And then she starts singing.

Not just singing—she’s harmonizing.

Perfectly.

She does it effortlessly, her voice slipping into the background vocals like she was meant to be there. Not a single hesitation. No stumbling over the words. Just pure, instinctual rhythm, blending with the track like she’d rehearsed it a hundred times before. Her voice blends perfectly with Ara’s.

My hands still. The knife I was using rests against the cutting board as I turn to look at her.

She doesn’t notice at first, too caught up in the music. Her body moves slightly with the beat, fingers drumming absently against the counter, completely in sync with the song.

It’s not just impressive—it’s intimidatingly good.

Selene must feel my stare because she suddenly stops mid-line and looks up, brows drawing together. “What?”

I blink. “What the hell was that?”

She shifts, suddenly looking a little self-conscious. “Singing?”

“No, that was not just singing.” I point at her. “You were doing the harmonies.”

She shrugs like it’s nothing. “Yeah?”

I stare at her. “Nobody just knows the harmonies. That’s not casual fan behavior.”

She tilts her head slightly, eyes glinting with a look I can’t quite read—amusement, maybe, or a challenge. “I mean… I guess you could say I’m familiar with the band.”

I narrow my eyes, no one knows the members of the band. “How familiar?”

Selene sighs, finally setting down her knife and leaning a hip against the counter. “I’m their graphic designer. So I listen to their music as I create designs for them.”

For a second, I don’t process what she just said.

Then I blink. “You’re telling me you design for Umbra?”

She nods. “Album covers, promo stuff, tour graphics—you know, the visuals that go with the music.”

I let out a short laugh, shaking my head. “You’ve been sitting on that this whole time?”

She smirks. “You didn’t ask.”

Grabbing the nearest dish towel I throw it at her. She ducks, laughing, and suddenly, I know one thing for sure.

I’m completely screwed.

She doesn’t chase, doesn’t press for attention. But she doesn’t need to—somehow, she always keeps me on my toes, keeps me wanting more.

As we settle at the table, plates full of the dinner we made together. As we eat the conversation flows just as easily as it did at the lake.

“Dinner was great, Hot Shot—” Selene smirks over the rim of her wine glass, eyes playful. “I have to ask—how did you survive all this time without my expert knife skills?”

I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head. “You mean the ‘expert skills’ that nearly sent a tomato flying across my kitchen?”

She gasps in mock offense. “That was one time.”

I lift a brow. “That one time was ten minutes ago.”