We’re pressed together. My hands on his shoulders. His arms around my waist. His face inches from mine.
Neither of us moves.
“You keep doing that,” I hear myself say.
Brody frowns. “Doing what?”
“Swooping in to save me.”
He chuckles, but his voice is rough, deeper than normal. “Anytime.”
We should pull apart. Step back.
We don’t.
Music starts playing overhead. The venue’s sound system—Lisa must be testing it.
And I know this song.
Oh no.
Classical guitar. Soft and romantic and achingly familiar.
Barcelona. The outdoor café. Dancing under the twinkling lights before he disappeared and broke my heart.
Brody’s eyes widen. He knows it too.
We stand there, frozen, while the music swells around us, my heart thundering in my chest as his grip on my waist tightens slightly.
I should say something. Acknowledge it. Ask him if he remembers or if I’m just being delusional and reading meaning into random coincidences.
But Jessa negotiated, and I’m bound by the whole “no reliving Barcelona” rule.
The song ends. A different one starts—something upbeat and completely wrong for whatever just happened.
The spell breaks.
Brody clears his throat, steps back with the kind of careful distance that feels deliberate.
I step back too, tucking my hair behind my ears with trembling hands, and glance at my watch. Shoot. It’s almost two thirty. “I should change,” I say, breaking the moment. “Party starts soon.” I grab my bag and head to the bathroom, trying not to run like I’m fleeing a crime scene.
A few minutes later, I emerge from the bathroom, brushing out the silhouette of my black sheath dress.
And freeze.
Maya and Derek are standing near the entrance, talking to Brody.
They’re early.
Of course they’re early.
Maya sees me first. “Chloe! Oh my goodness, the place looks beautiful!”
Okay, I’ll take that.
“I can’t believe you and Brody did all this!” Maya gestures around like we just built the Taj Mahal rather than arranging a few flowers and hanging things up. “It’s gorgeous.”
“It was a team effort,” I say, which is technically true.
