Chapter 127. Pop Or Drop: pt. 2

As we stepped off the stage, the roar of the audience faded into a distant hum, replaced by the click of our shoes on the studio’s backstage corridor. Alex’s hand was warm in mine, steady and reassuring. The producers had whisked us into a waiting limo, cameras optional, but we’d both opted out—thank God. “No need for an audience tonight,” I’d said with a wink, and he’d laughed, that deep, genuine chuckle that made my stomach flip.

The ride to his place in Seattle was short, the city lights blurring past like streaks of hope. Alex lived in a cozy loft downtown, all exposed brick and modern minimalism, with a killer view of the Puget Sound. “Engineer perks,” he joked as he unlocked the door, flipping on soft lights that cast a warm glow. He’d promised a private dinner, and true to his word, the kitchen island was set with candles, a bottle of red wine, and plates of homemade pasta—carbonara, he said, with a shy grin. “I figured Italian was your weakness.”

We talked for ho