He pulls back. Slowly. Reluctantly.
His forehead rests against mine for just a second.
“Chloe—” It’s so quiet I almost miss it when he breathes my name.
But then the cheering breaks through.
Reality.
The room.
All of it rushing back like cold water.
He steps back.
Smiles at the crowd.
Waves the microphone—which he somehow didn’t drop, unlike me.
The perfect performer. Back on stage.
And just like that, the wall is back up.
The party continues.
More karaoke. Tyler and his girlfriend massacre something country. One of Derek’s teammates attempts “Bohemian Rhapsody,” and it’s objectively terrible, but everyone loves it anyway because we’re all happy and having fun.
Brody stays close. Plays his role. Arm around my waist. Laughing. Chatting about upcoming games.
But he’s distant.
Careful.
Like the kiss broke something instead of fixing it. Like he gave too much and now he’s pulling back twice as hard.
Like he’s scared of what happens if he stays in that vulnerable place for too long.
People start leaving. Grabbing coats. Calling Ubers. Promising to see everyone at the wedding.
I slip away to start cleanup.
Collecting champagne glasses. Tossing paper plates. Organizing leftover food by catering into containers.
I’m in the kitchen, wrapping the last of the bruschetta, when Maya finds me.
“Chloe.” Her voice is soft. Happy. She catches my elbow. Turns me to face her. “I need to tell you something.”
I set down the container. “What?”
“I was wrong about Brody.”
My stomach drops.
She takes my hands. Squeezes. “About being worried. About thinking he might be using you.”
“Maya—”
“That kiss?” She’s beaming. “That was real. The way he looked at you during the song? The way you two know each other so well you won every single round?” Her eyes are shining. “That’s not something you can fake, Chloe. I think he’s a keeper. I’m so happy for you. You deserve someone who looks at you like that.”
