Before I could reply, a passing server leaned in with an affectionate eye-roll. “He’s also the owner. Don’t let him fool you.”
Braden just shrugged, unbothered, and turned to take another order.
I leaned against the bar, nursing my drink. Of all the futures I’d dreaded, none involved being chaperoned by Todd I-Brought-My-Own-Fire-Stick Peterson. I’d spent months bracing for this trip, worried I’d crumble under family scrutiny. I hadn’t considered being courted by a man whose romantic overtures involved optimizing cable packages.
I had no idea what to do next, but water had always soothed me, so I took my beer and slipped out to the waterfront deck. The sunset painted the beach in vivid pink and orange, but I barely noticed, leaning over the railing to let the briny breeze clear my head. I nursed my beer, watching a heron pick its way along the dock pilings. How was I going to survive this weekend?
The universe, a notorious showoff, struck againwhen Todd materialized beside me. He pointed to the TV over the bar. “Do you like documentaries about shipwrecks?”
I lied. “Not really.”
“Oh. Well, maybe we’ll find something else to watch.” He stood there, expectant, as if the only barrier between us and true love was a Netflix title.
“Sounds good,” I said, my pulse ratcheting up.
“I just thought, if you want to borrow my Fire Stick?—”
“That’s sweet, Todd,” I interrupted, my eyes darting inside as I desperately searched for a lifeline.
My gaze landed on a tall, dark-haired man in a steel-blue button-down being mauled by a cackling redhead. Dean Mercer, the best man. We’d met several times in Atlanta, and he had a face that stuck with you—square jaw, sharp dimple, eyes like glacier runoff. Yeah, that color blue. I’d always pegged him as too handsome, too slick and successful. But the raw, trapped look on his face was so relatable I almost laughed.
Our eyes met.
His eyebrow shot up, the corner of his mouth curling in a silent,Can you believe this?
My own lips twitched, and I lifted my glass in salute. His smile widened.
“I should go see if Holly needs help,” I told Todd, already moving.
“Totally. See you inside?”
I threaded through the noisy crowd, heart thrumming with reckless energy. Dean had wedged a stool between himself and the relentless redhead, but she just leaned over him, invading his space. I steeled myself, glided up to his open side, and perched on the empty stool.
“There you are,” I said with a breathless laugh,wrapping my arm around his broad shoulders. “I’ve been looking everywhere.”
Dean’s eyes widened, but he thought fast. He pivoted, his knee bumping mine.
“Baby,” he drawled with deadpan affection that almost made me choke. “You’re late.”
“Don’t start,” I improvised, leaning in. “You know I get lost in these places.”
The redhead blinked. “Sorry, I didn’t realize?—”
“It’s fine,” I cut her off with a paint-stripping smile. “I’m used to the effect he has on women. But I’m afraid he’s taken.” I patted his shoulder, and he slid his hand over mine in a perfect fit. She wilted and vanished.
We exhaled in synchronized relief.
“Thanks, Brynn.” Dean’s voice was low and warm. “God, thank you. I owe you my potential first kid.”
“Only if he comes with a range extender and a Fire Stick,” I deadpanned, then waved absently when Dean’s brow scrunched up. “Long story.”
He grinned, signaling the bartender. “So. Fake boyfriend or plausible deniability?”
“A little of both. I’m being hunted by the wedding’s official sad-single-girl wrangler.”
His face lit up with understanding. “Aunt Carol?”
“She never misses.”
