I take it without question, though. The guy already made a mess on the one nail he attempted on what’s clearly his dominant hand.

I’m cleaning it up when Foster appears in my peripheral, sipping from a white mug that matches every other one on this bus. None of them used the brand-new espresso machine, all content with the drip coffee maker.

Foster crosses behind Dev and drops onto the other couch. I hold off as long as possible before I look over. A notebook balances on his knee, a pen in the hand not holding his coffee. He begins writing. The tension leaves his shoulders, his face relaxes. Even the air of annoyance he’s constantly carried around me vanishes. His pen stills, and his eyes shut. He licks his plush lips, leaving them parted slightly. I swear I feel the words he whispers then.

I glance at my camera. The need to capture him like this is a living, breathing thing that pulls in my chest.

“Never stop.” Colton leans forward and swipes up my camera.

He clicks his tongue at me but dutifully hits record and aims at Foster. While he films, I finish up Dev’s nails, determined not to peek again.

I twist the lid on once finished and shoo the bassist away.

“Thanks, slugger. It would have looked like a murder scene if I kept going on my own.” Dev gently knocks my jaw with his fist before returning to the other couch. “I knew you’d come in handy.”

I sigh as he resettles. “Glad you’ve found a use for me.”

Colton chuckles, and I jerk my camera out of his hand. He’s completely unfazed and shifts to get comfortable, returning to his nap.

“So touchy,” he mutters.

But his lips twitch.

I think he’s adopted me.

Outside of the music, the lounge falls quiet. No movement, no distractions. It leaves me hyperaware of the presence on the opposite side. Not the chill one with freshly painted nails. The magnetic one. The space practically pulses around Foster, and I fight the urge to look up from my camera. To see if he’s still lost in his notepad.

He’s writing lyrics.

The words will be messy and scribbled. I’ve seen it before in a notebook he flipped through during a video chat. A chat where he could have switched the camera to his face at any time. He never did, though. I can’t help wondering, what if he had? If he’d broken the only rule I gave him. Would it have changed anything?

I swallow back the sudden lump in my throat. My thoughts are drifting too far in a direction I refuse to go. I can’t. Not now when I’m taking more risks than I have in over five years.