“He didn’t.”
Maya’s voice is careful. “Well,shesays he used her. And Derek believes her version.”And I believe Derek.I can read between the lines.
“But that’s not what happened.”
She lifts her hands, as if to sayWho knows what’s true?
I do. I know what’s true.
“Derek only sees that his cousin got hurt and humiliated online. And he blames Brody.”
“So Derek thinks Brody is some kind of serial heartbreaker.”
“Exactly. And now Derek thinks Brody’s doing the same thing to you. Using you for his image repair and that he’s planning to dump you when the press dies down.”
If my stomach sank before, it’s bottomed out now.
Because that’s exactly what’s happening.
I think.
I don’t know anymore, because that almost-kiss at his house made things so much more complicated than they were supposed to be, and the way he held my hand at Barcelona felt so real, and I’m so confused I could scream.
“Derek’s wrong,” I say. The words taste like ash. “Brody’s not—he wouldn’t?—”
“I just don’t want you to get hurt.” Maya’s voice is soft.
Huh. For once, it doesn’t feel like condescension. She’s really worried about me.
She meets my eyes. “So I’m giving him a chance,” she says firmly. “Despite Derek’s opinions. Despite the history with Ashley and college and all of it. I’m reserving judgment.” She reaches across the island. Takes my hand. “And I think you could be really good for each other.”
I can’t speak. I mean, what would you say?
“Thanks,” I manage. My voice sounds strangled. “That means a lot.”
She squeezes my hand. “Just promise me you’ll be careful. I’ve seen how he looks at you, but I’ve seen how you look at him too. Like he’s the answer to a question you’ve been asking your whole life.”
What question is that?
The sound of a car in the driveway breaks the moment.
“I’ll get the door,” I say.
I walk to the front door. Take a breath.
Open it.
And there he is.
Standing on Maya’s sprawling front porch in dark jeans and a gray sweater that makes his eyes look like oceans of blue. Looking unfairly gorgeous in that casual, effortless way that should be illegal. His hair is slightly damp like he just showered, and he’s holding a bottle of wine in one hand.
And when he sees me, he smiles.
That Candy Kane smile. Charming. Perfect. Completely performative. And I can’t help but feel just a little disappointed.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great smile. It’s the smile that’s launched a thousand endorsement deals and made him Minnesota’s most eligible bachelor.
But that smile doesn’t reach his eyes. It feels different now. Like there’s a wall between us that wasn’t there before.
