“Faye, come down here, quick! You turtle! You’re going to be late!” Cole’s voice echoed through the hall, sharp, teasing, but tinged with real urgency.

I yanked the covers tighter around my shoulders and muttered, “Shut up!” under my breath.

But there was no ignoring him. The sound of his footsteps—fast, deliberate—coming closer had me groaning as I finally swung my legs off the bed. My hair was a mess, my pajamas hanging wrong, but I didn’t have the luxury to care. The event, my canvas, the critique—it was all circling in my head like some impossible whirlwind.

Cole didn’t wait for me to fix myself. He practically scooped me...