“D-bag Devereaux.”
Startling, I look up to find Hannah standing above me, one hand on her hip, one eye dubiously narrowed.
“Hannah Banana.” I force a smile.
“Wanna dance with a bride?” Hannah holds her other hand out.
My forced smile relaxes into a genuine one, and I take her hand, rising from my chair. “Sure thing,Mrs. Slater.”
“Has a nice ring to it, huh?” she says over her shoulder as we walk out into the middle of the dance floor, right next to where Happy is currently dancing with his daughter, Lucky. Happy lifts his chin at me, winking slowly at his wife, as we dance to “Run” by Snow Patrol.
I smile down at Hannah, taking her in. “You look really beautiful, Han.”
She beams up at me. “Thanks. I know.”
I can’t help but laugh. “You sound just like Poppy.”
Hannah’s smile turns contemplative. “Where’d she go?”
Forcing my eyes away, I look out over the space, trying to remain indifferent, casual. “She… needed some air.” I shrug a shoulder.
Hannah blinks at me, narrowing one eye when I meet her gaze. “She was crying.” It’s a statement—an observation—more than a question. I nod anyway, swallowing hard and looking down between us, at a loss for words to even try to begin explaining why Poppy walked out in tears. Hell, I don’t even know the answer to that.
“Talk to me, Brookes.”
Looking back out over the party, avoiding Hannah’s scrupulous gaze, I huff a humorless laugh, considering my words. And, forcing myself to meet her eyes, I decide what the hell. “We’re not… really together.”
Her eyebrows tug together.
“Poppy and me. It’s… fake.” I answer her unspoken questions, gritting my teeth before continuing, “I’m paying her.”
Hannah’s blue eyes go wide as she processes what I’ve just told her.
“I needed to clean up my act to keep my tour card,” I say with another casual shrug, like it’s no big deal. “Poppy was a cart girl at my course, and I offered her the job. We’re not…it’snot real.”
Hannah studies me, her curious gaze flashing with a glint that highlights the smile ghosting her lips.
“What?” I question her silence.
“Could’ve fooled me.”
My brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“Brookes, the way that woman looks at you.” She laughs softly. “The adoring sideways glances. The way her cheeks flush when you touch her…” Hannah trails off, shaking her head to herself, her smile knowing. “You can’t fake that.”
I open my mouth to object, but Hannah cuts me off. “Fake or not… trust me when I tell you that that woman is head over heels in love with you, Brookes.”
I stare at her for a long beat, allowing her words to sink in. And when they finally do, they hit me like a goddamn freight train, straight in the chest.
Hannah’s lips curl with a knowing smile. “Go find your girl, Brookes.” Her gaze flits to the side, to Happy, her smile turning watery as she looks back at me. “And when you find her, hold onto her.”
Leaning in, I press a kiss to Hannah’s cheek. And then, huffing a breath, I push my hair back from my face, my gaze scanning the space as I rack my brain with where she might be. Then, when I get an idea, I offer Hannah one last smile before turning and practically running out of the tent.
It doesn’t take me long before I find her a few hundred yards up the beach. Perched there on the white sand, hugging her knees, staring out over the ocean, barely lit by the faint glow of the crescent moon hanging up above.
For a moment, I just stand here, watching her, contemplating my next move while the music from the wedding reception floats through the gentle breeze, a faint tune battling against the contradicting crash of the waves and the hammering of my heart.
I love this woman. I love her more than I thought I could ever love anyone. It’s scary and exciting and fucking crazy as hell, and I’m almost certain that I’ll fuck this up in one way or another, but I know, without a doubt, that I need her in my life. I want her. And I’m not willing to let her go without a fight.
