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I step back, giving her space. “You should go.”
Justine nods but makes no move toward the door. Instead, she rises on her toes once more, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my lips.
“Goodnight, Quinn,” she whispers.
“Goodnight, Justine.”
She slips out the door, leaving me standing alone in the dressing room, the taste of her still on my lips and the certainty that everything has changed. I turn and slide down the wall, pulling my knees toward my chest.
I like her when I shouldn’t.
She likes me when she shouldn’t.
This could be something amazing, or it could destroy both of us.
I guess I have to ask myself if she’s worth it, and if she is, am I ready?
TWENTY
The Thanksgiving table stretches across the hotel suite’s dining room, temporarily transformed from a conference space into something resembling home. Dana has worked magic with the décor—fall-colored tablecloths, miniature pumpkins, and candles creating warm pools of light. None of us wanted to miss the holiday, even on tour, so Elle arranged this private dinner for both bands. Everyone’s dressed nicely but comfortably: Sinful Distraction on one side, Plum on the other, like some awkward family reunion.
I adjust my collar and survey the room. Hendrix is already halfway through his second glass of wine, engaged in animated conversation with Wynonna. Keane and Ajay are showing Chandler how to properly fold cloth napkins into swans. Dana’s directing the hotel staff on the exact placement of serving dishes.
No sign of Justine yet.
My phone buzzes with another photo from Peyton: the triplets dressed in matching Thanksgiving outfits. I smile and show Keane, who nods appreciatively.
The door opens, and Justine walks in. She pauses when she sees me, a small smile playing on her lips. Her lavender hair is styled in loose waves, and she’s wearing a simple burgundy dressthat makes her eyes look almost violet. My heart does that stupid flutter thing it’s been doing around her lately.
Since that night in the dressing room, we’ve been . . . something. Not quite a couple, but definitely more than friends. Stolen moments between shows, late-night conversations on the bus, and kisses—so many kisses that I’ve lost count. But we’ve been careful. Discreet. The last thing either of us needs is band drama.
“Hey,” she says, sliding into the empty seat beside me. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Worth the wait,” I reply quietly, so only she can hear.
Under the table, her hand finds mine, our fingers intertwining for just a moment before separating. These brief touches have become our language, a secret communication system that says everything we can’t say out loud.
Dana finally sits down, signaling it’s time to begin. “Before we dig in, I thought we could do that thing where we go around and say what we’re thankful for.”
Hendrix groans dramatically. “Seriously? What are we, twelve?”
“I’ll start,” Chandler volunteers, ignoring him. “I’m thankful for being on tour instead of in school right now.”
We all laugh, and the tension breaks. One by one, everyone shares something. Ajay’s thankful for FaceTime so he can see his kids daily, Keane for the opportunity to show Chandler the country, and Dana for “not killing Hendrix yet this tour.”
When it’s my turn, I clear my throat. “I’m thankful for my new niece and nephews,” I begin, “and for music that still feels like magic every night.” My eyes briefly meet Justine’s. “And for unexpected connections that make everything better.”
Her cheeks flush slightly, but her smile widens.
“I’m thankful for napkin songs,” Justine says when her turn comes, “and for people who listen when I’m not sure what I’mtrying to say.” I squeeze her hand, hoping she knows how true my words are.
“I’m thankful for this tour and the name recognition,” Wynonna adds.
“I’m thankful that radio stations want to play our songs,” Priscilla says.
The meal proceeds with the comfortable chaos of a family dinner. We pass dishes, pour wine, and share stories from the road. Watching Justine with my friends—laughing at Ajay’s jokes, discussing music theory with Keane, helping Chandler with her plate—feels right in a way I wasn’t expecting.
After dessert, some of us migrate to the suite’s living area. Dana puts on music, and Hendrix challenges Wynonna to a game of cards. I find myself on the balcony, nursing a whiskey and watching the city lights below us.