’t somethin’ you can force.”

He let that land.

Then, quieter, like he was talking to the part of me that still didn’t want to feel too much.

“You always get stuck when you try to control it. But when yougive it love—when you lead with that—it opens up. Every time.”

I swallowed.

Because I knew he wasn’t talking about studio sessions anymore.

“Don’t wait too long,” he added. “You can lose a good thing tryin’ to keep your hands clean.”

Then he hung up.

I stared at the phone for a second. Thumb hovering. Thoughts loud.

He always did that—dropped wisdom and vanished before I could armor up again.

I wasn’t sixteen anymore, tryna make my first beat on a hand-me-down Mac. This wasSienna,and she wasn’t just a verse or a hook. She was the song I hadn’t figured out how to write yet, and I was scared that if I didn’t move right… I’d lose the only thing that ever made me want to sing like this.

I slid my phone into my pocket and turned around and found her watching me with calm eyes and a quiet posture.

We didn’t speak. We just… moved toward each other.

Toward the thing neither of us had the courage to name out loud yet.

But it was there and maybe—for the first time—we were both starting to hear the same song.

Dinner was slow and private.

Candlelight and comfort food. She ordered for both of us again, teasing me with bites and that smug smile that made me want to kiss her in public and deal with the consequences later.

She laughed. I matched it.

She touched my hand. I didn’t let go.

And when the check came, she didn’t ask what was next. She just looked at me. Like she already knew.

We didn’t speak in the car. Didn’t need to. Dre kept his focus on the road while her fingers traced lazy circles on my palm.

He pulled up to my building. I didn’t say a word—just reached for the door.

She followed. Her hand was still in mine when we stepped into my place. I didn’t let it go.

Didn’t want to.

Not after the way she fed me like I was hers, slow and smug and knowing. Not after the way she laughed, like music I wanted to memorize. Not after she chosemy floorwithout a word, like the decision had already been made in her body.

Now here she was—standing in my space, bathed in dim light and that scent she always wore. Something soft but commanding. Like intention.

Sienna Ray didn’t stumble. She stepped into things. Fully. Boldly. And that’s exactly what she did now.

She slipped off her coat, hung it on the hook near the door. Turned to face me with no hesitation in her eyes.

“Still thinking about that pasta?” she asked.