Despite everything, a laugh slipped out of me.
Nate looked at me like I had personally betrayed him. “Et tu, tiny fugitive?”
Regan smacked his arm. “Do not call her that.”
“What? It’s affectionate.”
“It’s terrible.”
“It’s accurate.”
I covered my mouth, but another laugh escaped.
Then someone else appeared in the doorway behind him.
And my laughter died.
Dylan.
Clean-shaven.
His sunglasses were shoved up into his dark hair too, useless as a disguise inside the room, which meant I saw all of him at once.
The beard had made him look older. Rougher. Like trouble had grown naturally along his jaw and decided to stay. Without it, his face was sharper, younger, unfairly beautiful in a way that made my chest ache. His mouth looked softer. His eyes looked darker. There was nowhere for him to hide now. He was only twenty four and I was a heartbeat away from eighteen. Thats plausible, right? Doable?
He wore a loose linen shirt, board shorts, and the expression of a man who had been dragged into hell by a tropical clothing rack.
Nate clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Behold. Two harmless vacation bros.”
Regan pressed her lips together like she was trying not to laugh.
Dylan’s eyes met mine.
The room changed.
Not loudly.
Not obviously.
Just enough that I felt the kiss on the hill again.
The grave.
The red paint.
His hands washing mine clean.
His mouth brushing mine like something sacred and sad.
Nate looked between us.
Then his grin widened.
“Oh,” he said. “This disguise is going to be a problem.”
Dylan didn’t look away from me. “Shut up.”
“You both look ridiculous,” I said, because it was safer than telling the truth.
