“Lost?” he asked, not as an insult, but as a genuine question.
“Something is happening,” Jax said, nodding toward the DJ booth where a 70-year-old jazz drummer was laying down a live breakbeat over a synth pad. “That. Right there.”
His name was Ezra. He was a lighting designer for theater, which meant his job was to shape what people actually saw . They talked for forty minutes. No bios, no Instagram handles exchanged (yet). Just conversation about the way a snare drum can sound like rain, and the best taco truck that doesn't have a social media page.
For the first time in years, Mira flirted without worrying about the angle of her jawline in the selfie light.