Ellie slides back into the booth, beaming between us like she knows exactly what she’s done. “Sit, sit everyone.” She pulls me down into the chair beside her.And Dave.“Matt ordered appetizers, and Harrison has oysters coming. Not that I can eat them.” She rolls her eyes and rubs her growing baby bump.
“I got you, Momma,” Matt says, dropping an arm around her shoulder and placing a kiss on her cheek.
Sitting next to Dave, I pretend not to notice how his knee almost brushes mine under the table. The scent of cedar and clean soap drifts off his skin, a little too familiar now. The images it reignites causes me to squirm in my seat. This is dangerous. Just tune him out, Char.
Yeah, right.
I try to stay engaged in casual conversation with my friends, yet my attention keeps flickering back to him. The way his fingers toy absently with his glass. The way his big brown eyes continue to find mine, then linger a moment too long.
Why couldn’t you have stayed in my memories where you belong?
I was managing. Okay, maybemanagingis a stretch. I was barely surviving. But now he’s here, reminding me of all of the things I can’t have. Being this close to him again could ruin me. It’s reckless. Sitting here, pretending I’m not still remembering that incredible night in the mountains. Pretending my heart isn’t thrumming loud enough to drown out the jukebox.
But then Dave leans forward, his voice low enough that only I can hear as it tickles the shell of my ear, “It’s so good to see you.”
My lids close and I swallow hard as goosebumps dot my flesh. There’s no pretending left. I just hope he can’t see it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
DAVE
The Wild Shrimphums with laughter, clinking glasses, and the low thrum of music from the jukebox in the corner. The air smells of salt, fried hush puppies, and delectable seafood, but all I yearn for is her.
She’s sitting right beside me, yet it’s not the Char I met months ago. This isn’t the woman who laughed so hard she snorted into her champagne glass the night of the wedding. The one who danced all night under the stars, her green eyes alive with mischief. Tonight, she’s composed. Cool. Unaffected.
And a million miles away.
She’s every bit as beautiful as I remember, even if the details have changed. Her long, gorgeous red hair has now changed to a striking dark brown. It’s still stunning, with cool purple highlights framing her face. But her flawless skin and deep green eyes are exactly as I remembered. Well, except that effervescence seems to have been extinguished now.
Char seems off. Is she bothered by my arrival here? There’s no mistaking how her radiant smile slid from her face like ice cream dripping from a cone once her eyes connected with mine. Her usual wide, gregarious, full of life expression has been replaced by this lackluster imposter. My heart squeezes in my chest.
Is this all because of me?
I can’t stop watching her. The way her hands fold neatly in her lap, the careful smile she offers when Ellie teases her about something. She’s wearing a pale blue blouse that makes her skin glow in the low light, but there’s a distance in her eyes that feels like a punch to the gut.
What happened to the woman who’d looked at me like I was something worth unraveling?
She’s not frowning. Yet the excited expression she held earlier has deflated like a bad soufflé. Despite the presence of her best friend, she seems detached. Every time she laughs, it feels forced. The kind you give to clients, not friends. And when our eyes meet, she looks away too fast.
Had there been someone else all along? The thought cuts sharper than I expect. I’m certain Ellie and Matt would’ve said something. Maybe they didn’t know? I guess I need to accept this was simply one night of fun for her, nothing more.
My fingers tighten around my glass. I push back from the booth before I can second-guess it. “Dance with me?” I ask softly.
Her head lifts, startled. There’s no one else dancing. Am I making a fool of myself?
For a moment, she hesitates, her eyes searching mine like she’s trying to find a reason to say no. Then, with a small sigh, she slides out of her chair.
The second she’s close, my world narrows. I rest my hand on the small of her back, and it’s like a live wire coursing beneath my skin. Her intoxicating scent hits me square in the chest, pulling me straight back to that night. The warmth of her breath against my neck is causing my pulse to race.
But unlike the way we clung to each other during our last dance of the wedding, now, she’s stiff in my arms. Too careful. Much too controlled. We move in slow rhythm, her hand resting lightly on my shoulder, as if reminding me to keep my distance.
My throat suddenly feels tight. “Did I do something?” I stammer quietly, unable to hold back any longer.
Her lashes flicker. “No. Why?”
“You’re just…” I search her face, fighting the words. “Different.”
Her gaze drops to my chest. “I’m just tired.”
