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Thirty minutes before a show was a strange amount of time.
It was too early to be completely panicked, but too late to pretend everything was normal.
At thirty minutes, everyone entered their own version of chaos.
Sage became impossible to find because she was always doing something. Fletch somehow became louder despite already being the loudest person Rosie knew. Cliff usually started bouncing around like he was physically incapable of standing still. Shane disappeared and reappeared with a new problem every five minutes.
And Rosie?
Rosie tried to breathe.
She had learned that performing got easier when she stopped thinking about the thousands of people waiting on the other side of the curtain and focused on the little things instead.
The feeling of her cello case in her hands.
The weight of her costume.
The familiar sound of everyone warming up around her.
The fact that, somehow, she was here.
Not in a practice room.
Not sitting quietly in her parents’ house.
Not playing the music other people told her she should play.
Here.
On a stage.
With her own sound.
Tonight’s costume was definitely not something her younger self would have imagined wearing.
The old Rosie, the one who had spent years being told that classical music was the only thing she was good at, probably would have stared at it in complete shock.
The outfit was bright, dramatic, and much more like something Sage would have chosen than Rosie.
But Rosie liked it.
Actually, she loved it.
Maybe that was the strangest part.
She had spent so much of her life trying to make herself smaller. Quieter. Easier.
Now she was standing backstage in a costume made to be noticed.
And she didn’t hate it.
She adjusted one of the pieces carefully before looking around for Sage.
Of course, Sage was already gone.
Not actually gone.
Just distracted.
Rosie found her a few seconds later with Fletch.
Which was not surprising.
The two of them were standing together, completely ignoring the fact that they were supposed to be heading toward the stage area.
They were too busy being themselves.
Sage was laughing at something Fletch had said, and Fletch was looking far too proud of himself.
Rosie smiled.
Some things never changed.
She followed behind them, giving them space.
Not because she minded.
She actually liked watching them.
Sage had always been confident in a way Rosie admired. She took up space without apologizing for it. She laughed loudly. She said exactly what she thought.
Fletch matched her perfectly.
They disappeared around the corner before Rosie could catch up.
And then, finally, she was alone.
Or she was supposed to be.
Because the second she took another step, something tugged.
Rosie froze.
No.
No, no, no.
She looked down.
The costume had caught.
And somehow, despite everything she had managed in her life, despite performing in front of thousands of people and changing her entire identity as a musician, she had somehow been defeated by a piece of clothing.
Thirty minutes before a show.
Perfect.
Rosie immediately grabbed the fabric, trying to fix it.
Nothing.
She tried again.
Still nothing.
Her face heated. The front of her costume was coming open.
She could feel people walking around her. Crew members. Staff. Dancers.
Everyone was busy, but that almost made it worse.
Because she looked ridiculous.
“Rosie?”
Her entire body froze.
Desi.
Of course.
Of course it was Desi.
She looked up and immediately wished she hadn’t.
Because Desi was standing there with his guitar strap over his shoulder, looking completely calm.
Like he wasn’t the person who had just walked in during the most embarrassing moment of her entire life.
“Don’t look.”
The words came out immediately.
Desi blinked.
Then, without hesitation, he turned his head.
“Okay.”
Rosie stared.
“You actually listened?”
“I’m capable of following directions.”
She almost laughed.
Almost.
“You looked.”
“Only for a second.”
“Desi.”
”Okay, maybe two seconds.”
“Please stop.”
“Rosie, I’m currently staring at a wall.”
She looked over.
He was, in fact, staring directly at a wall.
That somehow made her even more embarrassed.
“Great,” she muttered.
“What happened?”
“My costume.”
“That explains a lot.”
She looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you’re usually not this stressed.”
“I am stressed.”
“I can tell.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Rosie narrowed her eyes.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“No.”
“You are.”
“A little.”
She let out a small frustrated breath.
Then quieter, she admitted, “The front came undone. I need help.”
And immediately, Desi’s teasing expression softened.
“Okay.”
That was one of the things she had started noticing about him.
Desi joked constantly.
He was sarcastic and annoying and somehow always had something to say.
But the second something actually mattered, he stopped.
He listened.
He helped.
He took things seriously.
“Hold on,” he said.
Before Rosie could ask what he meant, he pulled his shirt over his head.
Her brain stopped.
Actually stopped.
Because Desi Scott was now standing in front of her without a shirt.
And Rosie was suddenly very aware of the fact that she was still holding onto her costume and that her face was probably the same color as the stage lights.
“Desi.”
“What?”
“You just took your shirt off.”
“Yes.”
“Why did you do that so casually?”
He looked down at himself.
“Because you need a shirt.”
“That does not make it less weird.”
He smiled.
“You’re blushing.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m embarrassed.”
“Same difference.”
“It’s really not.”
Desi held the shirt out.
“Here.”
Rosie reached for it.
Then stopped.
Her stomac dropped.
“Oh.”
Desi noticed immediately.
“What?”
“I can’t.”
He looked at her hands.
Then understood.
For once, he didn’t make a joke.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
People were still walking past.
And Rosie felt the panic returning.
But then Desi stepped forward.
“Come here.”
“What?”
“I’ve got you.”
And before she could argue, he turned around.
His back faced the hallway.
Rosie stared.
“Desi.”
“What?”
“You’re literally using yourself as a shield.”
“Seems like it’s working.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Probably.”
She couldn’t help it.
She smiled.
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet I’m helping you.”
That was unfortunately true.
Rosie carefully took his shirt and pulled it on.
It was warm.
And it smelled like him.
Which was a thought she immediately decided she did not need to have.
Because that was dangerous.
Very dangerous.
“Okay,” she said quietly.
Desi turned around.
And for half a second, neither of them said anything.
Because Rosie was wearing his shirt.
And Desi noticed.
And Rosie noticed him noticing.
“Don’t say anything.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking something.”
“I was.”
“Desi.”
He grinned.
“I was thinking you look less stressed now.”
Rosie blinked.
That was not what she expected.
“Oh.”
“Come on.”
“Where?”
“Dressing room.”
“You’re escorting me?”
“Yes.”
“I can walk.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
He shrugged.
“Because I want to make sure you get there.”
And somehow, that answer made her completely forget how to respond.
The walk to the dressing room should not have felt as awkward as it did.
It was literally just a hallway.
Rosie had walked through thousands of hallways since joining the tour. Hotel hallways. Arena hallways. Backstage hallways. Hallways ful lof people carrying equipment and calling out last-minute instructions.
And yet somehow, walking beside Desi while wearing his shirt felt like the most difficult journey she had ever taken.
Mostly because Desi seemed completely fine.
That was the thing about him.
He was always fine.
Rosie was the one who overthought everything. She was the one who noticed every tiny detail and replayed every interaction in her head until she was convinced she had embarrassed herself beyond repair.
Desi just walked beside her like he hadn’t just given her his shirt five minutes before a show.
Like he wasn’t currently shirtless.
Like Rosie wasn’t very carefully avoiding looking directly at him.
Which was becoming increasingly difficult.
“You’re doing it again.”
Rosie looked up.
“What?”
“Thinking too loudly.”
She frowned.
“I don’t think that’s possible.”
“With you? It definitely is.”
She rolled her eyes.
“I’m not thinking loudly.”
“You are.”
“How would you even know?”
“Your face does this thing.”
“What thing?”
He looked at her thoughtfully.
“Your eyebrows move.”
Rosie immediately touched her eyebrows.
Desi laughed.
“That.”
She stopped.
“You’re making fun of me.”
“Maybe.”
“You’re impossible.”
“You’ve mentioned that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“Yet here we are.”
Rosie hated that he always had an answer.
Actually, she didn’t hate it.
That was the problem.
She liked it.
She liked that Desi could pull her out of her own head. She liked that he didn’t treat her like she was fragile. He didn’t act like she was still the girl who had been scared to sing in front of people.
He treated her like Rosie.
Not someone he was trying to force.
When they reached the dressing room, Desi opened the door.
Empty.
Rosie sighed.
“Of course.”
“What?”
“No one’s here.”
Desi leaned against the doorframe.
“So.”
“So?”
“So you’re stuck with me.”
Her face immediately warmed.
She hated that he noticed everything.
And of course he noticed.
“You’re blushing again.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m just warm.”
“Rosie, you’re standing in an air-conditioned room.”
She looked away.
“Maybe I’m still recovering from the crisis.”
“The costume crisis?”
“Yes.”
“The one I saved you from?”
She looked back at him.
“You’re never letting that go, are you?”
“No.”
“You’re very proud of yourself.”
“I am.”
She laughed.
And that was exactly what Desi wanted.
He didn’t say it, but Rosie knew.
The second she laughed, some of the tension left his shoulders.
He liked knowing she was okay.
That thought made her stomach flip.
Which was inconvenient.
Very inconvenient.
“Alright,” Rosie said, looking down at the costume. “I need to fix this before we have to go on.”
Desi nodded.
“Okay.”
She blinked.
“That’s it?”
“What?”
“You’re not going to make a joke?”
“I can if you want.”
“No.”
“Okay.”
Rosie smiled.
Because somehow he listened.
Again.
She adjusted the shirt around her shoulders.
“Can you help?”
Desi pushed away from the door.
“Yeah.”
He stepped closer.
And immediately, Rosie became painfully aware of everything.
The fact that he was close.
The fact that he was still shirtless.
The fact that she was wearing his shirt.
The fact that she was going to have to stand there while he fixed the clasps on her costume.
This was fine.
Completely fine.
Absolutely normal.
Except it wasn’t.
“Stop thinking so much,” Desi said.
Rosie looked at him.
“How do you know?”
“Your eyebrows.”
She groaned.
“I hate that you know that now.”
“I think it’s useful.”
“Useful?”
“Yeah.”
“How?”
“Because I know when you’re about to convince yourself something is a bigger deal than it is.”
That made her quiet.
Because he was right.
Rosie had spent so much of her life doing exactly that.
Convincing herself she was too much.
Convincing herself she wasn’t enough.
Convincing herself that every mistake meant she had failed.
But Desi never seemed to do that.
He just existed.
Confidently.
Like he belonged wherever he was.
Rosie wished she knew how to do that.
“Okay,” she whispered.
Desi smiled slightly.
“Okay.”
He started fixing the costume.
And for a while, the room was quiet.
Not uncomfortable quiet.
Just quiet.
The kind Rosie had grown to like with him.
“You know,” she said eventually, “this is probably the weirdest way anyone has ever helped me before.”
Desi looked amused.
“I’m honored.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
“I disagree.”
“Of course you do.”
“I’m usually right.”
Rosie gave him a look.
“That is a very Desi thing to say.”
“Thank you.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.”
“I’m choosing to take it as one.”
She shook her head.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you keep saying that.”
“Because you keep proving it.”
He smiled.
“There.”
Rosie looked down.
“Finished?”
“Finished.”
She checked.
And he had actually done it.
Perfectly.
“You fixed it.”
“Yeah.”
“You actually fixed it.”
Desi looked offended.
“Did you think I couldn’t?”
“No.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Maybe a little.”
He put a hand over his heart dramatically.
“Wow.”
Rosie laughed.
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Good.”
And then she did something without thinking.
She hugged him.
It wasn’t supposed to be a big thing.
It was just a thank you.
A quick hug.
Except the second her arms wrapped around his neck, Rosie froze.
Because.
Oh.
Right.
Desi was still shirtless.
And her face immediately went bright red.
“Oh my gosh.”
Desi laughed quietly.
“What?”
“I forgot.”
“Forgot what?”
“That you’re…”
She gestured vaguely.
“Like this.”
He looked down.
Then back at her.
“Like this?”
Rosie covered her face.
“Yes.”
“You hugged me.”
“I know.”
“So?”
“So I didn’t think.”
“That’s usually when things happen.”
“Desi.”
“I’m joking.”
She started stepping away.
But before she could, his arms wrapped around her waist.
And Rosie stopped.
Completely.
Because she hadn’t expected that.
Desi wasn’t teasing anymore.
He wasn’t trying to embarrass her.
He was just holding her.
And somehow that was worse.
Because it was sweeter.
And Rosie had no idea what to do with sweet.
For a moment, neither of them said anything.
The noise outside continued.
The show was still happening.
The countdown was still going.
But inside the dressing room, everything felt strangely quiet.
“I’ll give your shirt back,” Rosie whispered.
Desi shook his head.
“No.”
She looked up.
“No?”
“Keep it.”
“But it’s yours.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
He shrugged.
“Because you like it.”
Rosie opened her mouth.
Then closed it.
Because unfortunately, he was right.
She did.
And she was suddenly very happy that she got to keep something that belonged to him.
“That’s a very confident answer.”
“I’m a very confident person.”
“You’re very annoying.”
“You like that.”
Rosie looked away.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.
And Desi smiled too.
Because somehow, thirty minutes before a concert, during a costume disaster neither of them would ever forget, Rosie Kleinman was wearing his shirt.
And neither of them seemed to mind.