Dave's POV
The choreographer counted out the beat, my body moving through the routine on autopilot while my mind drifted somewhere far from this dance studio. Spin, step, turn—muscle memory taking over while thoughts of her consumed me.
Is she okay? How is the vocal session going?
I know the Audrey from my world could handle herself. She's smart, sharper than anyone gave her credit for, and talented in ways she never showed publicly.
If only I'd been brave enough back then.
It wasn't just fear of rejection, though that was part of it. It was fear of changing what we had. The occasional coffee run where we'd end up talking about nothing for twenty minutes. Our friendship. I was terrified one wrong word would shatter it completely.
And now she's here. I mean someone who looks exactly like her. And I'm stuck playing this role, pretending to be someone I'm not.
"Dave?"
