“Dean—” I reach for him without thinking, but he’s already moving.
“Dance with me.”
I blink at the sudden shift. “What?”
“Dance. With me.” He holds out a hand, his expression unreadable. “Unless you’re too busy observing.”
I should say no. Should maintain professional distance. Should remember this is complicated and I’m leaving and he’s still dealing with what sounds like massive emotional trauma.
Instead, I take his hand, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
He leads me to the dance floor right as the band slides into something slow. Because of course they do. The universe has zero chill.
“Fair warning,” I say as he pulls me close. “I’m terrible at this.”
“Shocking.” He smirks at me. “You’re so coordinated with everything else.”
“Was that… did you just make a joke?” I stare at him, genuinely surprised.
His mouth quirks. “I make jokes.”
“No, you make observations. Jokes are different.” I’m smiling despite myself.
He spins me. Smooth. Practiced. “Maybe you bring out my sense of humor.”
“Or your open bar.”
“That too.”
We’re quiet for a minute. Just swaying while Mason and Ivy have their moment in the middle of the floor, lost in each other.
“She’s happy,” I say.
“Yeah.”
“Really happy. Like, disgustingly happy.”
“That’s what love looks like, apparently.”
“You say that like you don’t believe in it.”
His hand tightens on my waist. “I used to.”
“And now?”
He looks down at me. Really looks at me. And for a second, I see everything. The hurt. The hope. The terrifying possibility that maybe he’s starting to believe again.
“Now I think maybe I was just doing it wrong.”
My heart forgets how to beat. “Dean—”
“EVERYONE LOOK AT GEORGE!”
We break apart as the crowd turns toward the hill where George has decided to…
“Is he posing?” Dean asks.
He is. The asshole goat is literally posing against the sunset like he’s auditioning for a Hallmark movie.
