SILENT BETWEEN TWO HEARTS
Naomi.
Harry’s daughter was seventeen now, bright, talented, restless. She had inherited her mother’s expressive eyes and Harry’s stubborn jawline. Usually, she hovered near the stage during rehearsals, sketchbook in hand, drawing musicians as they tuned their instruments or capturing dancers mid-motion. Harry encouraged it, happy she had found her own language in art.
But lately, he had noticed something new.
That boy.
Marcus Jameson. Sixteen, lanky but with a confidence that didn’t quite fit his frame, always hanging around with the volunteer crew. He had a smile too wide and eyes too curious, and Harry had caught him looking at Naomi more than once. Worse, Naomi had started smiling back.
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