Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
TAY
The restaurant terrace should have looked celebratory—candles, fresh flowers, bottled fairy lights twinkling all around.
Instead, it felt like goodbye. Empty plates lined the tables alongside half-finished glasses of wine, conversation came in lazy snatches and gentle laughter while the ocean whispered its farewell from beyond the deck.
Across from me, Dean was quiet, his gaze settled on the dark waves rolling in. Light dripped along his cheekbones and softened the curve of his mouth. Every so often, his attention shifted toward me with a fleeting smile, but mostly he seemed absent, like we were half-gone already.
“It’s been just so wonderful to have you with us, Tay.” Dean’s mom leaned in, her hand briefly covering mine. “I hope we’ll see you soon—maybe for the holidays?”
“I’d really like that.” Would I ever. But aimlessly wishing for something didn’t make it true. “I’ll be working, though.”
“Oh, same for Dean.” She said it as though I was meant to know, but of course I didn’t. We’d planned our backstory, not so much our future. “But with Charley and Theo on their honeymoon, we thought we’d visit anyway. Never experienced the New York Christmas magic—it’s meant to be quite something.”
“It is, yeah. And not just things like the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree.” I glanced at Dean and found him watching us across the table, his expression oddly quiet.
Artificial torchlight caught on the rim of his wine glass, throwing his features in and out of shadow like the flickering reel of a silent film.
I dragged my attention back to his mom. “There’s Dyker Heights, of course—it’s that famous street in Brooklyn where every brownstone goes crazy with decorations.
But there’s also a house in Bay Ridge that’s really cool, takes the family two weeks to set it all up.
I’d be happy to show you around if you end up visiting. ”
Maybe. If Dean and I were still talking by then.
No, he wouldn’t just ghost me. Even if he backed off when we got home, even if he decided I wasn’t worth the fallout at work, he still…
He liked me. He trusted me, enough to be his first. Last night, it had finally felt like he was with me all the way, and I—I still hadn’t been brave enough to tell him.
Had chickened out like my parents’ dog when the fireworks came on.
“We’d love that.” Her smile was brilliant. “But—oh, do you celebrate Christmas? I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“My dad’s side, yeah.” I took a sip of water that didn’t quite wash down the uncertain lump in my throat. “On my mom’s side, it’s more a family thing than a religious one. Lots of food, lots of yelling over each other. Not a lot of Baby Jesus.”
Carol laughed, eyes warm. “Sounds like a good time. Maybe we’ll get to meet them one day—your parents.”
It didn’t feel like a line. Something wistful curled in my belly because yeah, if Dean and I were real…
he might’ve met my family already, or he would soon.
My sister would grill him like a barbecue chicken, my brothers would quietly assess him and make protective noises, my mom would judge him based on his skills in the kitchen, and my dad would check how serious he was about his career—and all of them would really only want me to be happy.
“Hey!” Charley’s voice rang out like a flare, bright and intentional, like she’d sent herself on a rescue mission before I dissolved into a puddle of self-pity.
She leaned against my chair and slung one arm around my shoulders with casual familiarity.
“Just had to say,” she began, a little louder than necessary, “you’ve been the highlight of the week, Tay.
Like, genuinely. Still not sure how my idiot brother managed to land someone like you. ”
“Charley,” Dean’s mom said on a half laugh. “Be nice.”
“Just teasing, Mom. But also not.”
Dean made a wounded noise, but he was smiling more than he had all night. “Hey.”
Charley stole a sip from his glass, and he tried to reclaim it without much conviction as she turned back to me. “No, because really—he’s, like, sixty percent bitchiness, thirty percent ambition, and ten percent emotional constipation. You? You’re like… ten out of ten.”
Dean raised an eyebrow. “Wow, excuse you.”
“Tell me I’m wrong,” she said.
“I’m starting to regret this entire week,” he muttered, but there was a telltale twitch to his mouth that betrayed him.
“Admit it.” Charley handed back his glass. “Tay? He’s a catch.”
I huffed out a laugh, touched and a little off-balance. “You’re really good for my ego, you know?”
“I’m telling the truth,” she said. “The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.”
I ducked my head and glanced at Dean. He looked back at me, expression utterly still for a second. Then—“Yeah. I know.”
My stupid heart performed a happy little twist. And yeah, I knew anatomy didn’t work like that—still felt like it, though.
“And on that rare note of emotional clarity…” Charley straightened, and I stood instinctively, turning to pull her into a hug that she returned with a tight squeeze. “Don’t let him fuck this up,” she whispered, holding on for a beat.
Huh.
“Pretty sure that’s not entirely up to me,” I replied, holding on for a moment before stepping back.
Her smile was as quiet as her voice. “No. But my brother is… Well. He might be slow on the uptake sometimes, but he’s not an idiot. And he’d have to be one to let you go.”
I resisted the temptation to check on Dean. “Thank you, I think.”
Just then, my phone vibrated against my thigh—my sister, most likely.
I ignored it, even as the slight distraction twisted through my thoughts.
I’d been texting her too much today, had been researching fellowship applications and conflict of interest policies, too, anxiety a devil on my shoulder that taunted me about how none of this would last once we landed back in New York.
Stop. It might.
Theo joined us to clasp my hand in a firm, sincere shake. “You’re a good guy, Tay. You’ve got this.”
My grin felt lopsided, teetering on the brink of too many feelings. “Thanks. You’re… It’s been really great to meet you. All of you.”
“Not a goodbye,” Charley said lightly, coupled with a significant look.
“No,” I said, trying and failing to match her tone. “Of course not.”
Dean had drifted closer, wine glass in hand, effortlessly elegant even with tiredness from last night’s escapades lingering around his eyes.
I leaned slightly into him as Theo and Charley wandered off towards the bar and Carol went to find James.
Dean’s arm snaked around my waist, hand curving around my hip like it belonged.
“Hi,” I said after a quiet beat. “You doing all right?”
He looked at me, swirled his wine. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Giving off some major melancholy vibes.”
“Yeah, well.” His smile glinted for just a second. “I’ll miss my fleet of imaginary yachts. My nonexistent champagne collection. My…”
“Bespoke Italian suits and personal butler?” I supplied.
“Exactly.” This time, his smile persisted, something gentle in his eyes. “Might miss other things, too.”
Now. Tell him now.
Another buzz of my phone cut into the moment. Dean glanced down. “Seems you’re particularly popular today.”
Something about his tone felt off in a way I couldn’t place. “Probably just my sister,” I said. “Family stuff, you know.”
His gaze seemed to linger a fraction too long before he nodded and raised his glass in a playful toast. “Well, anyway. Enough moping—we’ve got a few more hours to enjoy the ball before our carriage turns back into a pumpkin.”
“So who’s Cinderella—you or me?”
He laughed quietly. “Well, if you ask me, you’d look very fetching in an evening gown.”
Whatever weight had clamped around us evaporated. I grinned. “Think my feet are too big for glass slippers, though.”
“On the bright side, you fill out a pair of briefs just fine.”
“Is that a scientific observation?” I asked.
“Obviously.” His attention slid down my body like an imagined caress. “Although any good scientist knows you have to repeat the experiment under varying conditions. Got to confirm reproducibility.”
“That so?” Maybe not my smartest comeback ever, but the way he watched me, the strangely knotted emotions in my chest—right now, it was the best I had.
“Mm-hmm.” His expression shifted like the tide, a second of expectant silence stretching between us. Then he raised his glass and drained the rest of his wine in one go, shot me a tiny smile that felt soft around the edges. “Let’s say our goodbyes?”
Our final night.
I tucked my fingers into the crook of his elbow and nodded. “Yeah. Let’s.”
The faint scrape of a zipper tugged me out of sleep. Wha—?
Aggressive sunlight sliced across the linen sheets.
I’d managed to get myself tangled up in them overnight, had to twist a little to check on Dean.
Already dressed, busy putting the finishing touches on a pack job that rivaled the precision of surgery preparations—everything rolled up neatly, then sorted into packing cubes that he’d slotted in place like Tetris pieces. It was… not quite how I’d packed.
I took a moment to watch him through my lashes. There was a stiffness to his shoulders, something deliberate about the way he shut his suitcase. When he glanced over, I wasn’t quick enough to look away.
He paused, then smiled—an upward curve to his mouth that faded a hint too soon. “Hey. You’re awake.”
Not usually one for stating the obvious.
I rubbed a palm over my face. “Guess I should get up, huh?”
“Half an hour until they’re picking us up, yeah. Was about to wake you.”
This felt… careful. Like two strangers making small talk, politely sidestepping anything that held meaning or forced a reaction, the ocean’s murmur an ever-present carpet of sound that softened our fumbling steps.
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, inhaling through a brief sense of disorientation. “You done performing ancient rites to the god of orderly packing, then?”