He let go with a smile and passed me the pie. “Ladies first.”
Holly’s voice snapped me out of my trance. “Brynn, you’ve got to tell everyone about the karaoke contest!”
My ears turned pink. “Oh, that was nothing. I might have been a little drunk.”
Dean jumped in. He’d actually been there back in Atlanta last year. “She’s being modest. She has an entire routine to ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart.’ There were props. Though I don’t think she’s planning a repeat performance. Sorry, folks.”
The table dissolved into laughter. I loved the way he could redirect the spotlight to himself when he sensed I needed it.
The sun set, and the tiki torches flickered brighter. People paired off to stroll the beach. Dean and I sat for a long time, picking at the remains of the meal, not needing to talk.
The wind had cooled, and goosebumps rose on my skin. Dean removed his jacket and placed it over my shoulders, his spicy male scent surrounding me and making me feel drunk. He pulled his chair closer until our knees touched, then caught a loose strand of my hair and tucked it behind my ear.
“Convincing performance, Ms. Vance,” he said softly.
I didn’t trust myself to answer. I offered him the last bite of pie. The fork scraped the plate, the sound oddly intimate in the hush. I’d started the evening expecting to endure the charade, but now I wished it wouldn’t end.
“You realize we’re winning this, right?” He leaned in, his voice low.
“Winning what?”
“The game. They all believe it.” His eyes met mine, sharp and sure. “But you don’t have to keep pretending if you don’t want to.”
The gentle, open way he said it broke through my last defense.
“Maybe I don’t want to.”
He smiled, slow and soft, and for a heartbeat, I felt lighter than I had in years.
Someone turned up the music. The first notes of a love song drifted across the sand.
Dean stood and held out his hand. “Dance with me, beautiful lady.”
My heart tripped again, and I let him lead me toward the lights. The old dread in my chest was replaced by something fragile and bright. A maybe, shimmering just out of reach. I squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.
For the first time, I let myself hope it wasn’t an act.
The sand was cool beneath my bare toes as we reached the impromptu dance floor. A live band slid into a slow, honeyed version of “At Last.” Holly and Josh swayed at the center, a tangle of arms and affection. Dean swept his arms around me, and my lungs forgot how to operate.
“Ever danced barefoot?” he asked.
“I’ve taught first grade for three years. If you count the Macarena at school assemblies, I’m an expert.”
He grinned and drew me in, his palm finding the small of my back. The contact was solid, not tentative. When he tugged me close, it was like he knew the shape of my body. I went willingly, stumbling a little as my foot dug into the sand. He caught my balance without a blink.
“Relax,” he whispered against my hairline. “You’re allowed to have fun.”
I tried, but every cell in me was alert. The warmth of his chest seeped through his shirt. I looked up at the faint shadow of stubble on his jaw, a tiny scar at his temple. He stared down at me, blue eyes framed by long lashes. The whole tableau felt as delicate as a snow globe. Like a single, honest word would break it.
We settled into a loose rhythm. The sand under meshifted, and I kept fumbling toward him, catching myself on his shoulder.
“You’re terrible at this,” he murmured, his lips brushing my ear.
My lips curled of their own accord. “I warned you. I peaked at ‘Three Blind Mice.’”
He laughed, the sound sending a fresh rush of goosebumps down my arms. His hand tightened at my waist. My own hands had nowhere to go, so I clung to his shirt, fingers curling into the soft cotton. It was too intimate for two people pretending.
“So, what’s our backstory now?” I asked. “Still paddleboard yoga and book club?”
