And through it all, of course, I’m thinking about Brody. About the way he said “I’m with Chloe” to Jennifer like he meant it.
About how the contract ends tomorrow.
And about Svetlana’s words. Life is short. You tell him. He loves you too, probably.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I should tell him. Maybe there’s a world in which Brody and I get the happily ever after.
By the time we’re getting ready for the rehearsal dinner, I’m a new woman. My skin is glowing. My nails are perfect. My hair is done in loose waves that one of the bridesmaids helped me with, soft and romantic and nothing like my usual messy bun. I’m wearing a navy-blue dress—simple, fitted, hitting just above the knee. And most of all, I’ve got that confident glow that comes with being so sure that love has finally found you.
And I know what I’m going to do.
The rehearsal dinner is in the resort’s private dining room—a space with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lake, long tables set with white linens and candles. It’s warm and romantic and perfect. It smells like winter, and I spot pine garland someone draped along the windowsills.
I walk in and immediately scan the room for Brody. He’s near the windows, talking to a couple of Derek’s groomsmen—guys from the team. He looks good. Relaxed. Happy.
And then he sees me.
His whole expression changes. Softens. He excuses himself from Tyler and crosses the room toward me with purpose.
“Hey,” he says when he reaches me.
“Hey.”
We’re standing close. Closer than necessary. The room is filling up with people—family, wedding party—but I barely notice them. My heart is already pounding, and I haven’t even gotten to the scary part yet.
“You look beautiful,” Brody says quietly. His fingertips brush my arm, sliding into my palm.
Something in my chest expands, warm and bright and terrifying.
This is what love feels like.
“Thank you,” I manage. “You look pretty good yourself.”
“Dinner’s starting,” Maya calls from across the room. “Everyone, find your seats!”
Brody offers me his arm. “Shall we?”
I take it. Let him lead me to our assigned seats—next to each other, naturally.
The meal unfolds around us. Speeches from Derek’s dad about love and commitment. Toasts from the best man about hockey metaphors that mostly don’t land. Laughter and clinking glasses and the kind of warm chaos that comes from gathering people who love each other in one room.
And through it all, Brody, his fingers intertwined with mine under the table, holds on like he’s not planning to let go.
Between the main course and dessert, when people are mingling and the formal part is over, he leans close. His breath is warm against my ear.
“Can we talk later? After this?”
“Yes.” My voice comes out breathier than intended. “I need to talk to you too.”
“Good.” He squeezes my hand. “It’s important.”
“Mine too.”
We sit there with the weight of unspoken words between us, both of us knowing that something is about to change. That tonight, after this dinner, we’re going to have the conversation we’ve been avoiding for weeks.
That the contract ends tomorrow, but whatever this is between us—this real, terrifying, beautiful thing—doesn’t have to.
We just have to play it right.
