Every muscle in my body went rigid.
Waverly gave him a warm, soft smile. She’d never looked at me like that. Then she took his hand.
My fingers tightened around the glass bottle. I set it down on the nearest table before I did something stupid, but my gaze stayed on Waverly.
Ethan led her onto the floor, his hand settling at her waist like it belonged there. She put her palm on his shoulder, her head tilting slightly as they started to move.
They looked good together. The thought landed like a fist slamming into my chest, knocking the wind right out of me. I forced myself to stay where I was, to keep my feet rooted to the floor, watching as they turned in slow circles. Ethan said something that made her laugh again, and she looked up at him with those green eyes that never missed a damn thing.
Those same eyes had gazed up at me in the cabin just a few days ago, dark with desire and something deeper I didn't have a name for. But here, she wasn't mine. Here, she was just another woman at a community dance, available to anyone who asked. And why shouldn't she be?
We hadn't defined anything. Hadn't made promises or set boundaries beyond the ones I kept throwing up and then tearing down the second I got close enough to touch her. She didn’t owe me a damn thing, and that’s exactly how I wanted it. But watching her in his arms felt like swallowing glass.
Someone came up next to me, and a familiar voice cut through the music. "Are you planning to stand there all night glaring, or you are you gonna do something about it?"
I turned to find my sister’s boyfriend Torin nursing a whiskey and watching me with a knowing look that made my back teeth grind.
"I’m not glaring," I said.
"Riiiiiiight." Torin took a sip, his forehead creasing with amusement. "Is that why you look like you want to knock that kid into next Sunday?"
I didn't answer. On the floor, Ethan spun Waverly out, then pulled her back in. Her dress flared, then settled against her thighs. His hand stayed respectful at her waist, but the familiarity in the gesture made something dark and ugly coil in my chest.
"That's the Kincaid girl," Torin said.
I kept my eyes on the dance floor. "Her name’s Waverly."
"Heard you've been helping her look at horses."
The words carried weight I didn't want to unpack. "Evaluating. That's all."
"Mm-hmm." Torin’s tone suggested he didn't believe a word of it. "You know what people are saying?"
"I don't really care what kind of gossip people have been spreading."
"Maybe you should." Torin shifted, his gaze following mine. “Kincaids and Hollisters don't mix. They never have. If you start making exceptions, folks will notice."
The song was ending, the final notes drawing out long and mournful. Ethan said something to Waverly, and she nodded, her smile still in place. Then her eyes found mine across the room. Her smile slipped. Not much, just enough for me to catch it. Her gaze held steady, a question forming in the tilt of her head, and suddenly the distance between us felt like miles instead of yards.
Ethan released her, stepping back with a parting word I couldn't hear. Waverly thanked him, her attention already drifting away. Toward me.
She crossed the room and headed my way like she'd already decided something I hadn't caught up to yet. The crowd between us shifted and parted, people turning to follow her path with the kind of attention that made the back of my neck prickle.
Torin went quiet beside me.
She stopped close enough that I could catch the faint scent of something clean and warm that had nothing to do with perfume and everything to do with the way her skin tasted when I pressed my mouth to her throat. The memory hit hard, inappropriate and unwelcome in the middle of the community center with half the town watching.
The noise of the room faded into something distant and muffled, leaving only the weight of her gaze and everything I hadn't said. Everything I couldn't say.
Her green eyes held mine, direct and unflinching, reading me the way she read horses… looking past the surface to find what was hidden underneath. I'd watched her do it a dozen times in arenas and corrals, that sharp focus cataloging details most people missed. Now she turned it on me, and I felt stripped bare.
"Tanner." My name came out soft and almost private, despite the very public space surrounding us.
I managed a nod. "Waverly."
She didn't ask about the cabin. Didn't mention the nights we'd spent hidden away from all of this, tangled together in shadows and want. Didn't bring up the way I'd traced every curve of her body like I was committing it to memory, or the way she'd said my name when she came apart underneath me. Instead, she just looked at me, waiting.
The silence stretched between us, thick and expectant. Someone changed the song on the sound system, another slow number that pulled couples back onto the floor. The movement around us continued, life carrying on like nothing significant was happening.
