“Thank you for coming today,” she says as she kicks her sneakers off. “Like I’d miss it.” I almost skipped practice to go, racing to the studio as soon as the whistle blew instead. “I’m so proud of you, songbird.” Her eyelashes flutter, her gaze still on my face. Her lips are so pretty, so lush, and my fingers itch with the urge to trace them. “I love it when you call me that.” My pulse jumps as something big expands in my chest. The nickname is my way of telling her I love her, I realize. I’ve been doing it for months, long before the reality sank in. The words are on the tip of my tongue,
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