Chapter 12
TWELVE
TAY
Mm-hmm.
Bare skin. Heavy arm around my middle. Mouth open against the back of my neck—hot and a little damp. Dean.
“Good morning,” I mumbled, thoughts still sticky with sleep.
“Sure is.” He shifted his hips to make the point—a little lazy, half-hard, nosing at the hinge of my jaw until I turned my head for an easy brush of our mouths.
“Always thought I’d be the big spoon,” I said, pressing back against him just a bit.
His hand slipped under the curve of my ribs. “D’you mind?”
“The touching or the little spoon?”
“Both. Either.”
“Not one bit.”
He drew me back in for a slow, easy kiss—the sleepy sort, breathing deep and laughing a little, heat blooming low in my belly. No urgency, just sunlight and warm skin, the gentle murmur of the ocean below us.
“Could get used to this,” he murmured, the words weightless, like he’d barely realized what they were. My heart tripped, then resumed its normal rhythm.
“Me too,” I said lightly—as if it meant nothing when it meant the fucking world.
The day felt like trying to catch smoke. I was in it, breathing it, lost in how sunlight slipped across Dean’s back and the curl of his fingers against my neck—but somehow I blinked, and it was gone.
There was mango at breakfast and lemon slices at a cocktail class, his mouth soft on mine in the late afternoon as if we had all the time in the world.
I kept trying to stretch the moments out, but they just kept sliding past, each more incredible than the last. The entire day felt dipped in gold, and I was giddy with it—like happiness had gone to my head and made everything soft and fizzy.
I wanted to hold on to it, to him, but the harder I tried, the faster it slipped.
By the time I looked up, Wednesday had melted into Thursday and we were dressing for the wedding.
Dean muttered to himself about how dress-shirt buttons were an exercise in frustration—funny given he spent his days navigating the tiniest vessels in the human body with steady hands.
But not, apparently, linen. I had no room to judge, though, since I was at odds with my jacket. Something about the fit just—ugh.
“Stop that,” Dean said, suddenly behind me. He brushed my hands away. “It’s a jacket. You’re meant to wear it, not wrangle it into submission.”
“It’s winning anyway,” I grumbled but let him take over. His fingers were quick and sure, smoothing the fabric, tugging the shoulders just right.
“There.” He stepped back with a serious nod, brow furrowed. “Got to have you looking good in the pictures.”
Pictures, right. Candid shots that would live in albums and family chats—and I’d be part of them, next to Dean as if I belonged. It ached somewhere in my chest, not entirely unpleasant, a little wistful or maybe just hopeful. Hard to tell.
I sent him a smile. “So should I look lovingly off into the middle distance?”
His serious facade cracked. “Very Vogue.”
“I’d like to think of it as ‘gay ennui.’”
He laughed, happy crinkles blooming around the corners of his eyes as if this, now, was as happy as he could possibly be.
I stepped right into his space, catching a faint whiff of aftershave he’d put on just for the occasion—spicy warmth, a little unfamiliar because we usually didn’t bother when we spent our days taking dips in the pool or jumping straight off the deck into the ocean.
Two more days.
“Come on,” I said, softer than I’d intended. “Let’s take a picture.”
His frown was damn near comical. “Really not a selfie kind of guy.”
“Like I don’t know that.” I draped an arm around his waist to pull him close, briefly and stupidly nostalgic about how natural it felt, how far we’d come in just a few days. Not over yet. “Some moments deserve an exception.”
“Fine.” He said it like it cost him, but I could see the tiny smile that curled the very corners of his mouth. He leaned into me as I raised my phone, draped an arm over my shoulders like we belonged.
“Hey,” I said. “Remember that arrival photo they took of us?”
He slanted me a look. “Yeah?”
“I was really nervous about touching you. And now look at us.”
His attention clung to me for a moment that spiraled out, weightless and bright, before a full smile washed across his face. “We’ll be fine, right? Like—when we get back. We’ll be fine.”
Tell him.
I swallowed the words that wanted to drip off the very tip of my tongue—not yet, not right before his sister’s wedding. “Yeah,” I said instead. “We will be.”
A promise—as if it could keep reality from barging in with work badges and hallway gossip.
The curve of his mouth tilted into something softer, still looking at me, and that was how I captured us: turned into each other, light glancing off my smile and his cheekbones, softening the blue of his eyes and half-buttoned shirt. We looked…
Real.
I flicked it to Rory without comment. When Dean moved away to collect his jacket, I pulled up my sister’s chat and typed.
Soft launch: boyfriend edition.
She replied almost immediately.
He cleans up nice
Still won’t save him if he hurts you.
He won’t, I thought but didn’t write it.
“Ready?” Dean asked, and I nodded, smiled, put my phone away.
We stepped out into the soft light of an early evening that made everything look just slightly out of focus—warm and low, casting long shadows across the island.
The sky was starting to pink at the edges, pale gold brushed along the horizon, the path to the beach quiet except for the murmur of the waves under the planks.
Music and laughter drifted over from further ahead.
Dean’s hand brushed mine as we walked, arms swinging loosely. Gentle brightness flowed around his profile.
“You excited?” I asked into the strangely still air between us.
He glanced at me. “I’m not the one getting married.”
“So? You can still be excited for them. It’s like…” I slid him a quick glance from under my lashes. “Window-shopping for people with commitment issues.”
A quiet huff of amusement. “That’s you and me both, then?”
Uh—so. Was that how he saw me? Which… maybe kind of fair, given some of the things we’d talked about. It wasn’t like I’d put up a neon sign with hi, please disregard everything i said before and also, wanna go steady? check yes or no.
Maybe that would be one way to tell him I wanted more. Could add some sparkly hearts for a touch of classy maturity and to make sure he absolutely laughed in my face.
“I don’t have issues with commitment,” I protested. “Commitment has issues with me. Not my fault.”
The path dipped from weathered planks into a stretch of fine, shell-speckled sand, still warm underfoot.
Ahead, the beach unfolded like a movie scene.
Lanterns, suspended between low poles, smudged their light into the fading day.
Palm fronds cast rippling shadows over rows of linen-clad chairs, half sunk into the sand.
The altar was simple, a half-moon arch of cleverly woven driftwood and orchids, their pale blossoms like little dots of brightness.
Theo spotted us from a small knot of people and lifted his drink. I waved at him, suddenly hit by how much I’d come to care for these people—Charley and her whiplash wit, steadfast Theo as my unlikely ally, Dean’s mom and stepdad who’d welcomed me like I belonged.
We found them by the shoreline, small waves lapping at their toes, sun-kissed and beaming as they caught sight of us.
“It’s really something, isn’t it?” James asked, nodding at the setup in, oh, the understatement of the century.
It reminded me of my own dad, ever the counterpoint to my mom’s side of the family that thrived on hyperbole.
“Sure is,” Dean said, light but with a layer of warmth.
I nodded. “Pretty sure this has ruined me for all other weddings.”
“Other than your own.” Dean’s mom grinned at me, her tone teasing, happy. “Right, honey?”
“Mom.” Even though Dean’s reprimand was gentle, a laugh tucked into it, I didn’t quite dare look at him. Because, well. That’s why he’d brought me, wasn’t it? Not for himself, but to stop his mom from worrying.
Success.
“I’m just kidding, sweetheart,” she told Dean. “I know you’re still a little too new to think in lifelong terms, and Tay’s got his whole future to figure out.”
“He’s got some idea,” Dean shot back, then seemed to realize what he’d said right as my heart did a little jump and skid. “Not, like—not saying that’s where we’re at. Just… in principle.”
“Break my heart, why don’t you?” I made sure to keep it wry, like he hadn’t just handed me an entire world of hope.
Because he could have easily let her comment slide, even made it part of our breakup story.
“No hard feelings, you know? But with the sheer pressure he’s under, it just wasn’t the right time. ” Instead, he’d jumped to correct her.
Unless it was a clever double move—protest now only to backtrack later, all “you were right, Mom.” Ugh, my brain needed to shut it.
“You’ll live,” Dean said, a little too casual, smoothing a palm down the front of my jacket.
“Is that your professional assessment?” I asked.
“Yep. Free of charge, too.”
“Dangerous territory.” I bumped his shoulder. “Pretty sure we’re not meant to treat people we’re emotionally involved with.”
“If the hospital administration wants to investigate me, I’ll just tell them I’m cold and dead inside.”
“No one who actually knows you will believe that for even a second.”
“Got to say,” James put in, “this is better than most tennis matches.”
“Isn’t it?” Dean’s mom sounded positively glowing. “You know I always worried Dean wouldn’t find someone other than Charley who can keep up with him. I’m so glad I was wrong.”
Something soft snaked between my ribs and took root there, even as Dean shook his head with a chuckle. “We’re not taking RSVPs, Mom.”