“Jason is going to freak out when I tell himMac McKenziethinks he looks like freaking Chris Hemsworth.”
Her phone buzzed in her lap.
She wiped her eyes quickly and glanced down. A text from Abigail.
Abigail:
We’re looking everywhere for you. You okay? Meet us at the car? We’re thinking about heading back to Honeyshore— it’s a long drive.
Ali sighed and showed Dylan the screen. “They’re ready to leave.”
He nodded, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. “Yeah. I should probably get back inside. Duty calls.”
But just as he started to shift up from his crouch, he paused and reached for her hand.
“I’m in town for a few days,” he said, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “Visiting family. I have every intention of seeing you again.”
Her breath caught. She opened her mouth to say no, to protect her peace, to tuck everything back in where it was safe. But something in his eyes— the steadiness, the softness— cut through the hesitation.
“I want to see you too,” she said, before she could change her mind.
She swallowed, fumbling for the next words. “I— um— I changed my number after the hospital. I just… I couldn’t—”
“You don’t have to explain anything,” he said gently, already pulling his phone from his pocket and passing it to her. “Just put it in.”
Ali stared at the unlocked screen, heart stuttering, before slowly typing in her new number. She handed it back, resisting the impulse to apologize again.
She stood up with him, brushing gravel from her palms. “You should probably head back separately. I can wait for my group here. I don’t… really want my coworkers to see us walking up together.”
Dylan’s lips curved into a crooked grin, like he wasn’t surprised in the least. “I get it.”
She turned like she was about to walk away— but he caught her wrist.
And then he kissed her.
Firm and breath-stealing, his hand cradling her jaw like he still remembered exactly how she fit. She swayed into it, heart thudding against her ribs.
When he finally pulled back, he didn’t go far. His lips hovered against hers, his breath warm.
“Goodnight, Ali,” he whispered.
And then he was gone— turning, heading back toward the banquet hall, backlit by golden light and the weight of a thousand memories.
By the time she got home, the adrenaline had worn off and left her nerves frayed and buzzing.
She kicked off her shoes by the door, peeled down her dress in the hallway, and left a trail of clothes in her bedroom. The house was quiet. Ashley must be staying at Brant’s place tonight. Good. She was too drained to talk.
The hot water stung at first, but then it soothed. Steam filled the space like a foggy cocoon as she lathered her skin, rinsed shampoo from her hair, and tried— really tried— not to think about his hands on her hips. His mouth against her throat. His cock pushing inside her.
She went through the motions of her routine. Moisturizer. Hair serum. Meds.
Her phone buzzed again— just Abigail checking if she made it home okay. Ali answered with a thumbs-up and a heart, then sank into bed.
She pulled up her Kindle app and opened the latest romantasy everyone was raving about. A smutty scene about a dark prince and a stubborn heroine and some magic-induced heat of the moment. Usually, she loved this part.
But tonight, the words blurred.
Because she could still feel him.
