Since we can’t hold a rehearsal at the actual wedding venue, I made arrangements for one this evening on the Mermaid Deck—just to go over the basics—followed by the official rehearsal dinner, hosted by Noah’s mom.
Luna’s idea, of course. Bachelor and bachelorette parties during the day, so no one is hungover at the altar.
After finalizing the seating arrangements, the menus, and whether the mariachi band is actually locked in for tomorrow night—I have less than an hour to clean up and change into my second-best dress.
I shut the cabin door behind me and keep moving before my body can lodge a formal complaint. A quick shower—hot, fast, efficient. Sweat and sunscreen gone. A few stubborn pieces ofconfetti circle the drain like they’re not ready to let me off the hook yet.
But when I step out of the bathroom, towel secured around my chest, already mentally running through yet another checklist… I realize I’m not alone.
Beckett is on the balcony, leaning forward in one of the chairs, forearms braced on his knees, staring out at the water.
The sliding door is open, the late-afternoon breeze drifting in, and for a moment, I don’t move.
I just take him in.
Bare-chested. Tan. That same strong back I’ve fallen asleep against a thousand times.
And yet… there’s something different. A quiet stillness that I haven’t seen in… I don’t even know how long.
He turns his head slowly, his smile soft—worn around the edges.
“Your mom took the boys down for a nap.” His mouth twists. “After an… ill-advised viewing of the contest highlights.”
I blink. “The contest?”Oh, The Sexy Legs contest.“Who showed clips?”
“The ship,” he says. “On the jumbotron.”
I’m half in mom mode, half not, picturing it—images of Beckett’s finesse blown up on a massive screen—and my first instinct is concern.
Then I think of the boys. And really… what’s the harm in them seeing their dad have a little fun?
The thought loosens something in me, and in the end, all I can do is laugh.
“You know that was rigged, right?” I pad over, stopping just inside the door. “I forgot how good of a dancer you are.”
He tilts his head. “It’s been a while.”
I nod, tugging the towel a little tighter around myself. “You and Rocky really went for it. And Mr. Whittaker?” I shake my head. “Who knew he had moves?”
Beckett lets out a low chuckle, and things almost feel normal. Like we’re just us—rewinding the day, sharing observations.
“Those guys…” Beckett says, trailing off. “They’re good people.”
There’s something in his voice—wistful, maybe. Longing?
Has Beckett been… lonely?
I hadn’t really considered it before, but we used to see some of his coworkers pretty regularly. Back when things were normal.
Barbecues, birthday parties, the occasional weekend hang with other families from the boys’ school.
But that all stopped over a year ago. When the late nights started. When the tension in his jaw became permanent. When Midtown Investments swallowed him whole.
If he’s about to be fired… where are they now? Were they involved? Or had they all jumped ship before Midtown started to sink?
Had he already lost that part of his life too—and I just hadn’t noticed?
But, for now, I don’t have time to dig for these answers. I need to get downstairs.
