His grandmother slapped a hand over her mouth, a girlish giggle escaping. “Dean! What are you doing here?” she scolded lightly. “Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting?”
He straightened, dusting a leaf from his shoulder, but his eyes cut straight to me—searching, steady—as though he needed to make sure I was okay. That he hadn’t come too late. That he’d gotten here in time to save me.
Something in my chest cracked open, relief surging before he’d even said a word.
Then his voice came low, even, deliberate. “I was,” he grinned, “until I heard about my grandmother’splanto corrupt my fiancée.”
Laughter rippled through the circle, whispers chasing after it—but for me, the sound barely registered. Relief rushed through me so hard my knees nearly gave out, my body swaying under the force of it.
“Now, now,” Trisha teased, all innocence. “It’s nothing she hasn’t seen before.”
Dean arched a brow as he came to a stop beside his grandmother’s easel. “I said she doesstill life, Grandma,” he said gently. “Bowls of fruit. Flowers in vases.”
Helen frowned, glancing at the man on the log. “Well, I told him he’d need to hold very still,” she said, as if that explained everything.
Dean’s mouth curved. “That’s… not quite what it means.”
“Oh.” She looked back at the man, then at Dean again. “Does he need a bowl of fruit?”
A ripple of laughter moved through the clearing.
Dean dipped his head closer to her. “That would belife drawing,” he murmured.
Helen brightened, as though suddenly realizing her mistake.
“This is much more exciting anyway!” Frances hollered from the back.
“Easy mistake!” someone else said from the trees.
The whole clearing broke out into fits of giggles, but Dean’s attention was back on me, his head slightly tilted, his gaze fixed. He started toward me with slow, deliberate strides. “I heard about what was going on,” he said, his voice steady, edged with something that made my stomach flip. “And I have to admit…I got a little jealous.”
I knew he was putting on a show for everyone else, but something about the way he said it—casual, certain—made my heart stutter anyway.
“So you ran through the forest to save me?” I asked.
“Did you get a look at that guy?” Dean said lightly, flicking a glance toward the man on the log.
The man straightened, clearing his throat like he’d just been insulted.
Dean only smirked. “He may be built like a brickhouse,” his voice dropping low, just for me, “But If you’re going to be corrupted, I want to be the one doing it.”
I took a breath, so caught in his spell, I almost forgot we had an audience. The air between us felt charged, like it was waiting for something neither of us had the courage to start.
Dean shifted closer, close enough that I could feel the warmth of him, his thumb brushing my wrist as if by accident.
“Just kiss her already!” someone shouted.
The words struck like a spark to gasoline, igniting the tension already simmering in my chest. My stomach flipped, heat racing under my skin.
Dean’s gaze darkened, and I wanted to turn away, but how could I with all these people watching? Then—slowly—ever so slowly, he moved even closer. Each inch collapsed the spacebetween us, the air thinning, tightening, until he was right in front of me. His presence swallowed the world whole.
“Dean—” I whispered, almost like a warning. Except the word got caught in my throat.
His hand slid around my waist, and my eyes dropped to his mouth. His grip was firm and unyielding, claiming me without apology. And then—without hesitation—he lifted me off the stool, pulling me flush against his chest. My breath caught, my fingers clutching instinctively at his shirt as if he were the only thing keeping me upright.
His head bent low, closing the last sliver of space between us, and his mouth found mine.
The world fell away when our lips touched. His mouth stealing every last breath from my lungs.
