Zoe's POV
I didn't hear him at first.
The door creaked open softly, as if it didn't want to interrupt the storm brewing inside my head. I sat upright against the pillows, my bandaged leg stretched stiffly in front of me, with my phone resting in my lap. The London Fashion Fest runway video had ended and restarted, but I hadn't even noticed. My mind was looping through worst-case scenarios instead.
Then I looked up.
Brandon stood at the door, holding his acoustic lead guitar.
My heart did something strange. It skipped, then raced, then tightened.
He closed the door gently behind him, his eyes locked on mine in that steady, grounding way of his. Seeing him with his guitar could only mean one thing: he wanted to play.
