“Thank you.” Brandon pulled Allie closer to him by her hand.
“Congratulations, you son of a gun.” Hunter pumped Brandon’s arm and winked at Allie. “You’re in for a wild ride.”
Maverik chuckled. “We have bets on your survival time.”
Allie put her fists on her hips. “You’re betting on when we’ll divorce?” Her voice was full of outrage, and her eyes spit fire.
Hunter and Maverik exchanged looks and laughed. “Nah.” Hunter waved off her anger. “We’re betting on how long beforehe’skidnapped.”
Allie smacked Hunter’s arm—hard. “Just because I’ve been kidnapped twice—neither of which was my fault, I might remind you both—doesn’t mean—”
Brandon cut her off with a quick kiss. “Let them bet. Somebody would have to catch me before they could kidnap me. And the only one who's ever caught me was you.”
Allie melted against him even as she gave Hunter and Maverik a scathing look. Her ire only made them laugh all that much more.
“Don’t feel bad about being teased, Allie.” Maverik lifted a shoulder. “We’re Westbrooks. It’s what we do.”
She shrugged off their teasing as easily as a silk scarf. “I’m not worried about you two. I can take you both on.”
They held up their hands in unison and backed up a step. Allie swatted at them again, but because she was unwilling to let go of her groom, she only swiped the air.
Hunter cleared his throat. Brandon was in a great mood. If there was ever a time to ask a guy about his little sister, it was while he was glowing. “Zoey’s even prettier in person,” Hunter ventured.
Brandon and Allie exchanged a look. They already had that couple-communication-without-saying-a-word thing down. Good for them.
“Better ask her to dance, then,” Brandon said.
“All right, I will,” Hunter said, straightening his spine. “Good idea.”
The couple got lost in their own world and conversation, both the verbal and nonverbal kinds. Hunter and Maverik took it as a sign that they should leave them alone. They wandered a few feet away before Hunter realized he hadn’t gotten a real answer from Brandon. Was he agreeing to dance with Allie, or had he told Hunter to ask Zoey to dance?
Maverik stuck to Hunter like glue. “You gonna ask her, then?”
Hunter might have been a mess of nerves, but he wasn’t a fool. Letting this opportunity pass by would be the biggest regret of this year—maybe even his whole life. “Yeah. It’s not a big deal.” His voice cracked, giving away the fact that this was indeed a very big deal to him.
“So you have a plan?” Maverik asked.
“Of course I have a plan.” Hunter ran his palms down the front of his jeans. His hands hadn’t been this clammy since homecoming sophomore year when he’d asked Jessie Winslow to dance. Of course, she was married to Alex now and worked for Emma Lee Bradford, Harvest Ranch’s very own Instagram Influencer, so you never knew where people would end up.
“But do you have a backup plan in case she says no?” Maverik teased.
Hunter glared. “She’s not going to say no.” He hoped. But if she did, there was a space between two buffet tables that he could squeeze through and be at his truck in less than two minutes.
Not that Maverik needed to know that.
“Good luck.” Maverik smacked him on the back, hard enough to make his brain jolt out of the fog it’d gone into at the thought of holding Zoey close. “And when you fall on your face, I’ll be there to pick Zoey up and dance away.” He chortled at his own joke.
Whatever. Sometimes brothers were the bane of his existence. Other times they were his best friends.
Maverik’s laughter faded into the background as Hunter drew closer to Zoey. There was something about her … something that almost seemed otherworldly or untouchable … a light that came from inside. He glanced down at his dress pants and shiny boots. He looked good—and he had on his good hat. He could do this. It wasn’t like his life depended on it. Although it felt like it did. Jeez, could his heart beat any louder?
“Excuse me?” he said as he stepped up to Zoey. She turned to him, taking in his too-snug hat and button-up shirt. He swiped the hat off his head, remembering too late that he probably had a red mark across his forehead from it. “Hi, I’m Hunter Westbrook. Brandon’s neighbor.”
“Zoey Carroll,” she replied. Her white teeth drew his attention, but it was her dark brown eyes that pulled him in and wouldn’t let go.
“Would you like to dance?” He motioned toward the dance floor with his hat. He really should put it back on and cover up his hat hair, but years of gentlemanly training from his mother had him holding on to it in front of the lady.
Zoey’s eyes widened slightly, and he had an impression that he’d made her heart leap. “I’d love to.” She held out one foot, showing a stunning pair of boots with silver tips. “I need to break these in.”
