He barely turns his head. “I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re staring.”
“I’m allowed to look,” he murmurs, all innocence.
“Not like that.”
“I’m literally eating corn and minding my business.”
“You’re eye-fucking my friend while you’re clutching a corn cob,” I snap.
Liz looks up and catches him. She doesn’t flinch. One brow lifts; her once-over is slow and unimpressed.
“Try chewing with your mouth closed, Romeo,” she says, and goes back to her chicken skewer.
Leo’s breath hitches. There’s no question where his mind went. Judging by Liz’s grin, she knows it.
“Off limits is my kryptonite,” he murmurs. I groan. Nate just laughs and reaches for the peaches.
After dessert, we all drift toward the beach. The sand’sstill warm underfoot. The sky has just a few stars showing. Everyone breaks into little clusters.
Finn hoists Jessica onto his back, her laugh echoing across the dunes. Rowan bolts toward the water, shrieking something unintelligible. Joy tears after her, then Liz—barefoot, wild, her short summer dress fluttering as she dives straight in.
Three seconds later, they’re soaked, screaming, dancing in the surf.
Kieran slows beside us. “Did they just stage a wet T-shirt contest for no reason?”
Wesley whistles. “Yup.”
Out in the waves, Liz spins, her dress plastered to her skin, curls slick against her shoulders, grinning madly.
Leo’s arms are crossed, jaw tight, chest rising just a little too fast. Nate leans in. “That woman’s doing absolutely nothing to help your self-control.”
“She’s doing it on purpose. Don’t you think?”
Nate shrugs, and I nudge him with my elbow. He squeezes my hand, smile lazy, eyes on the waves.
Up ahead, Erin laces her fingers through Dmitri’s. Liam and Sophie walk in step, quiet and close.
The tide rolls in. The stars blink awake. And somewhere between the laughter and the surf, another summer winds down.
We walk in silence for a minute, our hands brushing, then clasping.
“I like this,” I say.
“What? Hosting?”
“This. All of it. Us.”
He smiles. “Me too.”
From behind us, Kieran’s voice cuts through the surf. “Nice setup, Russo,” he taunts. “But we all know Dmitri’s gym is still the gold standard.”
“Damn right it is,” Dmitri calls back, grinning.
“Hey!” Nate shouts. “Mine has beach views and cold brew on tap.”
“Tomorrow. Six a.m.,” Kieran challenges. “We hit the sand. You boomers can sweat out the grilled corn and Creole shrimp.”
