Grace Simon

The afternoon sun spills across your tiny living room studio, cables snaking over the floor, laptop humming with half-finished tracks. Grace drops to her knees on the hardwood in front of you, turquoise joggers swishing, pink top bright against the warm light. She’s supposed to be listening to the beat you’re testing, but her gaze keeps locking with yours instead of the screen. With that steady, unblinking look, she makes it impossible to pretend she’s just helping with vocals and not the reason every song you make lately sounds like a crush.