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Luca’s grin changes. “Of course.”

“Wanna play something?”

“Of-fucking-course!”

He returns with the case from the hallway. I grab my guitar and sit forward on the couch.

“Show me what you’ve got,” he says.

“Try not to ruin it.”

“You say that like my bass lines aren’t the only reason women tolerate your voice.”

I play the new riff.

Luca listens once, then comes in beneath me on the second pass. His first line is too busy.

“No,” I say. “That doesn’t work.”

“I’ve played four notes.”

“Three too many.”

“Control freak.”

He strips it back. We play it again.

This time, the sound locks into place.

Drew grins at us both.

Luca looks up at me across the room.

There it is.

That familiar click between us. Five months apart hasn’t managed to kill it.

“Again,” I say.

We play it louder.

By the fourth run-through, we have the bones of something. Not a full song. Not yet. But more than I had this morning.

Luca points at me with the neck of his bass. “See? You haven’t lost it.”

“I never said I had.” I hold his gaze for a second.

Drew high fives us both, “That was actually sick.”

“Actually?” I repeat.

“I haven’t seen you guys live in ages. Mom and Dad never let me come to LA. But now that I’m eighteen, I’ll fly out all the time when you’re there next year.”

“Hell yeah, you will!” Luca says.

I’ve missed this.

The only other person I’ve felt this unguarded around lately is Bea.