cup-of-jonas

[cup-of-jonas]

Heart By Heart Chapter Twelve: The Pancake Morning

✨Masterlist✨

🥞 First Morning Living Together

The bed was cold.

Kat reached out in half-sleep, fingers seeking warmth across the sheets. Nothing.

Her eyes opened slowly, lashes sticky with sleep. The city’s golden light filtered in through their white curtains, painting the walls with soft warmth. But the space beside her wasn’t just empty—it was cold.

Her heart gave a small, traitorous ache.

She sat up, wincing at the tender soreness in her thighs. Her smile came slow, private. Last night was… a lot. A good lot. The best kind of “holy shit” a person could ask for.

But still—where was he?

Then—

Pancakes.

The scent hit her like a hug. Butter. Syrup. Toast.

She stood slowly, pulling Joe’s oversized t-shirt over her head—the same one he’d flung off like a man possessed last night—and padded barefoot into the kitchen.

There he was.

Shirtless.

In plaid pajama pants.

Hair a complete mess.

Humming off-key while flipping pancakes with the concentration of a world-class chef.

The kitchen was a disaster zone: flour everywhere, two cracked eggshells in the sink, orange juice half-poured and champagne already open.

Next to the griddle?

A plate of scrambled eggs.

And a bowl of chocolate-covered strawberries.

She didn’t speak. She just wrapped her arms around his waist from behind.

“Holy sh—!” he jumped, nearly flinging the spatula.

Kat laughed into his shoulder. “Good morning, chef.”

“You scared the hell out of me.”

“You didn’t expect me to be up?”

“No,” he admitted, setting the spatula down. “You usually sleep through an earthquake. Especially after…”

He trailed off, flashing her that smug, post-sex grin.

“After what?” she teased.

“You wrecking me.”

She kissed his cheek. “That’s fair.”

Joe guided her over to the counter, showing off the chaos like it was a Michelin-starred masterpiece.

“I was gonna bring it to you in bed,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “First morning. First brunch. Thought I’d go full domestic.”

She looked at the spread. Really looked. Pancakes, toast, fruit, OJ, champagne.

“You made me pancakes?” she said softly.

“With strawberries. The good ones.”

Her chest tightened.

“Waffles are your favorite,” she said.

Joe looked up, surprised. “How’d you know that?”

“You made it really obvious on our first date.”

He chuckled, rubbing his neck. “Guess I’ve got a type.”

She smiled, but it felt different now. Realer. Bigger.

Shared kitchen.

Matching toothbrushes.

Pancakes and late-night sex and Sunday mornings together.

She sat down slowly at the counter.

He looked at her, soft and curious. “What?”

“Nothing,” she whispered. “Just… trying to remember this.”

Joe reached for her hand, brushing syrup from her thumb. “You better remember the part where I made pancakes. I don’t do this for anyone.”

Kat looked at him—truly looked—and felt something settle.

“You’re such a softie,” she said.

“You’re such a menace,” he shot back, grinning.

Then he leaned down, kissed her temple, and whispered:

“But you’re my menace now.”

[cup-of-jonas]

Heart By Heart Chapter Eleven: You Asked For It

18+🔥 

✨Masterlist✨

The front door hadn’t even clicked shut before she pushed him against it, hard.

“You’ve been asking for this all day,” Kat whispered, her voice velvet and smoke, warm against the edge of his jaw.

Joe let out a breathy half-laugh, half-moan. “I literally packed strawberries.”

“And made five different innuendos about me licking whipped cream off your—”

He kissed her before she could finish. Fast. Firm. Filthy.

But this time, it wasn’t slow-burn or sweet.

This time, she took control.

She walked him backward through the apartment—past the record player still softly spinning, past the couch where they’d made out during the second verse, past the half-cleaned kitchen smelling faintly of lemon and something a little more domestic.

They didn’t stop until his back hit the bedroom door.

Joe’s voice was low, already wrecked. “You sure?”

“Shut up,” she murmured, tugging his shirt up over his head. “You’re mine tonight.”

And that was it.

Moonlight spilled through the blinds in strips. The bedroom was warm with city hum and rising tension.

She pushed him down onto the bed, straddling him in one smooth, practiced motion. Her dress slid higher as she moved, hips braced, hands on his chest. Joe looked up at her like he’d forgotten every word in his vocabulary.

“I love when you look at me like that,” she whispered.

“I love you,” he said, dazed.

And then she kissed him hard.

Deep. Dirty. Deliberate.

Her hips rolled into his as her fingers laced around his wrists and pinned them above his head.

“You’ve been such a cocky little tease today.”

“I’m charming,” he breathed.

“You’re mine,” she corrected.

Her kisses trailed heat down his neck. Her hands explored like they’d waited weeks. When she reached the waistband of his jeans, she looked him dead in the eyes.

“Do you want me?”

He choked on a laugh. “Are you seriously…yes. Yes, I want you.” He went back to pressing his lips to hers.

A beat.

“God, Kat, I want all of you.” He said between breathless kisses.

“Good.”

She took her time peeling the rest of their clothes off, unhurried and unapologetic. When she finally sank down onto him. skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat. Joe’s head fell back like he’d just seen God.

“Fuck—”

She rode him slow, at first. A tease. A promise. Her fingers digging into his chest, her mouth hovering just above his. When she picked up speed, his hands found her waist, grounding himself in the way she moved, the way she moaned his name like it was the only one she knew.

The bed creaked. The windows fogged. The world disappeared.

“I love the way you touch me,” she breathed. “I love how you fall apart under me.”

“I’m not falling,” he rasped. “You’re undoing me.”

And when she came, trembling, gripping his shoulders like she’d never let go—he followed. Eyes squeezed shut, arms locked around her, kissing her through it like she was the only real thing left.

They collapsed in a tangle of sweat and limbs and laughter.

“Holy shit,” Joe mumbled into her neck.

“That,” Kat panted, rolling to her side, “was payback.”

He smirked and kissed her forehead. “Remind me to tease you more often.”

“Just keep the strawberries stocked.”

And they drifted off to sleep…naked, tangled, and completely theirs.

[cup-of-jonas]

Heart By Heart Chapter Twelve: The Pancake Morning

✨Masterlist✨

🥞 First Morning Living Together

The bed was cold.

Kat reached out in half-sleep, fingers seeking warmth across the sheets. Nothing.

Her eyes opened slowly, lashes sticky with sleep. The city’s golden light filtered in through their white curtains, painting the walls with soft warmth. But the space beside her wasn’t just empty—it was cold.

Her heart gave a small, traitorous ache.

She sat up, wincing at the tender soreness in her thighs. Her smile came slow, private. Last night was… a lot. A good lot. The best kind of “holy shit” a person could ask for.

But still—where was he?

Then—

Pancakes.

The scent hit her like a hug. Butter. Syrup. Toast.

She stood slowly, pulling Joe’s oversized t-shirt over her head—the same one he’d flung off like a man possessed last night—and padded barefoot into the kitchen.

There he was.

Shirtless.

In plaid pajama pants.

Hair a complete mess.

Humming off-key while flipping pancakes with the concentration of a world-class chef.

The kitchen was a disaster zone: flour everywhere, two cracked eggshells in the sink, orange juice half-poured and champagne already open.

Next to the griddle?

A plate of scrambled eggs.

And a bowl of chocolate-covered strawberries.

She didn’t speak. She just wrapped her arms around his waist from behind.

“Holy sh—!” he jumped, nearly flinging the spatula.

Kat laughed into his shoulder. “Good morning, chef.”

“You scared the hell out of me.”

“You didn’t expect me to be up?”

“No,” he admitted, setting the spatula down. “You usually sleep through an earthquake. Especially after…”

He trailed off, flashing her that smug, post-sex grin.

“After what?” she teased.

“You wrecking me.”

She kissed his cheek. “That’s fair.”

Joe guided her over to the counter, showing off the chaos like it was a Michelin-starred masterpiece.

“I was gonna bring it to you in bed,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “First morning. First brunch. Thought I’d go full domestic.”

She looked at the spread. Really looked. Pancakes, toast, fruit, OJ, champagne.

“You made me pancakes?” she said softly.

“With strawberries. The good ones.”

Her chest tightened.

“Waffles are your favorite,” she said.

Joe looked up, surprised. “How’d you know that?”

“You made it really obvious on our first date.”

He chuckled, rubbing his neck. “Guess I’ve got a type.”

She smiled, but it felt different now. Realer. Bigger.

Shared kitchen.

Matching toothbrushes.

Pancakes and late-night sex and Sunday mornings together.

She sat down slowly at the counter.

He looked at her, soft and curious. “What?”

“Nothing,” she whispered. “Just… trying to remember this.”

Joe reached for her hand, brushing syrup from her thumb. “You better remember the part where I made pancakes. I don’t do this for anyone.”

Kat looked at him—truly looked—and felt something settle.

“You’re such a softie,” she said.

“You’re such a menace,” he shot back, grinning.

Then he leaned down, kissed her temple, and whispered:

“But you’re my menace now.”

[cup-of-jonas]

Heart By Heart Chapter Eleven: You Asked For It

18+🔥 

✨Masterlist✨

The front door hadn’t even clicked shut before she pushed him against it, hard.

“You’ve been asking for this all day,” Kat whispered, her voice velvet and smoke, warm against the edge of his jaw.

Joe let out a breathy half-laugh, half-moan. “I literally packed strawberries.”

“And made five different innuendos about me licking whipped cream off your—”

He kissed her before she could finish. Fast. Firm. Filthy.

But this time, it wasn’t slow-burn or sweet.

This time, she took control.

She walked him backward through the apartment—past the record player still softly spinning, past the couch where they’d made out during the second verse, past the half-cleaned kitchen smelling faintly of lemon and something a little more domestic.

They didn’t stop until his back hit the bedroom door.

Joe’s voice was low, already wrecked. “You sure?”

“Shut up,” she murmured, tugging his shirt up over his head. “You’re mine tonight.”

And that was it.

Moonlight spilled through the blinds in strips. The bedroom was warm with city hum and rising tension.

She pushed him down onto the bed, straddling him in one smooth, practiced motion. Her dress slid higher as she moved, hips braced, hands on his chest. Joe looked up at her like he’d forgotten every word in his vocabulary.

“I love when you look at me like that,” she whispered.

“I love you,” he said, dazed.

And then she kissed him hard.

Deep. Dirty. Deliberate.

Her hips rolled into his as her fingers laced around his wrists and pinned them above his head.

“You’ve been such a cocky little tease today.”

“I’m charming,” he breathed.

“You’re mine,” she corrected.

Her kisses trailed heat down his neck. Her hands explored like they’d waited weeks. When she reached the waistband of his jeans, she looked him dead in the eyes.

“Do you want me?”

He choked on a laugh. “Are you seriously…yes. Yes, I want you.” He went back to pressing his lips to hers.

A beat.

“God, Kat, I want all of you.” He said between breathless kisses.

“Good.”

She took her time peeling the rest of their clothes off, unhurried and unapologetic. When she finally sank down onto him. skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat. Joe’s head fell back like he’d just seen God.

“Fuck—”

She rode him slow, at first. A tease. A promise. Her fingers digging into his chest, her mouth hovering just above his. When she picked up speed, his hands found her waist, grounding himself in the way she moved, the way she moaned his name like it was the only one she knew.

The bed creaked. The windows fogged. The world disappeared.

“I love the way you touch me,” she breathed. “I love how you fall apart under me.”

“I’m not falling,” he rasped. “You’re undoing me.”

And when she came, trembling, gripping his shoulders like she’d never let go—he followed. Eyes squeezed shut, arms locked around her, kissing her through it like she was the only real thing left.

They collapsed in a tangle of sweat and limbs and laughter.

“Holy shit,” Joe mumbled into her neck.

“That,” Kat panted, rolling to her side, “was payback.”

He smirked and kissed her forehead. “Remind me to tease you more often.”

“Just keep the strawberries stocked.”

And they drifted off to sleep…naked, tangled, and completely theirs.

[cup-of-jonas]

New to Tumblr- Please come check out my blog. News, stories, series, request, daily Jonas updates and more. Cup of Jonas where I share all things Joe Jonas, including fanfiction, romantic story series, daily updates, and more. From soft fluff to emotional slow burns, there’s always something brewing here ☕ If you have a request, feel free to message me anytime! If you have a requests just message me. Or if you don’t know what to say answer this, What is your favorite song from Joe’s new album? 💿✨🩵

[cup-of-jonas]

Heart By Heart Chapter Eleven: You Asked For It

18+🔥 

✨Masterlist✨

The front door hadn’t even clicked shut before she pushed him against it, hard.

“You’ve been asking for this all day,” Kat whispered, her voice velvet and smoke, warm against the edge of his jaw.

Joe let out a breathy half-laugh, half-moan. “I literally packed strawberries.”

“And made five different innuendos about me licking whipped cream off your—”

He kissed her before she could finish. Fast. Firm. Filthy.

But this time, it wasn’t slow-burn or sweet.

This time, she took control.

She walked him backward through the apartment—past the record player still softly spinning, past the couch where they’d made out during the second verse, past the half-cleaned kitchen smelling faintly of lemon and something a little more domestic.

They didn’t stop until his back hit the bedroom door.

Joe’s voice was low, already wrecked. “You sure?”

“Shut up,” she murmured, tugging his shirt up over his head. “You’re mine tonight.”

And that was it.

Moonlight spilled through the blinds in strips. The bedroom was warm with city hum and rising tension.

She pushed him down onto the bed, straddling him in one smooth, practiced motion. Her dress slid higher as she moved, hips braced, hands on his chest. Joe looked up at her like he’d forgotten every word in his vocabulary.

“I love when you look at me like that,” she whispered.

“I love you,” he said, dazed.

And then she kissed him hard.

Deep. Dirty. Deliberate.

Her hips rolled into his as her fingers laced around his wrists and pinned them above his head.

“You’ve been such a cocky little tease today.”

“I’m charming,” he breathed.

“You’re mine,” she corrected.

Her kisses trailed heat down his neck. Her hands explored like they’d waited weeks. When she reached the waistband of his jeans, she looked him dead in the eyes.

“Do you want me?”

He choked on a laugh. “Are you seriously…yes. Yes, I want you.” He went back to pressing his lips to hers.

A beat.

“God, Kat, I want all of you.” He said between breathless kisses.

“Good.”

She took her time peeling the rest of their clothes off, unhurried and unapologetic. When she finally sank down onto him. skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat. Joe’s head fell back like he’d just seen God.

“Fuck—”

She rode him slow, at first. A tease. A promise. Her fingers digging into his chest, her mouth hovering just above his. When she picked up speed, his hands found her waist, grounding himself in the way she moved, the way she moaned his name like it was the only one she knew.

The bed creaked. The windows fogged. The world disappeared.

“I love the way you touch me,” she breathed. “I love how you fall apart under me.”

“I’m not falling,” he rasped. “You’re undoing me.”

And when she came, trembling, gripping his shoulders like she’d never let go—he followed. Eyes squeezed shut, arms locked around her, kissing her through it like she was the only real thing left.

They collapsed in a tangle of sweat and limbs and laughter.

“Holy shit,” Joe mumbled into her neck.

“That,” Kat panted, rolling to her side, “was payback.”

He smirked and kissed her forehead. “Remind me to tease you more often.”

“Just keep the strawberries stocked.”

And they drifted off to sleep…naked, tangled, and completely theirs.

[cup-of-jonas]

Heart By Heart - Chapter Seven: The Start Of Us 

✨Masterlist✨

The restaurant was tucked between a florist and a record store on a quiet corner of Mulberry Street. It was one of those hidden gems only locals knew about. The kind with red-checkered tablecloths, mismatched chairs, and walls plastered in black-and-white photographs of Italian families smiling over candlelit meals. A string of old-fashioned Christmas lights hung from the ceiling year-round, twinkling like nostalgia frozen in time.

Joe had arrived early. Way too early.

He sat in the booth near the back, beneath a photo of a couple dancing in the street with wine glasses raised mid-laughter. His fingers drummed lightly on the table as he stared at the empty seat across from him. A flickering candle sat between two small plates, and his water glass had been refilled twice already by a waiter who kept smiling like he knew something Joe didn’t.

He glanced down at his phone again.

Nothing yet.

He wasn’t sure if he was nervous or just… buzzing. The kind of restless energy that had nothing to do with caffeine and everything to do with the possibility of seeing her again.

He reached up and adjusted the collar of his white shirt—crisp, clean, and layered under a dark jacket he hadn’t worn since a magazine interview months ago. It still smelled faintly of cologne and pressure. But tonight, it felt like armor. Not for fame. Just for this.

For her.

The hostess passed by and offered him another soft smile. “Can I get you anything while you wait?”

He shook his head gently. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

He looked toward the front door again. Still no sign of her.

The candlelight made everything look warmer than it was. His reflection in the window looked more boyish than usual—messy curls, hopeful eyes, that quiet pinch between his brows that only showed when he was trying not to feel too much at once.

He rubbed his palms together beneath the table. Just to keep them steady.

The waiter returned again. “Would you like some bread while you wait?”

Joe laughed softly under his breath. “Sure. Bread sounds great.”

A small basket appeared moments later—warm slices, a tiny dish of olive oil and balsamic. He tore a piece absentmindedly and glanced at the door again, catching his breath—

Because there she was.

Kat.

Stepping inside in a soft black dress that hugged her in all the right places and fell just above her knees. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, a little wind-tossed, a little perfect. She looked flushed from the breeze outside, eyes bright and scanning the room—until they landed on him.

And suddenly, Joe forgot every line he’d rehearsed on the way there.

She smiled.

That was all it took.

He stood up, smoothing his jacket, and gave a little wave. Nothing big. Just enough.

She crossed the room toward him slowly, heels clicking on the tiled floor, and something in Joe’s chest unraveled just a bit. Not in a panicked way. More like… finally.

“Hey,” she said, sliding into the booth across from him.

“Hey,” he echoed, his voice a little softer now. “You found it.”

“I did,” she said. “And I’m not even late.”

“You’re right on time,” Joe said, eyes lingering on her for a second longer than he meant to. “You look… really good.”

She laughed, a hand tucking her hair behind one ear. “Thanks. So do you. I like the jacket.”

He glanced down. “I wasn’t sure it still fit. But I figured it deserved a night out.”

“Same,” she said, settling in. “This place is adorable. Kind of feels like we stepped into a movie.”

Joe smiled. “That’s the idea.”

As the waiter approached with menus, the moment stretched into something warm. Familiar.

Like maybe—just maybe—their story hadn’t even begun yet.

And this?

This was the first real page.

Kat smiled as she slipped into the booth across from him, cheeks still a little pink from the wind outside. Joe offered a warm grin and reached for the bottle of red already chilling in a carafe on the table.

“This okay?” he asked, tilting it toward her.

“Perfect,” she said softly.

Joe tilted the bottle with exaggerated care, the wine swirling like liquid garnet as it filled her glass with a soft clink.

“Look at that,” he said, brow raised as he poured his own and gave the bottle a subtle flourish. “Perfect pour. Wow.”

Kat smiled behind the rim of her glass. “Did you just say ‘wow’ about wine?”

He nodded, swirling the glass in a mock-sophisticated way before taking a sip. “I did. I’m a man of many talents. Wine pouring is apparently one of them.”

“Oh really?” she teased. “Should I be impressed?”

“I mean…” He leaned forward a little, smirking. “If the wine doesn’t do it, I’ve got other tricks.”

She raised her brows. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely,” he said, taking another sip and pretending to contemplate it seriously. “Wow again. I think this wine just complimented me back.”

She laughed, her eyes dancing with amusement. “You’re ridiculous.”

He shrugged. “You’re here. It’s working.”

The waiter took their orders and disappeared with a wink. Kat leaned back slightly in her seat, her fingertips tracing the rim of her glass.

“So…” she said, eyes dancing across the table. “What’s your go-to karaoke song?”

Joe blinked, then laughed softly. “Wow. You’re not easing into it, huh?”

She smirked. “Nope. Hard-hitting questions only.”

He tilted his head, pretending to consider. “Okay, but only if you promise not to judge.”

“No promises.”

He grinned. “It’s I Want It That Way.”

Kat gasped. “Backstreet Boys?”

He nodded, proud. “Every. Time.”

“That’s… iconic,” she said, shaking her head. “You probably hit the high note, too.”

He shrugged. “Depends on how much wine I’ve had.”

She laughed, her hand resting briefly near his on the table. “Alright, your turn.”

Joe leaned forward, resting his elbow on the edge of his plate. “Okay… if you had to pick one meal for the rest of your life—just one—what would it be?”

Kat made a face. “Ugh. That’s evil.”

He waited.

Finally, she sighed. “Probably pasta. But like… really good pasta. Handmade. And maybe garlic bread. But I’d hate myself eventually.”

Joe nodded seriously. “That’s a respectable answer. Classic. Comforting. Carb-loaded.”

“Basically me in a nutshell,” she said, raising her glass.

He clinked it gently with his own. “To carbs and chaos.”

She laughed again, and it hit him how easily her laughter settled something in him. Like the static had dialed down.

They kept talking. Joking. Trading stories. Every time she tilted her head, he noticed. Every time she smiled, he swore the room softened.

They took their time choosing what to eat, even though Joe admitted—between sips of red—that he’d already looked up the menu earlier and had a few ideas. He was drinking a full-bodied Montepulciano, bold and velvety with just enough spice, and Kat joined him, curious to see what all the “wow” was about.

Their glasses clinked gently.

“To what?” Kat asked, raising her brow.

Joe tilted his head. “To… surprising nights. And second chances.”

She smiled. “I’ll drink to that.”

They ordered a plate of rigatoni alla vodka and a margherita pizza to share. It came on a wide ceramic dish with charred crust and fresh basil still glistening from olive oil. Joe slid the first slice onto her plate, watching the way her eyes lit up after the first bite.

“I told you,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “This place is legit.”

“I’m impressed,” she said between bites. “You really know your carbs.”

“I know what makes a night feel right,” he said simply, then took another sip of wine, that little sparkle still in his eyes.

Conversation flowed as naturally as the wine. They talked about favorite childhood movies, guilty pleasure songs, and worst first dates—Joe’s involved a girl who brought her ex-boyfriend to the restaurant to make him jealous, and Kat’s included someone who thought magic tricks were a personality. Each story made them laugh harder, the space between them shrinking with every shared joke and secret glance.

By the time their plates were cleared, the buzz of the evening had softened into something quieter. Comfortable.

Joe leaned back slightly, resting his arm along the booth behind her.

“Dessert?” he asked, voice a little lower now.

Kat glanced at the little dessert menu tucked behind the napkin holder. “Let’s see… ooh, tiramisu.”

“House specialty,” Joe said. “I read a Yelp review that called it ‘a religious experience.’”

She grinned. “Then we’d be foolish not to.”

“Two spoons?” he asked.

“Always.”

When it arrived—delicate layers of espresso-soaked ladyfingers, mascarpone cream, and a generous dusting of cocoa—it looked almost too pretty to touch. Joe took the first bite and closed his eyes dramatically.

“Oh wow,” he said, genuinely stunned. “I think I just saw my future.”

Kat giggled, reaching for her spoon. “Is it filled with mascarpone?”

“It’s filled with… something,” he said, looking at her. “This moment. You.”

She blinked, then smiled so softly it almost hurt.

They shared the dessert slowly. Spoons clinking between gentle bites and quieter conversation, letting the sweetness linger like the last line of a song they didn’t want to end.

The tiramisu came in a delicate glass dish, dusted with cocoa and crowned with a single raspberry. They shared it, spoons clinking gently between soft bites and slower glances. By then, their conversation had shifted into something quieter. More glances than words, more smiles than punchlines.

Joe noticed the way Kat looked down after she laughed, like she was still figuring out how to trust a moment that felt too easy. He noticed the way she always left a bite for him, even when she didn’t have to. The way she caught herself staring and didn’t look away.

By the time they stepped outside, the night had deepened. The city had softened. Sidewalks glistened faintly from a recent street cleaning, and the amber glow of the old streetlamps cast everything in a kind of magic.

They walked slowly, neither of them in a rush to let go of the night.

Kat wrapped her arms lightly around herself, her heels clicking more softly now on the pavement. Joe slipped off his jacket without a word and draped it over her shoulders. She blinked, caught off guard but then smiled, pulling it closer.

It swallowed her frame, and he swore something inside him stilled at the sight.

“I had a really nice time,” she said, looking up at him.

“Me too.”

She hesitated. “I don’t usually do this.”

“Wear strangers’ jackets?” he teased, nudging her with his shoulder.

She laughed. “No. I mean… this. Let someone in. Not this soon.”

Joe’s expression softened. “I get it. I don’t usually feel this way this soon either.”

They stopped walking near the corner, the glow of a neon diner sign blinking softly behind them. The street was empty except for the quiet buzz of passing taxis and the whisper of city wind.

She turned toward him, eyes bright.

“I’m glad you texted,” she said.

“I’m glad you gave me your number,” he replied.

And then—he stepped a little closer.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t asked.

It was just there. Inevitable. Quiet.

His hand rose slowly, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. Her lips parted just slightly, but she didn’t move back. She didn’t look away.

He leaned in—soft, deliberate.

And kissed her.

It wasn’t fireworks.

It was constellations.

The kind of kiss that felt mapped long before it ever happened. Slow. Thoughtful. Like a breath being let out. Like music without sound. His hand found her waist, hers gently cupped his jaw, and in that moment, the whole city disappeared.

When they finally pulled apart, her eyes fluttered open.

Joe’s voice was quiet.

“You feel like something I’ve waited for.”

Kat smiled, voice barely above a whisper.

“Then maybe we both finally showed up.”

And under the light of a flickering sign on a quiet New York street, Joe Jonas felt the kind of peace he thought he’d stopped believing in.

The kind that only shows up once in a lifetime.

And stays.

<———Chapter 7 ✨ Chapter 8——>

[cup-of-jonas]

Heart By Heart - Chapter Ten: Shot Through the Heart

✨Masterlist✨

The sky above New York was streaked with soft gold and lavender, a watercolor evening poured over the city like it knew something magical was about to happen. Heat still clung to the sidewalks, but the wind had cooled, brushing through tree-lined streets like a secret. And somewhere just north of Central Park, tucked between a bodega and a bike rental shack, Joe Jonas was grinning like he already knew he was going to lose this round—and love every second of it.

They were in Midtown earlier, wandering hand-in-hand through the late afternoon bustle, ducking into bodegas for gum and energy drinks and sharing a pretzel from a street cart. She was only in town for the weekend, but it didn’t feel rushed. It felt like rhythm. Like something they could do forever.

The paintball mask barely fit over her ponytail.

“This is a stupid idea,” she muttered, adjusting the scratched-up goggles and squinting toward the sunlit field ahead.

Joe grinned like a man born for chaos. He was already halfway into his vest, locking in a cartridge of paint rounds with the confidence of a seasoned pro. His gun? Neon green. Obnoxious. Loud. Perfect.

“You’re just mad I’m gonna win,” he said, aiming a mock shot in her direction.

“I’m mad I wore white jeans,” she fired back.

“I told you to wear something you didn’t care about.”

“I don’t own anything I don’t care about,” she deadpanned.

Joe paused, squinting with mock reverence. “Leo.”

She gave him a sharp side-eye. “Oh, you wanna play astrologer now?”

He leaned in, cocky smirk in full bloom. “I’m just saying, your moon is in ‘About to get her ass kicked.’”

“Oh, you are so dead.”

The ref blew the whistle.

She didn’t wait and took off running toward the nearest barricade, ducking behind a stack of crates, adrenaline already bubbling up as laughter threatened to break loose. The soft thuds of her boots kicked up dust with every step.

Joe dropped into a full, dramatic combat roll behind a hay bale like it was a scene from an action movie.

“You do not need to combat roll!” she called out laughing then peeking around the edge of her hiding spot.

“Let me live!” he yelled back.

Pop. Pop. SPLAT.

Orange paint burst against the wall inches from her face.

“You missed!” She yelled. 

“Just setting the mood,” Joe said, voice low and dangerous—ridiculous, really. He was clearly loving this.

She narrowed her eyes, aimed, and fired.

Direct hit. Right in his thigh.

“AHH—cheap shot!” he yelped, staggering like he’d taken a real bullet.

“You okay, soldier?!” she taunted.

“I’m going down… tell my brothers I fought with honor…”

She stood up, laughing. “You’re such a drama queen.”

Pop.

A streak of neon pink splattered dead center on her chest.

Her mouth dropped open. “You JERK!”

Joe took off running before she could raise her gun again.

She crouched behind a stack of barrels, wild curls clinging to her damp cheek, laughter catching in her throat with every breath. Her heart was racing, not just from adrenaline, but from the way he’d looked at her earlier. Like the city had faded out around them, and it was just this: the thrill, the chase, the two of them orbiting each other in chaos.

Across the paint-splattered field, Joe dropped behind a hay bale, chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. Streaks of orange and purple paint marked his arms and neck, sweat slicking his hair to his forehead. His vest hung open like he didn’t care who won anymore, only that she was here. That they were doing this together.

“You’re running out of cover, Jonas!” she called, voice dripping with mischief.

“You’re running out of ammunition,” he shot back, peeking out just long enough for her to catch that smug, irresistible grin.

She narrowed her eyes, lined up her shot, and fired.

POP.

A burst of green paint soared past his leg—close enough to make him flinch.

“Ohhh,” he muttered, ducking lower. “Okay. You wanna play dirty.”

She laughed, dropping back behind the barrels. “Always.”

He didn’t hesitate.

One wild heartbeat later, he launched himself over the hay bale like a kid in a summer blockbuster. Very clumsy, fast, full Leo energy with a death wish and dimples. She yelped and took off running, but he was faster. He tackled her mid-sprint, catching her around the waist and tumbling them both into the soft hay, tangled and breathless, limbs everywhere, hearts racing.

“Joe!” she gasped, pushing at his chest. “You ambushed me!”

“You hit me in the back three times!”

“You deserved it!”

“You started it!”

They were laughing, rolling in the grass like they’d known each other forever. Like this was just who they were now. Two people who didn’t know how to quit each other, even in war paint.

Then he pinned her beneath him. Not rough. Not forceful. Just enough to feel the weight of the moment settle between them.

His eyes locked with hers, expression somewhere between serious and undone. The paintball gun in his hand hovered just slightly above her chest.

“Don’t you dare,” she warned, breathless.

POP.

A perfect splatter of pink burst across her shirt, right over her heart.

She gasped. “You shouldn’t have done that Jonas!”

Joe only grinned, lowering himself until their noses brushed. And then without warning, without teasing, without needing to ask. 

He kissed her.

Slow. Steady. Devastating.

His mouth moved over hers like he meant it. Like he’d waited weeks for this. Like he already knew it would ruin him.

She melted into him instantly, hands curling around the fabric of his shirt, legs hooking around his, pulling him closer. The hay poked at her back, the world spun above them, but none of it mattered. Just the heat of his body, the way his hands slid gently into her hair, the quiet tremble in his exhale.

When he finally pulled away just barely.. his forehead rested against hers.

Eyes bright. Face flushed. Smile soft and wrecked.

And that’s when she said it.

“I love you so much.”

It came out quiet, caught in the same breath as her laughter. A confession in the middle of a war zone, paint smudged on her chin, curls tangled, lips kiss-bitten.

Joe froze for only a second. Then he smiled.

Wider. Warmer. Like it broke something open inside him.

“I love you more,” he whispered. “Since Jersey. Since the elevator. Since you.”

Twenty Minutes Later – Clean-Up Room

Joe winced as he lifted his shirt, revealing a blossoming bruise on his thigh where she’d nailed him with a perfect shot.

“Okay,” she said, eyebrows lifting as she leaned in for a better look. “That’s gonna be intense.”

He glanced down, smirking through the pain. “Worth it.”

She rolled her eyes, reaching for a towel and dabbing a streak of purple paint from her shoulder. Her arms were splattered, her curls still damp from sweat and battle, and her tank top looked like a casualty of war. But somehow, in all the chaos, she looked more radiant than ever.

Joe leaned against the counter, arms crossed, eyes locked on her.

“You’re staring,” she said without looking up.

“I like you messy,” he replied, lips twitching into a grin. “It’s proof I survived a date with you.”

She turned slowly, towel still in hand, steps deliberate as she closed the space between them. “You know what happens to cocky guys in paintball arenas?”

He raised an eyebrow. “They fall in love?”

A slow smile pulled at her lips. “They get ambushed.”

And then she yanked him in by the collar.

He dropped everything—his towel, his balance, the breath in his lungs—as she kissed him hard, hot, and unfiltered. Her hands tangled in his shirt as his arms found her waist, lifting her effortlessly onto the edge of the sink.

They broke apart just long enough to laugh, their foreheads pressed together, breath catching in each other’s throats.

“Okay,” she said, tugging gently at the curls near the back of his neck, voice low and breathless. “If we don’t leave now, your picnic’s gonna be under moonlight.”

Joe pulled back just enough to see her clearly, cheeks flushed, lips kiss-bitten, looking at him like she already knew she was falling.

“You’d still look good by candlelight,” he murmured.

She gave him a look. “You trying to get laid or get fed?”

He grinned. “Why not both?”

The air inside the tiny cleanup room was warm, smelling like soap, sweat, and something vaguely floral from the industrial hand soap dispenser.

She peeled off the vest and dropped it onto the bench, her tank top now streaked with paint. Her arms were dusted with faint lavender and gold splatter. Her cheeks were flushed, curls wild and sticking to her neck.

Joe stepped in behind her with a towel over his shoulder and the biggest shit-eating grin on his face.

“Truce?” he offered, stepping closer, towel in hand.

She eyed him skeptically as he reached up and gently wiped a streak of purple from her cheek.

“You literally waited until I wasn’t looking.”

“You were monologuing like a villain.”

“I was sassing, not monologuing.”

Another streak—gone. His fingers lingered just a second too long this time.

“You’re cute when you’re covered in war paint,” he said softly kissing her lips playfully.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Joe’s smirk faltered—just slightly—but in that rare, vulnerable way. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said, voice quieter now, barely above the hum of the air conditioner.

Just when she leaned in, his hand dipped into the sink behind him.

A splash of water smacked across her cheek.

“JOE!”

He was out the door before she could grab anything to throw at him.

She chased him out into the sunlight. 

Fifteen Minutes Later – Outside

They stepped out of the clean-up room in completely different clothes. Joe wore a soft vintage tee that clung to his frame and a pair of worn jeans. She’d borrowed a white tank top from his bag and tied it at the waist, throwing it on over her shorts like it had always belonged to her. Her hair was still wild from the helmet, but now it was free. Barefoot in sandals, cheeks still pink, she looked like summer in motion.

They looked like a couple who’d just survived a battle, a first kiss, and the kind of date that rearranges your heart.

Joe held the picnic basket in one hand. Her fingers laced through his other like they’d done it a hundred times before.

He glanced over, unable to help the smile tugging at his mouth.

“Ready for part two?”

She looked up at him, the sun slipping low behind his silhouette, golden light catching in her eyes.

“Ready to fall for you all over again.”

Later – Central Park

The city was calmer here. Quieter. As if even New York knew how to soften when love was involved.

They found a shaded patch beneath a tall tree, far enough from the main paths that it felt like their own little world. Joe had laid out a blanket and unpacked a small picnic. There was lemonade in glass bottles, two wrapped sandwiches, and a Tupperware container of chocolate-dipped strawberries. Her favorite! 

She walked barefoot across the grass, paint stains still faint on her arms, wild hair tied into a low knot, sunglasses perched on her head.

He sat with his back against the tree, arms folded behind his head, eyes closed. At peace.

She dropped down beside him, plucking a strawberry. “So you hit me with paint… and you had this planned the whole time?”

“I like to keep you guessing,” he said, grinning as he opened his eyes.

They ate. Talked. Took turns lying in the grass. She took a photo of him mid-eye-roll—he pretended not to smile. The breeze was warm and sweet and slow.

Joe sat up, reaching for his bag.

“I need to ask you something,” he said, voice suddenly serious.

She blinked. “Okay…”

He pulled out a small, folded slip of paper—hotel stationery, edges worn.

Her heart stopped.

“Don’t fall in love with strangers,” she read softly. “Oh my god. You kept it?”

“I kept you,” he said gently. “Every gig stop. Every hotel. Every time I wasn’t sure what this was.”

Her throat tightened. “Joe…”

He reached into the basket and pulled out a second note. New. Clean. Folded the same way.

“Would you maybe want to fall in love with me anyway?”

Her hands flew to her face. “Are you kidding me right now?”

He wasn’t. He was holding the note between two fingers, offering it like it meant everything. And it did.

She launched herself into his arms.

“Yes, you idiot,” she laughed through tears. “Yes.”

He kissed her deep and dizzying and perfect.

And in the background, New York just kept humming. 

[cup-of-jonas]

Heart By Heart

Chapter Nine: Just This

✨ Masterlist✨

The apartment was dim except for the golden flicker of candlelight and the soft glow of the record player turning in the corner, needle gliding through the same song on repeat. Neither of them noticed it looping until maybe the third or fourth time—but by then, they were tangled too closely to care.

Kat was curled into Joe’s side on the couch, one leg folded beneath her, wine glass forgotten on the coffee table. Her heels had been the first thing to go, kicked aside near the door like she couldn’t bear them another second. She’d changed into one of Joe’s old tees, sleeves too long, hem barely brushing her thighs, and something about it undid him entirely.

They hadn’t spoken much.

Not out of awkwardness—but out of something softer. Something that made silence feel like music. Their mouths met slowly. Again. And again. Her fingers in his hair. His hand cupping her jaw. Breath shared like wine between kisses.

It wasn’t hurried.

It wasn’t needy.

It was patient. Like two people trying to memorize each other one kiss at a time.

Sometimes she’d pause just to look at him, like she wasn’t sure how any of this was real. Sometimes he’d stare too long, brushing a stray curl behind her ear, kissing the corner of her mouth like he’d never get tired of finding new places to worship.

They talked between sips of red wine—little things. Old stories. Inside jokes forming in real time. But mostly, they kissed.

By the time she pulled the blanket around her shoulders and tucked into the crook of his arm, the record was still playing—soft and slow, like it didn’t want the night to end either.

Wrapped in one of Joe’s oldest throw blankets, they ended up tucked into his couch like they belonged there. Her head rested on his shoulder. His arm draped over her side, fingers laced gently with hers on top of her thigh.

Neither of them had moved in a while.

They didn’t want to.

“You hungry?” he asked quietly.

She shook her head. “Not really. I think I’m just… tired.”

He nodded, brushing a thumb softly along the back of her hand. “We don’t have to do anything.”

She smiled faintly. “Except maybe not sit in total silence?”

He laughed. “Fair.”

Joe grabbed the remote, flipped through a few things, then landed on something dumb and comforting—You’ve Got Mail.

She looked up at him. “Really?”

He shrugged. “It’s New York. It’s late. It’s fate. Seemed fitting.”

She leaned into his side a little more. “It’s kinda perfect.”

The movie played. But it wasn’t really about the movie…

They talked in hushed tones between scenes, joked about Tom Hanks’ hair, debated whether Joe would survive working in a bookstore, and traded small truths like secrets. Kat told him she used to believe soulmates only existed in books. Joe told her he wasn’t sure what he believed anymore, but something about this—about her—was starting to feel like a reason to try again.

They laughed softly, like people who hadn’t in a while.

And sometime after midnight, as the credits rolled and the screen faded to black, she turned to look at him, eyes soft with sleep and something else she hadn’t named yet.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Joe blinked, brushing a curl away from her cheek. “For what?”

“For not asking for more than this.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his voice barely audible.

“This is all I wanted.”

And she believed him.

She shifted slightly, pulling the blanket tighter around her as she looked up at him again.

“What?” she asked with a little smile.

Joe shook his head slowly the dim lighting making his eyes sparkly as he admired her. “You’re beautiful.”

The words fell out like breath—honest, easy, without expectation. Not whispered in the dark. Not between kisses. Not in a moment designed for seduction.

Just here.

Just now.

On a couch. In the quiet. After the storm.

Kat blinked, caught off guard. “You don’t have to say that,” she murmured, looking down.

“I’m not saying it because I have to.”

She looked back up at him.

“I’m saying it because it’s true,” he said softly. “Even now. Especially now.”

She didn’t know what to say.

So she didn’t.

She just leaned in again. Rested her head against his shoulder. Let his hand find hers once more.

And they sat like that for a long time.

No pressure. No rush. No expectations.

Just stillness.

Just the warmth of being next to someone who chose to stay.

And for Joe?

That was enough

[cup-of-jonas]

Heart by Heart - Chapter eight: She Came Back

✨Masterlist✨

The night after their first date ended slowly, like the last song at a wedding—sweet, drawn-out, full of something too fragile to name.

Joe walked her to the curb, kissed her again, and watched the tail lights of her rideshare blur into the glow of the street. He didn’t go back into the restaurant right away. He stood there with his hands in his pockets and that ridiculous smile on his face, the one he didn’t try to fight. The one that didn’t feel like something he wore for the world but something that belonged just to her.

That was how it started.

And from there, it didn’t stop.

Since that first date, things unfolded slowly but beautifully. Joe found himself making the drive to New Jersey more often than he expected, not because he had to, but because he wanted to. To see her. To hear her laugh. To make her coffee in the morning and kiss her goodnight before the train ride home. Sometimes she stayed up late waiting for his text, and other times he’d call just to hear about her day, even if it was ordinary. Even if nothing big had happened.

Kat made time for him too, stealing weekends to come into the city, crashing on his couch with a messy bun and mismatched pajamas, brushing her teeth with his toothbrush because she forgot hers again. It wasn’t about perfection. It was about presence. They spent lazy afternoons walking through bookstores, trying hole-in-the-wall pizza spots, sharing playlists, secrets, and old wounds with the kind of honesty that only shows up when someone feels safe.

Something quiet had taken root between them.

They weren’t rushing into forever. But somehow, it already felt like a place they both belonged.

Joe found himself on trains and in rideshares and sometimes behind the wheel, driving out to Jersey with a guitar in the backseat and a knot in his chest that loosened the second he saw her again. Some visits were just for an evening. Others stretched into weekends. They fell into something slow and steady, wrapped in backseat kisses, diner booths, old movies on Kat’s couch. It wasn’t loud, but it was real. And it was starting to feel like something he could reach for with both hands.

And now—it was her turn.

She was coming to New York.

Just for a few days, she’d said.

But still—she was coming.

—

Joe cleaned the apartment three times before she even texted that she was ten minutes out.

The coffee table gleamed. The bathroom was stocked with the good towels. A candle flickered on the windowsill, scenting the place with warm cedar and something soft like vanilla. The bed was made—twice. Her side of the closet had been cleared out, just in case. Not that he’d said that.

He checked his phone.

And then—buzz.

Kat: Outside 💋

Joe grinned. His heart jumped as he tossed his phone on the couch and jogged down the stairs. He opened the front door just as she stepped out of the rideshare, one bag on her shoulder, curls a little windblown.

Her smile could’ve powered the whole block.

He didn’t say anything.

Just pulled her in and hugged her tight—arms around her waist, her face pressed into the crook of his neck.

“Hi,” she murmured.

“Hi.”

She pulled back and looked up at him, cheeks pink from the cold. “I missed you.”

“You just saw me last week.”

“I still missed you.”

He kissed her. Soft. Familiar.

Then reached for her bag.

“Come on,” he said. “Welcome back to New York babe..”

“Thanks babe, I am excited to be here and spend time with you.” She smiled.

And inside the apartment—warm, candlelit, a little too spotless—Joe realized he didn’t care if it was just a few days.

She was here.

And he didn’t want her to leave.

Ever.

[cup-of-jonas]

Heart By Heart - Chapter Seven: The Start Of Us 

✨Masterlist✨

The restaurant was tucked between a florist and a record store on a quiet corner of Mulberry Street. It was one of those hidden gems only locals knew about. The kind with red-checkered tablecloths, mismatched chairs, and walls plastered in black-and-white photographs of Italian families smiling over candlelit meals. A string of old-fashioned Christmas lights hung from the ceiling year-round, twinkling like nostalgia frozen in time.

Joe had arrived early. Way too early.

He sat in the booth near the back, beneath a photo of a couple dancing in the street with wine glasses raised mid-laughter. His fingers drummed lightly on the table as he stared at the empty seat across from him. A flickering candle sat between two small plates, and his water glass had been refilled twice already by a waiter who kept smiling like he knew something Joe didn’t.

He glanced down at his phone again.

Nothing yet.

He wasn’t sure if he was nervous or just… buzzing. The kind of restless energy that had nothing to do with caffeine and everything to do with the possibility of seeing her again.

He reached up and adjusted the collar of his white shirt—crisp, clean, and layered under a dark jacket he hadn’t worn since a magazine interview months ago. It still smelled faintly of cologne and pressure. But tonight, it felt like armor. Not for fame. Just for this.

For her.

The hostess passed by and offered him another soft smile. “Can I get you anything while you wait?”

He shook his head gently. “No, thanks. I’m good.”

He looked toward the front door again. Still no sign of her.

The candlelight made everything look warmer than it was. His reflection in the window looked more boyish than usual—messy curls, hopeful eyes, that quiet pinch between his brows that only showed when he was trying not to feel too much at once.

He rubbed his palms together beneath the table. Just to keep them steady.

The waiter returned again. “Would you like some bread while you wait?”

Joe laughed softly under his breath. “Sure. Bread sounds great.”

A small basket appeared moments later—warm slices, a tiny dish of olive oil and balsamic. He tore a piece absentmindedly and glanced at the door again, catching his breath—

Because there she was.

Kat.

Stepping inside in a soft black dress that hugged her in all the right places and fell just above her knees. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, a little wind-tossed, a little perfect. She looked flushed from the breeze outside, eyes bright and scanning the room—until they landed on him.

And suddenly, Joe forgot every line he’d rehearsed on the way there.

She smiled.

That was all it took.

He stood up, smoothing his jacket, and gave a little wave. Nothing big. Just enough.

She crossed the room toward him slowly, heels clicking on the tiled floor, and something in Joe’s chest unraveled just a bit. Not in a panicked way. More like… finally.

“Hey,” she said, sliding into the booth across from him.

“Hey,” he echoed, his voice a little softer now. “You found it.”

“I did,” she said. “And I’m not even late.”

“You’re right on time,” Joe said, eyes lingering on her for a second longer than he meant to. “You look… really good.”

She laughed, a hand tucking her hair behind one ear. “Thanks. So do you. I like the jacket.”

He glanced down. “I wasn’t sure it still fit. But I figured it deserved a night out.”

“Same,” she said, settling in. “This place is adorable. Kind of feels like we stepped into a movie.”

Joe smiled. “That’s the idea.”

As the waiter approached with menus, the moment stretched into something warm. Familiar.

Like maybe—just maybe—their story hadn’t even begun yet.

And this?

This was the first real page.

Kat smiled as she slipped into the booth across from him, cheeks still a little pink from the wind outside. Joe offered a warm grin and reached for the bottle of red already chilling in a carafe on the table.

“This okay?” he asked, tilting it toward her.

“Perfect,” she said softly.

Joe tilted the bottle with exaggerated care, the wine swirling like liquid garnet as it filled her glass with a soft clink.

“Look at that,” he said, brow raised as he poured his own and gave the bottle a subtle flourish. “Perfect pour. Wow.”

Kat smiled behind the rim of her glass. “Did you just say ‘wow’ about wine?”

He nodded, swirling the glass in a mock-sophisticated way before taking a sip. “I did. I’m a man of many talents. Wine pouring is apparently one of them.”

“Oh really?” she teased. “Should I be impressed?”

“I mean…” He leaned forward a little, smirking. “If the wine doesn’t do it, I’ve got other tricks.”

She raised her brows. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely,” he said, taking another sip and pretending to contemplate it seriously. “Wow again. I think this wine just complimented me back.”

She laughed, her eyes dancing with amusement. “You’re ridiculous.”

He shrugged. “You’re here. It’s working.”

The waiter took their orders and disappeared with a wink. Kat leaned back slightly in her seat, her fingertips tracing the rim of her glass.

“So…” she said, eyes dancing across the table. “What’s your go-to karaoke song?”

Joe blinked, then laughed softly. “Wow. You’re not easing into it, huh?”

She smirked. “Nope. Hard-hitting questions only.”

He tilted his head, pretending to consider. “Okay, but only if you promise not to judge.”

“No promises.”

He grinned. “It’s I Want It That Way.”

Kat gasped. “Backstreet Boys?”

He nodded, proud. “Every. Time.”

“That’s… iconic,” she said, shaking her head. “You probably hit the high note, too.”

He shrugged. “Depends on how much wine I’ve had.”

She laughed, her hand resting briefly near his on the table. “Alright, your turn.”

Joe leaned forward, resting his elbow on the edge of his plate. “Okay… if you had to pick one meal for the rest of your life—just one—what would it be?”

Kat made a face. “Ugh. That’s evil.”

He waited.

Finally, she sighed. “Probably pasta. But like… really good pasta. Handmade. And maybe garlic bread. But I’d hate myself eventually.”

Joe nodded seriously. “That’s a respectable answer. Classic. Comforting. Carb-loaded.”

“Basically me in a nutshell,” she said, raising her glass.

He clinked it gently with his own. “To carbs and chaos.”

She laughed again, and it hit him how easily her laughter settled something in him. Like the static had dialed down.

They kept talking. Joking. Trading stories. Every time she tilted her head, he noticed. Every time she smiled, he swore the room softened.

They took their time choosing what to eat, even though Joe admitted—between sips of red—that he’d already looked up the menu earlier and had a few ideas. He was drinking a full-bodied Montepulciano, bold and velvety with just enough spice, and Kat joined him, curious to see what all the “wow” was about.

Their glasses clinked gently.

“To what?” Kat asked, raising her brow.

Joe tilted his head. “To… surprising nights. And second chances.”

She smiled. “I’ll drink to that.”

They ordered a plate of rigatoni alla vodka and a margherita pizza to share. It came on a wide ceramic dish with charred crust and fresh basil still glistening from olive oil. Joe slid the first slice onto her plate, watching the way her eyes lit up after the first bite.

“I told you,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “This place is legit.”

“I’m impressed,” she said between bites. “You really know your carbs.”

“I know what makes a night feel right,” he said simply, then took another sip of wine, that little sparkle still in his eyes.

Conversation flowed as naturally as the wine. They talked about favorite childhood movies, guilty pleasure songs, and worst first dates—Joe’s involved a girl who brought her ex-boyfriend to the restaurant to make him jealous, and Kat’s included someone who thought magic tricks were a personality. Each story made them laugh harder, the space between them shrinking with every shared joke and secret glance.

By the time their plates were cleared, the buzz of the evening had softened into something quieter. Comfortable.

Joe leaned back slightly, resting his arm along the booth behind her.

“Dessert?” he asked, voice a little lower now.

Kat glanced at the little dessert menu tucked behind the napkin holder. “Let’s see… ooh, tiramisu.”

“House specialty,” Joe said. “I read a Yelp review that called it ‘a religious experience.’”

She grinned. “Then we’d be foolish not to.”

“Two spoons?” he asked.

“Always.”

When it arrived—delicate layers of espresso-soaked ladyfingers, mascarpone cream, and a generous dusting of cocoa—it looked almost too pretty to touch. Joe took the first bite and closed his eyes dramatically.

“Oh wow,” he said, genuinely stunned. “I think I just saw my future.”

Kat giggled, reaching for her spoon. “Is it filled with mascarpone?”

“It’s filled with… something,” he said, looking at her. “This moment. You.”

She blinked, then smiled so softly it almost hurt.

They shared the dessert slowly. Spoons clinking between gentle bites and quieter conversation, letting the sweetness linger like the last line of a song they didn’t want to end.

The tiramisu came in a delicate glass dish, dusted with cocoa and crowned with a single raspberry. They shared it, spoons clinking gently between soft bites and slower glances. By then, their conversation had shifted into something quieter. More glances than words, more smiles than punchlines.

Joe noticed the way Kat looked down after she laughed, like she was still figuring out how to trust a moment that felt too easy. He noticed the way she always left a bite for him, even when she didn’t have to. The way she caught herself staring and didn’t look away.

By the time they stepped outside, the night had deepened. The city had softened. Sidewalks glistened faintly from a recent street cleaning, and the amber glow of the old streetlamps cast everything in a kind of magic.

They walked slowly, neither of them in a rush to let go of the night.

Kat wrapped her arms lightly around herself, her heels clicking more softly now on the pavement. Joe slipped off his jacket without a word and draped it over her shoulders. She blinked, caught off guard but then smiled, pulling it closer.

It swallowed her frame, and he swore something inside him stilled at the sight.

“I had a really nice time,” she said, looking up at him.

“Me too.”

She hesitated. “I don’t usually do this.”

“Wear strangers’ jackets?” he teased, nudging her with his shoulder.

She laughed. “No. I mean… this. Let someone in. Not this soon.”

Joe’s expression softened. “I get it. I don’t usually feel this way this soon either.”

They stopped walking near the corner, the glow of a neon diner sign blinking softly behind them. The street was empty except for the quiet buzz of passing taxis and the whisper of city wind.

She turned toward him, eyes bright.

“I’m glad you texted,” she said.

“I’m glad you gave me your number,” he replied.

And then—he stepped a little closer.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t asked.

It was just there. Inevitable. Quiet.

His hand rose slowly, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. Her lips parted just slightly, but she didn’t move back. She didn’t look away.

He leaned in—soft, deliberate.

And kissed her.

It wasn’t fireworks.

It was constellations.

The kind of kiss that felt mapped long before it ever happened. Slow. Thoughtful. Like a breath being let out. Like music without sound. His hand found her waist, hers gently cupped his jaw, and in that moment, the whole city disappeared.

When they finally pulled apart, her eyes fluttered open.

Joe’s voice was quiet.

“You feel like something I’ve waited for.”

Kat smiled, voice barely above a whisper.

“Then maybe we both finally showed up.”

And under the light of a flickering sign on a quiet New York street, Joe Jonas felt the kind of peace he thought he’d stopped believing in.

The kind that only shows up once in a lifetime.

And stays.

<———Chapter 7 ✨ Chapter 8——>

[cup-of-jonas]

Heart by Heart-Chapter Six: The First Text

✨Masterlist✨

Morning came slowly.

Joe stirred in the quiet, sunlight slipping through the sheer curtains of his bedroom like it was trying not to wake him. But it did. It always did.

His eyes opened to the soft blue of the ceiling, already warmed by daylight. The sheets were tangled around his legs, his shirt damp with sleep. For a moment, he didn’t move. He just listened—to the creak of the building, the faint hum of traffic three stories below, the echo of last night still alive in the corners of his mind.

Her face.

Her kiss.

Her number.

He turned his head and saw the dried ink faintly ghosted across his wrist.

He hadn’t washed it all off after all.

Joe blinked, heart quietly kicking against his ribs.

He sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. His phone was still on the nightstand, untouched since he set it down hours ago. He reached for it now. Held it in his hands like it might bite.

He didn’t open it right away.

Instead, he stood. Walked barefoot to the kitchen. Poured himself a cup of the stale coffee he’d forgotten to refrigerate last night. Took a sip anyway. It was awful.

He stared out the window above the sink, the early light painting the buildings across the street in gold. Somewhere below, a dog barked. A bus hissed to a stop. The world had gone on like nothing had happened.

But something had happened.

She kissed him.

She stayed.

And now, the question he hadn’t dared ask himself last night stood in the silence beside him:

What do you do with a second chance you never expected?

Joe walked back to the bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed, and opened his phone, his elbows resting on his knees, head slightly down as he stared at his phone. The room was washed in morning light, pale and slow, filtering through the sheer curtains behind him. He’d showered not long ago—his damp curls still clung to his forehead in loose waves, clean and soft.

He smelled like cedarwood and sandalwood soap, that warm, familiar cologne she’d probably still recognize if she leaned in close. A scent that lingered even in the quiet.

His sweatshirt was a deep, rich green with bold stripes of orange and cream—slouchy and casual but fitted just enough to hug his frame. The collar of a white shirt peeked out from underneath. Paired with ripped jeans and bare feet, he looked like someone trying not to overthink everything. But he was. 

Messages.

New message.

He tapped her number.

The cursor blinked.

Then—

Hey. It’s Joe.

Still can’t believe you wrote your number on my wrist like that. Brave move. 😅

He paused.

Deleted the emoji.

Started again.

Hey. It’s Joe. I know we said dinner… and I’d still really like that. Let me know when you’re free?

He hit send before he could overthink it.

Set the phone down. Pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes.

Waited.

The reply didn’t come immediately. Of course it didn’t.

So he did the dishes. Folded the blanket on the couch. Picked up his guitar.

Didn’t play.

Just held it.

Hey. Last night… I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

Still no reply.

He stared at the screen, like maybe if he looked long enough, it would buzz with something—anything—from her.

For a second, he flipped the camera. Caught himself in the reflection of the mirror across the room. There he was. Sitting on the edge of a bed in a city he didn’t live in, thinking about a girl he barely knew… but couldn’t shake.

He lifted the phone. Took a picture.

Not because he looked good—though something about the soft light and the contrast of his sweatshirt against the sheets made him look effortlessly handsome. No, it wasn’t vanity.

It was the moment. Something quiet and real. The kind of in-between no one ever sees.

Just him.

Waiting.

He hadn’t heard back from her yet.

And hoping she’d text back

Then—his phone buzzed.

He nearly dropped the guitar.

Kat: Hey. I was hoping you’d text. I’d like that too. I’m free tonight, if you are.

Joe smiled.

For the first time in weeks, it reached his eyes.

He sat back against the couch, thumb hovering over the screen.

Then it lit up again.

Kat:

Or we could talk now? If that’s not too weird?

He didn’t hesitate this time.

Call her. 

Her voice on the other end was soft.

Like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to sound happy.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” he said, breath catching just slightly.

“I wasn’t sure you’d actually text.”

“Me neither,” he admitted. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About you.”

Silence. But not awkward.

Just full.

“You sound tired,” she said.

“I didn’t sleep much.”

“Me either.”

Joe ran a hand through his hair. “I was thinking dinner. Maybe something easy. Just us.”

She exhaled like she’d been holding her breath. “That sounds really nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I am looking forward to it.” Kat said. 

He smiled, voice softening. “Then it’s a date.”

[cup-of-jonas]

Heart By Heart - Chapter Five: The Ink Didn’t Fade

✨Masterlist✨

Heart by Heart

Chapter Five: The Ink Didn’t Fade

The subway hummed beneath him, a low mechanical lullaby rocking its way through the underbelly of the city. Joe sat in a corner seat, guitar case between his knees, back pressed against the cold metal wall as the train slipped through tunnel after tunnel like a heartbeat trying to steady itself.

The number was still on his wrist.

Smudged, but visible. Ink pressed to skin, a little shaky from the way she’d scrawled it in the dark while her friends were pulling her away. He could still feel her fingers there—her breath close. The rush of it. The chaos. The kiss.

His palm hovered over the digits like he could protect them from fading. The train lights flickered overhead, strobing everything in and out of clarity. She hadn’t written her name next to it. Just the number. But he knew. God, he knew.

He pulled out his phone, screen glowing blue in the hollow quiet of the nearly empty car.

New contact.

He typed it in slowly. One number at a time. Then paused. His thumb hovered over the name field.

He could’ve written something stupid. “That Girl.” “The Ghost.” “Black Heels.”

But he didn’t.

He just typed:

Kat

And saved it.

Then he turned off the screen. Slipped the phone back into his pocket. Leaned his head against the train window and closed his eyes for the rest of the ride.

The White Plains night was colder than he remembered. Quieter, too.

The streets were mostly empty when he walked from the station. His boots echoed against the pavement, steady and slow. He passed shuttered bakeries, a 24-hour gas station, a quiet florist with dried roses still displayed in the window.

When he reached his building, he didn’t look up.

He unlocked the door, climbed the stairs, and pushed into the apartment with muscle memory alone. The lights stayed off. He didn’t need them.

Everything was the same as he’d left it—half unpacked boxes, his guitar stand, the faint scent of detergent clinging to the air. The shadows felt soft. Familiar. Lonely in a way he couldn’t name.

Joe set the guitar down gently, slid off his boots, and moved toward the kitchen in silence. He grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filled it with water, and stood there for a moment in the dim blue light of the fridge, staring at the condensation trailing down the side of the glass like it had something to say.

He drank it in slow sips.

Set it down.

Walked to the bedroom.

And sat on the edge of the bed.

The number on his wrist was already starting to disappear—tiny cracks forming in the ink where his skin bent. It would be gone by morning.

He stared at it.

Not like someone afraid to lose it.

More like someone afraid to believe it had ever been there in the first place.

He traced the fading numbers once with his thumb, then pulled his shirt off over his head and crossed the room to the bathroom. The tiles were cold against his feet. The mirror fogged almost instantly when he turned the shower on. Steam curled around him like a blanket he didn’t ask for.

He stepped under the water without adjusting the temperature. Let it hit him hot. Let it run down his back, his shoulders, his chest. The number blurred into streaks, bleeding faintly down his forearm. He didn’t move to wipe it away.

He just stood there.

Head bowed.

Breathing slowly.

As if the water might wash the ache out of his bones.

He dressed in silence. Soft gray t-shirt. Worn sweats. The same ones he used to wear when she wasn’t real yet. When she was just a memory in a hotel room and a few lyrics he couldn’t finish.

The ink was gone now.

But he still knew it by heart.

He sat on the couch, lights still off, city hum barely audible through the windows. His phone buzzed once—just a notification. Not her. He didn’t check it.

Instead, he leaned back into the cushions, hands folded across his stomach, and stared at the ceiling. The plaster cracked slightly near the corner. He’d meant to patch it.

Funny what you remember when your heart’s still catching up.

He closed his eyes.

Didn’t text her.

Didn’t write.

Didn’t move.

Just let the silence fill the spaces her voice had echoed in all night.

Chapter 4 <——✨ Chapter 5——>

[cup-of-jonas]

[cup-of-jonas]

[cup-of-jonas]

Heart By Heart

Chapter Four: The Look That Wrecked Him (Part 2)

✨Masterlist✨

The door slammed behind him.

Cool night air wrapped around his skin like a slap, stinging with the kind of bitterness that didn’t ask questions. Joe’s boots hit the pavement in quick strides, adrenaline still thrumming from the final chord of his set, from the sight of her face in the crowd, from the ghost of her lips still living in a song he hadn’t finished writing.

She was already half a block away.

Her silhouette flickered beneath the dim streetlights—long legs, dark waves of hair catching the wind, that black dress that fit her like a memory. It swayed with every step, delicate but purposeful, like she didn’t want to be seen but couldn’t help but be noticed.

And then there were the heels.

Black. Sharp. Too high for comfort. They clicked on the sidewalk with each step, fast and rhythmic, like a metronome for heartbreak.

Click. Click. Click.

He almost let her go. Almost let the sound of her fading footsteps become just another part of the city noise.

But something inside him snapped.

She had run once. Left nothing but a note and a pair of shoes behind. But this time, she was here. Real. Walking away again like it hadn’t mattered. Like he hadn’t spent weeks trying to forget her and failing every damn time.

“Hey,” he called, voice rough.

She didn’t stop.

His pulse kicked. He picked up his pace.

“Hey!”

The click of her heels slowed. Stopped.

Joe exhaled, his breath catching somewhere between panic and longing.

“You were really gonna leave again?”

Joe’s voice cracked as he reached out and caught her arm. Not hard. Just enough to stop her from slipping through the cracks again.

She turned slowly. Her eyes were wide, startled. Caught like a secret in headlights.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” she said, her voice clipped. Not cold—just bracing.

Joe blinked. “This is your first time in New York?”

She nodded. “It was supposed to be a girls’ night. Nothing heavy.”

His throat tightened. “So it’s heavy for me, but not for you?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you didn’t stay,” he said, sharper now. “You disappeared. Like it meant nothing.”

“It didn’t mean nothing,” she snapped back. “But that doesn’t mean it meant everything.”

It hit him like a slap.

Silence pulsed between them. The street buzzed in the background—cars passing, a horn somewhere far off, laughter from a bar down the block. But their little corner of sidewalk felt frozen in place.

Joe took a step back, shaking his head. “You left before I even knew your name.”

“And maybe that’s why it worked,” she said quietly, arms crossed now like a shield. “Maybe that’s why it felt safe.”

His voice broke again. “It didn’t feel safe to me. It felt… real.”

That stopped her. Just for a moment. The fight left her shoulders.

“You don’t know me,” she said.

“I want to.”

“Why? Because we had a good night? Because I moaned your name and you thought that meant forever?”

Joe flinched.

She saw it and regretted it. But she didn’t take it back.

“My name is Kat,” she said, eyes downcast hesitation in her voice. The wind blowing her hair back.

He looked at her then like she’d just handed him a ghost. So much hurt welled in his eyes, she almost turned and ran again.

But he didn’t yell. Didn’t beg. He just said, quietly..

“I wrote a song about you.”

Kat looked away.

“I’ve been trying to forget you. Trying to sleep. Trying to move on. But your voice, your laugh, your damn note… they haven’t left me alone since.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Joe stepped closer. “You said not to fall in love with strangers,” he whispered. “But I think I already did.”

Another silence.

Then she said, almost bitterly, “And what now, Joe? We kiss under a streetlight and pretend this is fate?”

His jaw clenched. “No. But maybe we don’t pretend it meant nothing.”

Her eyes lifted, finally meeting his. For a moment, all the fire inside her burned low.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” she said softly.

That was the truth.

Joe swallowed hard. “You don’t have to run.”

She hesitated. Her gaze fell. “I know what happened,” she said, voice barely audible. “I remember every second. The way you touched me. The way you held me after. The way your heart felt against my back while I pretended to be asleep.”

Something twisted inside him.

“But?” he asked.

Her eyes met his, sharp and fragile all at once.

“But I pretended to forget you.”

Joe’s breath caught, his eyes starting to gloss over.

She didn’t flinch. She stood her ground like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

“I thought it’d be easier,” she said. “To pretend you were just… a night. A dream. Something I could leave in that room in Jersey and never think about again.”

He looked at her like she’d cracked something open in his chest.

“And did it work?” he asked, voice low.

Kat hesitated. “No.”

Joe exhaled. It sounded more like a laugh but it wasn’t a happy one.

“You know what the worst part is?” he said. “I didn’t even need your number. Or your name…”

“Joe—”

“I was waiting,” he said, louder now.

She looked down. Couldn’t hold his eyes.

“I wanted to hate you,” he whispered. “But all I did was miss you.”

That broke her composure. Just a little.

“I didn’t know how to handle it,” she said. “It wasn’t supposed to mean something. That’s not what I wanted.”

“But it did,” he said. “Didn’t it?”

She didn’t answer.

But she didn’t walk away.

And that was enough to keep him standing there.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” she repeated, voice quiet.

Joe took a slow step back, pain flickering across his face. “Right. That’s why you left in the middle of the night without a name or a number.”

“I told you,” she said, voice rising, “it wasn’t supposed to be anything.”

“Well, it was something to me.”

“That’s not my fault.”

Joe scoffed. “Of course it’s not. Why would I expect you to take any responsibility?”

Her eyes flashed. “Don’t turn this around on me.” she yelled.

“No? What should I do then?” he snapped. “Keep chasing a girl who clearly decided I was easier to forget than face?”

“You don’t get to guilt me.”

“I’m not trying to guilt you. I’m trying to understand how you can sleep with someone, hold them all night, let them fall for you, and then just vanish like it was nothing.” Joe declared.

She stared at him, jaw tight. “You’re being dramatic.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

Joe’s face changed. The warmth drained from it. His voice went cold.

“Wow,” he said. “You really don’t get it.”

The shift was immediate. She felt it in her chest.

He stepped back again. “Forget it.”

“Joe..”

“I mean, clearly you already did. You said so yourself.” He nodded, bitter. “You pretended to forget me? Cool. Let’s make it real.” He turned and started walking. “You can go back to your girls’ night. I’ve got a stage to clean up.”

Her lips parted. Speechless.

“Joe, don’t walk away.”

He didn’t stop. “Why?” he shouted. “You already did!”

The backstage door to The Ivy slammed shut behind him.

The moment he stepped inside, he ripped his songbook out of his bag and slammed it against the brick wall. Pages flew. Lyrics scattered like ash across the polished floor.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice cracking.

He pressed a closed fist against the wall leaning on it and looking down. He closed his eyes. Tried to calm the storm pounding in his chest.

But it didn’t stop.

He bent down to gather the pages, his hands trembling as he stuffed them back into his bag. His throat burned. His eyes stung. He felt like he’d been hollowed out. He wiped his eyes knowing that he should cry over this.. her.

He couldn’t stay here.

Not like this.

Joe grabbed his guitar and pushed through the side door of The Ivy. The exit door was heavy thudding closed behind him.

And there she was.

Still standing outside.

Same spot.

Arms wrapped around herself. Eyes glossy. Her mascara had smudged slightly beneath one eye—but she wasn’t crying.

Not yet.

Joe stopped in the doorway.

For a second, he thought about turning around. Pretending none of this had happened.

But she turned.

Their eyes met.

She didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

Just stood there. Waiting.

Joe stepped onto the sidewalk. His boots hit the pavement like a final decision.

He passed her without a word.

She turned. “Joe…”

He raised a hand—not to stop her. To warn her not to follow him.

But she did.

“Joe, please,” she said, matching his pace. “I didn’t know what to say back there. I just… I didn’t want it to end like that.”

Still, he said nothing.

She faltered. “Please don’t shut me out.”

He slowed.

Stopped.

Stared ahead like the answer might be somewhere in the traffic lights.

Then he said, voice low and rough, “I have nothing to say to you other than, why didn’t you leave?”

She blinked. “What?”

“You always leave,” he whispered. “But this time… you didn’t. Did you think you would be missed? Did you think I would come running after you again? I am not going to.” he shouted with hurt in his voice.

She swallowed. No! It’s because I couldn’t.”

He turned, slow and uncertain.

Their eyes met.

Something flickered in him.

“You stayed for what?” he asked.

She nodded. “For you, I am still here Joe. I waited for you to come out.”

Joe’s chest rose with a shaky breath.

She stepped closer. “I didn’t know if you’d come back.”

He looked at her hand when it hovered near his chest.

Then—

She grabbed his.

He jerked slightly. Surprised. Shaken.

“Joe please.”

He yanked his hand back.

“You don’t get to do that,” he said, voice trembling. “You don’t get to vanish and then grab my hand like I’m supposed to just forget all of it.”

“I’m trying!”

“No, you’re running,” he snapped. “Like it was nothing. And now I’m out here making a scene on the damn sidewalk while the best venue I’ve ever booked probably blacklists me because of you.”

Her voice cracked. “I didn’t know you’d be here!” She raised her voice.

“That doesn’t change what it meant,” he said. “You can pretend all you want. But you were there too.”

Silence.

She stepped forward full of empathy. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He laughed, bitter and hollow. “Funny. You did a great job anyway.”

“Joe…”

He didn’t move.

“I ran because I didn’t expect you to matter,” she whispered.

His chest caved.

“You matter to me.”

And that time, she didn’t run.

She quickly closed the space between them and crashed her soft lips against his with a desperation she didn’t even know she’d been carrying. He gasped into her mouth and then kissed her back so hard it made her knees weaken. One of his hands cradled the base of her skull as he deepened the kiss. The other anchored her to him, fingers gripping her hip like he was afraid she’d vanish again. The kiss went from fire to silk in a heartbeat to wild, then slow. Fierce, then reverent. When they finally pulled apart, breathless, their noses brushing, his voice was a rasp. It was everything she’d been holding back and everything he’d been aching to feel again. Joe gasped into it, shocked at first, but his hands found her waist, her cheek, the shape of her face he hadn’t touched since that night. His lips met hers again and again, greedy, aching, desperate.

Joe’s brow softened.

And in that moment, he wasn’t the guy with the bruised ego. He was just a man who’d been hurting quietly for weeks and couldn’t believe she was standing there now, finally choosing to stay.He held her gaze for a long moment.

Then something shifted.

The kiss slowed.

His thumb brushed under her eye. Her breath hitched.

He kissed her like she was real now. Like this wasn’t a ghost story anymore.

When they finally pulled apart, foreheads pressed together, he whispered, “What the hell was that?” Joe whispered.

She exhaled shakily. “That was me… finally stopping myself from making the biggest mistake of my life.”

His nose grazed hers She blinked at him, dazed. Joe’s lips ghosted over hers again, his voice a whisper. “Tell me this means something.”.

“Tell me it meant something.”

She nodded. “It meant everything.”

They kissed again slower this time. Like it mattered. Like it always had.

When she pulled back again, lips swollen, hair tousled from the wind and the weight of it all, she winced and bent down slightly.

“God,” she muttered, slipping off her heels. “These shoes are gonna be the death of me.”

Joe blinked, a dazed breath still caught in his lungs. “Weird,” he said, smirking faintly. “Someone left a pair of equally painful shoes in my hotel room a few weeks ago.”

She looked up at him, eyes wide. Then laughed. Just a little.

But then—

Voices.

“Kat?”

They both turned. Her friends were spilling out of the bar down the block, scanning the street.

Joe tensed, jaw tight. This was the part where she disappeared again.

She turned back to him, urgency rising. “I want to see you again.”

He stepped forward. “I’d like that. Dinner? Before you head back to Jersey?”

She smiled. Soft, breathless. “Yeah. I’d love to.”

The group was closer now. Someone pointed. A voice called, “Kat? Who’s that?”

Before he could answer, she grabbed his hand, yanked a pen from her purse, and scribbled her number across his wrist in a messy, hurried scrawl.

“Don’t lose it,” she said, heart pounding.

He looked down at it, then back at her. “I won’t,” he promised with a breathless laugh.

Her friends reached them, confused and curious, tugging gently at her arm.

“Kat—what’s going on?”

“Just a minute,” she said, eyes still locked on Joe.

And for a moment, everything else faded.

She looked back one more time as they pulled her away—her hand slipping from his like a thread unraveling.

But her smile lingered.

And Joe?

He stood there on the sidewalk, ink still wet on his skin, watching her walk away with her friends.

He looked down at his wrist.

Then back toward the corner where she’d disappeared.

And for the first time in weeks, he smiled.

Like maybe—

Just maybe—

This wasn’t the end.

Part 1 <————✨———-> Chapter 5

[cup-of-jonas]

♥️Heart By Heart♥️: Chapter One: One Elevator Ride Later

Prequel Series to ✨What This Could Be✨

✨Masterlist✨

She wasn’t supposed to stay.

He wasn’t supposed to care.

Earlier That Night

The crowd pulsed with low bass and half-sung lyrics, the kind of energy that lived under your skin. Joe was mid-set at a grungy but charming venue in downtown New Jersey, a place with peeling brick walls and string lights that hummed like static.

And then he saw her.

She was toward the back, just past the bar, laughing at something her friend whispered in her ear. Black dress. Red lipstick. A confidence that didn’t ask for attention but got it anyway. Joe almost missed his cue watching her. The way she tilted her head. The curve of her smile. It wasn’t love at first sight, but it was definitely something.

She didn’t look like a regular. She didn’t look like someone who had even planned to be there. And she hadn’t.

Her friends had dragged her out for a girls’ night in the city. The kind she usually bailed on. But something about the heat in the air and the promise of live music made her say yes. The guy on stage wasn’t her usual type. Too soulful. Too raw. But when he glanced up and locked eyes with her for the briefest moment, she forgot how to sip her drink.

And then the night moved on.

The set ended. The crowd thinned. And she disappeared.

Later That Night — Hotel Bar

Joe didn’t expect to see her again. He didn’t even realize he had been hoping to.

But there she was.

Same black dress. Same fire in her eyes. Sitting in the corner booth of his hotel bar, surrounded by the same friends. But this time, she looked a little more distant. Like she was already elsewhere.

She wasn’t a hotel guest. Just tagging along for one more drink before catching a train back to New Jersey.

But fate had other plans.

Joe paused at the entrance. Something tight curled in his chest. A pull. A hum. A what are the odds kind of moment. He watched her for maybe ten seconds too long. Long enough for her to notice.

Their eyes met.

She blinked once, almost surprised. Then she smiled. Slow. Dangerous.

And just like that, he was walking toward her.

Like it wasn’t even a choice.

Like something had already begun, and neither of them were going to stop it.

It started with a look.

Not the polite kind.

Not the safe kind.

The kind that says I see you and I might just ruin you.

Joe was already two whiskeys deep at the rooftop bar, shirt unbuttoned just enough to show a tease of that tattoo she couldn’t stop glancing at.

He noticed her the second she walked in wearing a black dress, red lipstick, eyes that looked like midnight could curl up and fall asleep in them.

He didn’t ask her name.

She didn’t offer it.

But when the rain started to fall outside and the crowd thinned, she found herself beside him, close enough to smell his cologne.

Warm. Expensive. Like amber and heartbreak.

“You don’t belong in a place like this,” he said, voice low, brushing just enough against her ear to leave goosebumps behind.

“Neither do you,” she smirked.

One elevator ride later, her back hit the wall of his hotel room before the door had even closed.

Joe kissed her like he had something to prove. Like silence was too loud and her mouth was the only thing that could quiet it. His hands found her waist, then her jaw, then her hips again, like he couldn’t decide where he needed her most. She clung to him, already breathless, already undone, as if her skin had been waiting for this touch all her life.

He didn’t remember unlocking the door. He just remembered the way her lips crashed into his the second they crossed the threshold. How her fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, how he laughed into her mouth until her teeth scraped his bottom lip and made him groan.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured against her neck, voice low and wrecked. “You know that?”

He kicked the door shut behind them, pressing her against it like she might disappear. Her dress slipped higher, his fingers bold but reverent. Hungry. She pulled at the buttons on his shirt, baring warm skin and inked stories she wanted to memorize with her mouth.

She tugged his shirt open the rest of the way, palms splayed across his chest. “Then stop touching me like you’re gonna fall in love.”

His heart skipped.

She didn’t know how close she was to the truth.

He lifted her effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist. She whispered something in his ear that made him groan, and he carried her to the bed without breaking eye contact.

Her dress hit the floor first. His jeans were next. He walked her backwards until the backs of her knees hit the bed. She sank into it, legs parted, hair a mess, and those eyes… God, those eyes looking up at him like she already knew how this would end.

“Tell me you want this,” he said, hovering over her, his thumb brushing along her jaw.

“I want you,” she whispered.

That broke him.

Once there, he laid her down on the soft hotel bed.

His lips found her neck, her collarbone, the soft skin just above her heart. She gasped, arching beneath him as his hands mapped her body like she was a language he’d always wanted to speak.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed against her skin.

She stared at him, chest rising and falling. “Don’t you dare.”

His shirt was gone first. Then hers. Her bra hit the floor next, followed by the dress and the rest. The room was dim, golden, quiet except for the sound of their breathing, growing heavier with every kiss.

He kissed lower. Slower. Took his time.

Her thighs trembled as his mouth found her center. Gentle at first, then deeper, more focused, until she was gripping the sheets and calling out his name in shaky whispers.

He didn’t stop until her body arched and broke apart, and even then, he kissed his way back up, tracing her skin with lips and teeth and shaky breath.

“You okay?” he murmured, brushing her hair back.

She nodded, pulling him down into another kiss. “I want you.”

That was all it took.

He slid inside her with a slow, aching thrust, forehead pressed to hers, his mouth dropping open with a soft gasp. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. It was raw. Intimate. Slow, then faster. Like music without a chorus, just emotion building and breaking over and over again.

The room blurred.

The tension between them cracked like thunder. Pleasure mounting. Love not yet spoken but already known. He kissed her like it meant something. Because it did. Deep, slow, full of heat and reverence. Her moan curled down his spine. He wanted to remember every sound she made. He wanted to give her everything. And when it came, when they fell together, it felt like something bigger than them both.

Pace quickening. Her nails dragging down his back. His name in broken syllables. He held her hand above her head, his lips brushing hers with every thrust. He told her she was beautiful. She told him he was making her fall apart.

And then—

It was too much.

Too deep.

Too real.

They fell together. One final moan, one last gasp, and then silence. Afterward, they didn’t speak right away. Joe rolled off her slowly, chest heaving. He immediately pulled her into his arms, arm draped around her waist, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder.

He brushed her hair back and whispered, “What the hell just happened?”

She lay on her side, tracing the edge of his jaw with her fingertip.

He should have stayed silent.

Should have let her go.

She blinked up at him. “We just had sex, Jonas.” But then she smiled. Tired. Soft. Satisfied. And something inside him caved.

“No,” he said, voice rough. “I mean… I think I just caught feelings.”

She didn’t answer.

But the look in her eyes said it all.

So did the silence that followed.

“Shit,” he gasped, forehead pressed to hers.

Just the sound of their breathing. The soft creak of the sheets.

“Hey…” he whispered, still catching his breath. “You okay?”

She nodded into his chest. “That was… I don’t even know what that was.” He let out a quiet laugh.

“Yeah. Me either.”

They lay there for a moment. Tangled. Warm. Safe.

Joe tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You want water? Or… anything? I can get you something.”

She smiled sleepily. “Just… don’t let go yet.”

And he didn’t.

He held her tighter. Pressed his forehead to hers.

“I don’t usually…” he started, then stopped himself. “This isn’t a thing I usually like to do do.”

Her eyes met his. “Me either.”

“You stayed, though,” he whispered.

She blinked. “So did you.”

He wanted to ask her name.

He wanted to tell her she didn’t feel like a stranger.

But instead, he just kissed her forehead, pulled the blanket up over them both, and whispered, “Still with me?”

Her hand slid over his heart. “Yeah. I’m here.”

Neither of them knew it yet, but that night wasn’t a mistake.

It was the beginning.

And he would never forget her face.

I have already written the entire series. I just have to finish editing and post each part. This is the prequel to the series What This Could Be. Please message me if you want a story au or have ideas.. just want to chat. I’m here. ♥️ Oh and I am creating a masterlist for this soon!

✨Part Two ——->