Chapter Four
DEAN
I’d heardof the walk of shame, but nobody warned me about the brunch of existential crisis. At 9:58 a.m., I sat across from Brynn in the Driftwood Grill’s dining room. My eggs had congealed into an interpretive sculpture. Her fruit cup sweated in the Florida humidity. We hadn’t made eye contact since we sat down.
Maybe she hoped last night’s detonation on the dance floor could be swept under a rug of mimosas and buffet bacon. Maybe I was, too. But the more I tried to push it aside, the more it ballooned, crowding the air between us until every fork scrape felt like a personal insult. It was just a kiss, right? Just a fake kiss I’d spent half the night revisiting, analyzing, and yearning to repeat.
“You going to eat that or just rearrange it for the next forty-five minutes?” Brynn’s voice sliced through the silence.
I poked my eggs. “I’m letting them age. Adds complexity.”
She snorted. “In a hundred years, they’ll find these and think it’s a crime scene.”
I risked a glance. Brynn’s hair was down today, hiding part of her face in soft waves. Her gorgeous eyes were half-mast. She looked tired in a way that made my chest hurt.
“Do you think it’s weird that weddings always do these forced group meals?” she asked, her eyes tracking a family squabbling over the last sticky bun. “Like we’re all prisoners of love, serving time at Table Seven.”
“It’s a cult, and mimosas are the Kool-Aid.” I took a sip of my own, realizing my hand was shaking. “It’s fine. I can fake being social for an hour.”
“I can’t.” She pressed her palms flat to the table. “Which is why I’m planning a jailbreak.”
A spark of hope ignited. “Go on.”
“I saw a sign by the pier for a half-day fishing charter,” she said. “Austin Coleridge is the captain here. We could be somewhere that isn’t here. I know Austin—he's practically the fish whisperer.”
I almost kissed her again, this time out of pure gratitude. “I’d risk open water for you, Vance.”
“Let’s do it, then.” She gathered her bag. “Meet you at the pier in fifteen?”
I was on my feet before she finished. I left a twenty under my uneaten eggs and followed her out, feeling the stares of wedding guests in my wake. When we passed the bride-to-be, she cocked her head at Brynn. Brynn gave a tiny tilt of her head, and Holly’s lips curved in a knowing smile. I pretended not to notice.
The wooden pier was already baking in the midmorning sun. I spotted the guy who had to be Austin Coleridge at the end of the dock. His arms were crossed, his navy work shirt tight over muscles that could probablydeadlift a small whale. His face was unreadable, and his stubbly dark beard matched his hair.
He nodded as we approached. “Good to see you again, Brynn. And—Dean, right?”
“Mercer,” I said, sticking out a hand.
Austin sized me up, then gave my hand a single, surgical shake. “You ever fish?”
“My grandfather took me once when I was eight. I dropped the bait bucket overboard and cried.”
Brynn laughed, and the tension in her shoulders eased. “Don’t worry. Austin won’t let you near the bait.”
“I try to run a respectable operation,” Austin deadpanned, ushering us aboard. The boat was pristine—fiberglass scrubbed to a dull shine, rods lined up like soldiers, the deck uncluttered except for a battered cooler and two bait boxes.
Brynn moved with easy familiarity, dropping her bag near the bow and scanning the tackle. “You always have the latest and greatest, don’t you, Austin?”
“Don’t touch my gear,” he said with a twitch of his lips. He glanced at me, then back to her. “Weather’s perfect. Gulls are out. If we’re lucky, we’ll catch something worth exaggerating later.”
I slid onto the nearest bench, suddenly aware of how out of place I was in my dry-cleaned polo and boat shoes. Brynn, by contrast, fit the deck like it was made for her. The women I was usually attracted to were polished and performative. Brynn wasn’t trying to look cute or impress anyone. Having traded her sundress for cutoffs and a resort T-shirt, she was confident in a way that had nothing to do with a job title or bank account. It was a quiet self-assurance I hadn’t encountered before, and it was ridiculously alluring. She leaned against the rail, face tipped to the sun. I tried tomemorize the moment—the wind tangling her hair, the line of her jaw, the faint smile that made me want to abandon ship.
I tore my gaze away and tried to get a metaphorical grip.
Austin started the engines, and the boat eased away from the dock. He stood at the helm, legs braced, his focus absolute. Barefoot, Brynn clambered over the deck, reeling in loose lines.
She tossed me a life vest with a smirk. “You’ve got the city-boy look down. You might want to wear that.”
Laughing, I tossed it back to her. “Oh, shut up.”
