I toss back my drink. She does the same. I set the empty cups on a table close by, then grab her waist, pulling her close to me near the bonfire.
“Since when do you dance?” she asks, surprised.
“Since meeting you.”
She hooks her arms around my neck, and we sway together. The fire is warm on one side, and the ocean breeze is cool on the other. Wendy presses against me, smelling like coconut rum and cherry lip balm. She hums the melody against my collarbone,and I hold her tighter because this is the last night, and I want to remember every second.
“You’re actually good at this,” she says.
“Dancing?”
“Being normal.”
“I try,” I tell her, dipping her.
She grabs my shoulder with a yelp, even though there’s no way I’d ever drop her.
“Warn me next time!”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
Fallon shouts from her blanket, “Please get married!”
“Mind your business!” Wendy yells back.
“You are my business, bestie! I’ve never seen you happier.”
I spin Wendy, and this time, she’s ready for it. She twirls out and twirls back and lands against my chest with her hand over my heart. The firelight flickers across her face, and I kiss her forehead because I can. Because we’re not hiding. Because every person on this beach can take a picture and share it with the world. I don’t give a single fuck.
The song changes, and more couples drift toward where we are. Cal hauls Silvie off the camping chair where they were sitting, and she pretends to resist for about two seconds before her arms find his neck. Dayton pulls Summer close to him.
“That’s Summer, his stepsister.”
“Really?” I ask.
“Yeah.” Wendy watches them, wearing a soft grin.
I tuck hair behind her ear. “What?”
“I’m happy. I forgot how this feels,” she whispers.
I pull her closer and wrap my arms around her. We sway, hugging while the conversations blur around us.
Wendy pulls away, meeting my eyes. With one finger under her chin, I gently lift it and slide my lips against hers.
Someone whistles. Another person yells for us to get a room. Wendy raises her middle finger without breaking contact, and I smile against her mouth.
“Want another drink?” she asks when we pull apart. “Or three?”
“I’ll grab them.”
“Hurry back.”
I leave her with Fallon. The crowd has thinned around the bar; most are by the fire now. I reach for the jug of Slap Yo Mama when Mia steps up beside me.
“Hey, Dyson.” She’s calm in a way that tells me she’s been waiting for this all night.
“Hey, Mia.”
