Mason hesitated for a second—hands in his pockets, lips pressed together in a thin line.
His steps were slow as he started toward her, almost cautious in his approach, as though he wasn’t certain if he was about to help or hinder.
Blair straightened—a little too quickly—when she noticed him, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
I didn’t want to intrude, so I looked away—but not before catching the flicker that passed across her face. It wasn’t irritation or surprise. It was much smaller, and more fragile than that—and was most certainly none of my business.
Seventeen
On our walkback to the cabin, my head was spinning. The night air was warm, threaded with the scent of pine and faint woodsmoke drifting from somewhere down the road. Gravel crunched under our boots as our steps fell into sync without effort. Every now and then, Dean’s arm would brush mine—light, unintentional on the surface, but enough to send a ripple of awareness straight through me.
The evening had been warm, lively—full of laughter and easy conversation—but also overwhelming in ways I hadn’t expected. All my discoveries about Dean only tangled things further, not just about his family dynamic, but about why I was here in the first place. Every layer I uncovered—each teasing childhood story, the way people seemed genuinely happy to see him—just made me want to keep digging. I wanted to know who he was, why he was doing this. Not only because I was curious… but because I was starting to like him. And that felt thrilling, and dangerous, and so many things I didn’t want to name.
I was used to playing a part—slipping into whatever role was needed of me—but tonight had felt… different. More personal. More real. And far too often, when it came to Dean, I didn’t feel like I was pretending at all.
I also couldn’t stop thinking about Blair. She’d been polite when we met in the bathroom earlier—kind, even—but something about her had lingered with me. Watching her later across the deck with Mason, the way her smile had never quite reached her eyes, had left me uneasy. There was a tension in her movements, like she was holding something too heavy for anyone else to see. It was familiar, yet I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
We rounded the last bend, the cabin lights glowing faintly ahead through the trees. Dean reached the porch two steps before me, holding the door open with one hand while the other brushed the small of my back as I stepped past him—just enough contact to make me forget what I’d been thinking… and apparently, how to walk. My toe caught on the step, and I pitched forward. I reacted quickly, sure I was going to fall on my face, and grabbed hold of one of the straps of his overalls.
“Oh God, are you okay?” he asked me, one hand steadying my elbow while the other rested on my hip.
“I’m fine,” I said quickly, though my voice didn’t sound convincing—not when my hand was still twisted around the strap of his overalls.
I straightened, but my fingers wouldn’t let go.
I glanced down, untangled myself then gave his chest a nice pat. “Handy little things,” I muttered, trying to sound casual but hearing the breathlessness in my own voice.
One corner of his mouth kicked up, his eyes dipping deliberately to where my hand rested on his chest, then up again.
I snatched my hand away, which only made his smile deepen.
“Don’t worry,” he added, his gaze lingering on my face a second too long. “You can hold on anytime you need to.”
Something in the way he said it—like he wasn’t just talking about my near fall—sent a rush of warmth up my neck. I turnedaway quickly, pretending to study the floorboards, even though my pulse was still tripping over itself.
That’s when George came trotting toward us from somewhere in the cabin. Without breaking stride, he shoved his head into my stomach, sending me backward a step as he leaned into my legs and let out a dramatic whine around the toy in his mouth, his tail thumping wildly against the wall.
“Hi, George,” I said, bending over to scratch his head. “Did we wake you?”
He answered by plopping his toy at my feet, then nudging my hand with his nose.
I smiled and shook my head. “It’s too late, buddy. Tomorrow we’ll play, I promise.”
George let out a small huff, then nosed my hand again, almost like he didn’t believe me.
“I don’t care what you say,” I said to him. “It’s bedtime.” I patted him once more on the head, glanced up, then stopped.
Dean was looking at me, and there was something in his expression that made my skin feel surprisingly warm.
“What?” I asked, unable to stop the word from tumbling out of my mouth.
“Nothing,” he said.
“Please, don’t do that. I hate when people say‘nothing’when it’s obviouslysomething.”
He hesitated for a second, his gaze still on me. “He just… doesn’t usually warm up to people so easily.”
I glanced down at George again, trying to brush off the way his words made me feel. “Easily? You say that because you didn’t witness our tug-of-rope match earlier. I fight dirty, don’t I boy?”
