Prologue
Keira, Two Years Ago
I’d never seenLast Refuge look so beautiful. Flower garlands draped over the wooden deck railings and down the tables. Vivid pink and orange painted the sky as the sun dipped behind the mountain range, and fairy lights swayed overhead in the faint summer breeze.
Jessi and Aiden’s ceremony had already been picture perfect, and as love songs played over the speaker system and I sipped a glass of something sparkling, my blood fizzed with anticipation.
Then Dean glanced over, catching my eye. He smiled softly. My gaze averted, yet that bubbly feeling inside me bloomed. All cozy and familiar as much as it was hot and sharp with excitement.
This felt like a night when amazing things could happen. Impossible things.
I wasreallygonna have to watch myself tonight. I was already in too romantic a mood for my own good, and the wine wasn’t helping.
“Hey. Having a good time?”
When I looked up again, Dean was right there in front of me. His expression was warm in that way that made my stomach flip. I could feel the grin spreading across my face, helpless and genuine.
“Hard not to,” I said. “Never seen so many people so happy. I’ll have to monitor the situation. Could be something contagious going around.”
Dean laughed. “There’s definitely a lot of alcohol going around.” He nodded toward where Stephie and Vivian were laughing with some teenage boys who must’ve been part of Aiden’s family. The Shelborne clan had traveled all the way from California for the wedding. “I assume you’re keeping an eye on your little sister?”
“Always. Pretty sure she and Vivian have sneaked a few sips.” They were both sixteen. The peak age for rebellion. “But I can’t imagine they’ll get away with more than that, considering half the guests here are law enforcement and former military.”
His dimple appeared as he took a sip from his beer glass. Dean shifted so we stood shoulder-to-shoulder, facing the crowd, but I felt him looking at me from the corner of his eye. “Wouldn’t have pegged you as a cop from the way you cleaned up, though. I like the dress.”
I smoothed my hands over the soft fabric, suddenly self-conscious. The dress was frilly and girly, pale pink with delicate lace at the sleeves and neckline. Most of the time on duty, I wore my hair pulled back. But tonight my curls framed my face, which had a lot more makeup than usual.
“You’d better not be making fun of me.”
“I would never,” Dean said softly, in that deep voice of his that moved over my skin like a faint caress, always leaving me wanting more.
He was dressed in nice jeans and a button-down shirt, thesleeves rolled to his elbows. Simple, clean, handsome. As dressy as I ever saw him get.
“You clean up decent yourself,” I said. “You need a haircut though. You look like a glorified ski bum who moonlights as a bartender.”
“Ouch. That hits close to home. But unlikesomepeople, I prefer to be sincere. You look beautiful.” Something flickered in those blue eyes of his, making my breath catch.
“Thank you.”
His hand went to the cord he always wore around his throat, rubbing the thin strip of leather between his fingers. Something he did when he was thinking deep thoughts.
Which surely aren’t about you, I told myself,so don’t get ideas.
Dean and I had met a few years ago. I worked for Sheriff Owen Douglas, and Dean was one of Owen’s closest buddies from the Marines. Dean and I had never been anything more than friends. Yet he confused me sometimes. How he’d pay me such close attention, his gaze moving over me like he saw something he wanted. Lingering on my lips. Touching my arm or my face affectionately, far more than any other male friend did.
But that was just Dean. He knew how I felt about him, and he’d made clear that he didn’t feel the same.
One time last year, I’d worked up my courage and was about to kiss him. Even leaned in, probably with some schmoopy look on my face. Dean had turned away and let me down easy.I’m way too old for you, Keira. As if eight years was such a difference when I was twenty-six. Certainly no kid.
Since that mortifying moment, I’d been a lot more careful. Just trying to appreciate our friendship and not dream of more.
Trying.
“So how’s the new schedule working out?” I asked. “Still liking the tourist-trap bar in Silver Ridge?”
“It’s not that bad. Tips are solid with the summer crowd.” He tilted his head toward the buffet line that was forming. “Want to grab some food?”
We talked easily as we moved through the line, filling our plates with barbecue and mac and cheese and beans, all the fixings. Which you’d think would not go well with champagne, but I liked it.
