“Liar.”
Okay, maybe I was.
I rolled my eyes, but it didn’t matter. We kept moving, swaying in perfect rhythm despite the awkward start to this whole thing. The others faded into the background, just murmurs and movement at the edges of my awareness. His palm was warm against mine, his grip relaxed, like I wasn’t the only one caught up in whateverthiswas. Like I wasn’t just another bridesmaid in a lineup.
“So,” he murmured, his voice rich, sending a little jolt down my spine. “You’re Maya.”
The way he said my name rewired something in me—sudden, electric. One wrong move and my mouth would’ve ended up somewhere it absolutely shouldn’t.
I feigned indifference. “I am.”
He shrugged, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. “Thanks for trusting me.”
Heat crept up my neck.
I was doing this for my best friend, plain and simple. But he was right. Ididtrust him.
Why? How?
Maybe it was the way he held me. Maybe it was how easy it felt to be right here, beat for beat with him.
Falling for a cowboy was as common as crushing on a sports star—harmless, predictable, and nothing special.
But now, standing here, close enough to feel his breath brush my temple, I wasn’t so sure if it was that kind of crush.
Or maybe it was just this town, the setting, and the moment. Nothing more.
Right?
The music slowed, the last note stretching into silence. A beat passed before I stepped back and clapped along with the others. I needed air. Distance. Whatever this was, it couldn’t be anything.
“I should go,” I said, forcing a smile.
His expression flickered like he wanted to say something, but then he just nodded. “Alright.”
I stayed a moment to chat with Sheryn and the girls, passing around compliments on the dance and laughing through their teasing about Noah.
Then I made an excuse to head home. Sheryn didn’t press. She just pulled me into a hug and said, “See you at the wedding. Oh, can you swing by Butterberry Oven and pick up the cake on your way? It’s just past the post office. Theshop will be closed since it’s the weekend, but just head on in.”
“Of course,” I said, then turned on my heel and slipped out of the tent.
The night air bit at my skin, chasing away the lingering warmth of the dance. I took the long way around, past the parked cars, past the glow of the tents, and past anywhere someone might notice me.
I already knew The Lazy Moose was my best bet. But where, exactly?
The stables? Too much foot traffic. Too many hands passing through.
The tool shed? Locked. A broken latch would raise questions.
Then my gaze landed on the old oak near the second barn, not far from the rehearsal tent. I moved toward it, my steps light on the dirt.
As I got closer, the massive roots came into view, twisting into the earth like they’d been there forever. The bark was thick and weathered. A perfect place to tuck something away. Hidden, but not buried. Safe enough to hold…until the last dance, the day after tomorrow.
I crouched, brushing away leaves. My fingers tightened around the small waterproof bag from my purse. The dirt was soft enough. I pressed the bag into the shallow hole and then smoothed everything over.
Done. No trace.
I straightened, scanning the darkness. Listening. There was just the drift of voices from the wedding tent. No movement. No witnesses.
