Page 127 of Dream On

Me: Thank you for confiding in me the other day.

Lex starts typing something, then backspaces. He does it two more times.

A moment later, his phone is in his lap, discarded.

No more messages come through.

I do the same, exhaling a lodged breath, and glance back out at the stars. The one that twinkles the brightest calls to me, like it always does. I used to think it was my baby brother watching me from the heavens. A gentle reminder. A keepsake. I smile, letting the glow wash over me and chase away my shadows.

Then, slowly, I extend my hand in Lex’s direction. My wrist dangles over the edge of the arm of his chair, the underside of my palm facing up.

I don’t press, don’t pry. If he doesn’t take it, that’s okay.

It’s there if he needs it.

With my eyes on the sky, I lean back in my seat and breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth. City bustling adds a soundtrack to the quiet night, distracting me long enough that I don’t expect it.

I don’t anticipate the moment his hand carefully closes with mine.

Warmth settles into my palm, zapping tingly trails all the way up my arm and to my chest. To my heart.

Our fingers link together.

I close my eyes and squeeze.

A violinist starts playing from thirteen floors below: a starry serenade for night owls and midnight dreamers. Lex doesn’t speak, and neither do I. It’s a moment. Peaceful, tranquil, untroubled. We sit like that for a handful of minutes, with intertwined fingers and steady breaths. Music swells, melancholic yet hopeful.

When my eyelids droop and the peace dips its toes into dreamland, I go to speak.

But Lex speaks first. “Good night, Nicks.” He unlinks our hands and pulls up from the chair, moving off the balcony and disappearing through the sliding door.

I watch him go, my hand still warm, my heart warmer. “Good night,” I whisper back, but he’s already gone.

A few minutes later, I’m winding up the staircase to my makeshift bedroom. Still in a daze, I step into the room and flip on the light switch. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, for the haze to clear, but when the glow of the chandelier fills the space and yanks me back to reality, I freeze in place.

Blink.

A sharp breath falls out, a gasp of surprise.

The walls are painted ocean blue. Candles are placed on ledges, flickering and alive, sweetening the air with the scent of lavender and vanilla. Prints and art pieces line the walls—a painting of a red farmhouse, a black-and-white-spotted cow, sheets of music framed with gold, and a promotional poster ofMoulin Rouge!

And in front of me, scattered across the bedspread, is a sea of brand-new pillows. Some big, some small. Some are even shaped like stars.

All in my favorite color.

Chapter 31

Lex

After the Julian West fiasco at Rudy’s party, a twinge of guilt started creeping in, knowing I’d compromised Stevie’s one big connection—a step forward to her ultimate dream. Granted, I have no guilt about thewhyor thewho, but since I did drag her out to the playground, it would only be fair to let her play. I know a large part of why she agreed to shack up with me was to get her feet wet, meet people in the industry, and hopefully scratch the acting itch.

I made a few calls and pulled some strings, landing her a coveted audition for Maverick Ramirez. He’s one of the good guys. He was a coproducer forCome What May, and he’s had a hand in directing some of my favorite indie projects. I trust him with her.

Giving the back of her neck a squeeze, I lead Stevie inside the studio where she’ll be auditioning. The space is just a wide-open room with polished hardwood floors and floor-to-ceiling windows letting in slats of afternoon sunlight. A few folding chairs line the walls, empty except for one casting assistant behind a long table.

A camera sits in the corner, the red light turned off. Stevie glances at the script in her hand—a supporting role in an indie drama that would normally be reserved for seasoned actors. The kind who’ve been grinding in this town for years, honing their craft in offbeat theater productions or low-budget commercials. But Maverick’s open-minded, and he lovesfinding raw talent.

He also loves me.