Page 108 of Autumn on My Mind

I’m not sure if I have the worst friends, or the best.

I turn quickly back to Dominic, holding up my hands to forestall his comment. “It wasn’t me,” I say. “I didn’t do this.”

His lips tug into gentle laughter. “I know,” he says. “I could tell by your expression.” He pauses, his gaze hesitant. “Still…” Then he steps closer. “It might be a pity to waste such a great song, right?” Then he holds one hand out, inviting me to take it.

I swallow, but my answer is already at my lips. “Yeah,” I say. “We should dance.”

He nods and eliminates the remaining distance between us, gathering me closer with such ease that I can’t help relaxing into him. My arms slide around his neck as the music settles gently over us, the words weaving and twining—There’s no one home but you⁠—

And as I look up at Dom, as he looks down at me, I finally admit the truth to myself.

That I’m not the same person I used to be; neither is he. But who I am now still really, really likes who he is now.

Dominic’s eyes dart over my face, and he exhales roughly. “You look at me like that,” he says in a hoarse voice, “and I get ideas, Berkeley.”

I lift my brows at him, and after a second’s hesitation, he admits defeat. “Reese,” he corrects himself, ducking his head. “Not Berkeley.” Then his gaze jumps back to mine, serious but soft. “But it’s true.”

“I know,” I admit.

Because a heart with wings is difficult to hide and impossible to cage.

The music continues to drift overhead—If a man could be two places at one time, I’d be with you—and we’re dancing, but it’s really more of a sway. The press of our bodies and the lull of the song and the warmth of his touch—they combine into something potent and hypnotic, until my heart pounds wildly in my chest and the air is thin in my lungs.

Simultaneously, it seems, we lean apart to look at each other. Whatever I’m feeling, he feels it too; his head is tilted down toward mine, and my chin lifts, angling toward him.

When his gaze drops to the feather necklace resting against my chest, his hands clench against my back. I’m not sure he realizes he’s doing it. But his grip tightens almost painfully as he drags his attention back up to me, to my face.

“Reese,” he says, so faint I can barely hear, and there’s a sudden battle in his eyes. He looks at me for only a second before speaking again. “I wanted—” His hoarse words fall away, but he finds them again. “I wanted to say yes. Even though it was a bad idea and made no sense—my first instinct was to say yes.”

I blink in complete shock. If electricity could replace the blood in my veins, I’d think it was happening right now.

My mind races for context, foggy from our proximity but aware enough to put pieces together.

Did he want to get married, too?

But it’s then that his eyes drop to my lips, and all thoughts flee. A low breath shudders out of him as I find myself pressing closer, my hands sliding into his hair as he leans down⁠—

“Reese, darling?”

Ice cubes slip down my spine at the voice coming from behind me, and I instinctively pull away from Dominic. He does the same, and together our heads whip in that direction—only to find Alvina Berkeley, a bit wobbly in her high heels, and supported by none other than Dom’s father, who is looking back and forth between us with the utmost confusion.

Although I know music is still playing throughout the tent, all I can hear is a dull roaring in my ears. Daryl’s eyes are still jumping back and forth between me and Dominic, and I have no doubt we look completely guilty.

Because we are. We are guilty. We were about to kiss. And somehow it feels wrong.

The realization makes me sick, a deep, writhing, horrified sensation. Seeing our parents together, hiding from them, lying—it all feels so gross.

“Kids,” Daryl says slowly, and next to him, my mother teeters. It’s enough to divert Daryl’s attention; he looks over at her and sighs, removing the half-empty flute of champagne from her hand.

I take the opportunity to put a little more distance between myself and Dom.

“Reese, darling,” Alvina says. She waves a hand at me and Dominic, her bracelet catching the light. “Are you two”—she hiccups—“are you getting along?”

“We get along,” I say quietly. I can’t look at Dom.

With a distracted expression, my mother nods. “Good,” she says. “Good.” Then she looks at Daryl, her face falling into something more real. It’s painful to see, a mixture of brokenness and hope. “We’ll get along, Daryl, darling, and they’ll get along.” She stumbles over her words as she goes on, “And we’ll live happily. See?”

I’m not sure Daryl does see. And judging by the tremor in Alvina’s voice—a tremor I don’t think is caused by alcohol—she’s not sure, either.