Chapter 4
Chapter Four
DEAN
Maybe she hoped last night’s detonation on the dance floor could be swept under a rug of mimosas and buffet bacon.
Maybe I was, too. But the more I tried to push it aside, the more it ballooned, crowding the air between us until every fork scrape felt like a personal insult.
It was just a kiss, right? Just a fake kiss I’d spent half the night revisiting, analyzing, and yearning to repeat.
“You going to eat that or just rearrange it for the next forty-five minutes?” Brynn’s voice sliced through the silence.
I poked my eggs. “I’m letting them age. Adds complexity.”
She snorted. “In a hundred years, they’ll find these and think it’s a crime scene.”
I risked a glance. Brynn’s hair was down today, hiding part of her face in soft waves. Her gorgeous eyes were half-mast. She looked tired in a way that made my chest hurt.
“Do you think it’s weird that weddings always do these forced group meals?” she asked, her eyes tracking a family squabbling over the last sticky bun. “Like we’re all prisoners of love, serving time at Table Seven.”
“It’s a cult, and mimosas are the Kool-Aid.” I took a sip of my own, realizing my hand was shaking. “It’s fine. I can fake being social for an hour.”
“I can’t.” She pressed her palms flat to the table. “Which is why I’m planning a jailbreak.”
A spark of hope ignited. “Go on.”
“I saw a sign by the pier for a half-day fishing charter,” she said. “Austin Coleridge is the captain here. We could be somewhere that isn’t here. I know Austin—he's practically the fish whisperer.”
I almost kissed her again, this time out of pure gratitude. “I’d risk open water for you, Vance.”
“Let’s do it, then.” She gathered her bag. “Meet you at the pier in fifteen?”
I was on my feet before she finished. I left a twenty under my uneaten eggs and followed her out, feeling the stares of wedding guests in my wake.
When we passed the bride-to-be, she cocked her head at Brynn.
Brynn gave a tiny tilt of her head, and Holly’s lips curved in a knowing smile. I pretended not to notice.
The wooden pier was already baking in the midmorning sun.
I spotted the guy who had to be Austin Coleridge at the end of the dock.
His arms were crossed, his navy work shirt tight over muscles that could probably deadlift a small whale.
His face was unreadable, and his stubbly dark beard matched his hair.
He nodded as we approached. “Good to see you again, Brynn. And—Dean, right?”
“Mercer,” I said, sticking out a hand.
Austin sized me up, then gave my hand a single, surgical shake. “You ever fish?”
“My grandfather took me once when I was eight. I dropped the bait bucket overboard and cried.”
Brynn laughed, and the tension in her shoulders eased. “Don’t worry. Austin won’t let you near the bait.”
“I try to run a respectable operation,” Austin deadpanned, ushering us aboard. The boat was pristine—fiberglass scrubbed to a dull shine, rods lined up like soldiers, the deck uncluttered except for a battered cooler and two bait boxes.
Brynn moved with easy familiarity, dropping her bag near the bow and scanning the tackle. “You always have the latest and greatest, don’t you, Austin?”
“Don’t touch my gear,” he said with a twitch of his lips. He glanced at me, then back to her. “Weather’s perfect. Gulls are out. If we’re lucky, we’ll catch something worth exaggerating later.”
I slid onto the nearest bench, suddenly aware of how out of place I was in my dry-cleaned polo and boat shoes.
Brynn, by contrast, fit the deck like it was made for her.
The women I was usually attracted to were polished and performative.
Brynn wasn’t trying to look cute or impress anyone.
Having traded her sundress for cutoffs and a resort T-shirt, she was confident in a way that had nothing to do with a job title or bank account.
It was a quiet self-assurance I hadn’t encountered before, and it was ridiculously alluring.
She leaned against the rail, face tipped to the sun.
I tried to memorize the moment—the wind tangling her hair, the line of her jaw, the faint smile that made me want to abandon ship.
I tore my gaze away and tried to get a metaphorical grip.
Austin started the engines, and the boat eased away from the dock. He stood at the helm, legs braced, his focus absolute. Barefoot, Brynn clambered over the deck, reeling in loose lines.
She tossed me a life vest with a smirk. “You’ve got the city-boy look down. You might want to wear that.”
Laughing, I tossed it back to her. “Oh, shut up.”
We cruised past the breakwater into an endless sheet of blue. Gulls shadowed the wake. The sun made the water shimmer so bright it felt like looking into the future—featureless, blinding, and full of hazards.
Brynn plopped down beside me, her knee knocking mine. “You look green.”
“Motion sickness or nerves. Hard to say.”
She laughed, softer this time. “It’s just a boat ride, Dean.”
Easy for her to say. For me, it felt like a trial by saltwater, with two judges—one immune to bullshit, the other immune to my charms. Though I kept trying to warm her up to them.
Out in open water, Austin throttled down. “I’ll set the lines. You two can handle drinks.”
Brynn trotted to the cooler to remove a soda, then tossed me a second. I fumbled the catch.
Austin lifted one brow. “You sure you’re up for this?”
I popped the tab. “If I puke, it’s only because I’m enjoying myself so much.”
Brynn snorted. “He’s fine, Austin. Don’t let the landlubber exterior fool you.”
Austin grunted and turned to the rods. I studied him, how deliberate and natural every movement was, how the sea seemed to obey him. I envied his steadiness. Meanwhile, every glance at Brynn reminded me of how unmoored I felt.
Brynn finished her soda and tossed the empty in the trash. She glanced at me, searching my face. “Seriously, you okay?”
I had no idea how to answer that. “Yeah. Just getting my sea legs.”
“The footing feels a little uneven, doesn’t it?” As soon as the words left her mouth, our eyes collided and held fast. She felt it too, that buzz between us neither would acknowledge out loud.
Austin throttled back and the engine softened to a low rumble. He jerked his chin at Brynn. “You remember how to bait a line?”
She grinned. “Bet I remember better than you do.”
They had the easy rapport of old conspirators. I saw a version of Brynn I hadn’t met yet. A little tougher, a little wilder. Again, the ground shifted under my feet.
My line snagged twice before I managed to get the bait into the water. Brynn watched, biting back a smile.
“If you stare at it, nothing happens,” she said, settling onto the bow. “Try ignoring it. Fish hate a try-hard.”
Austin snorted as he leaned casually against the console.
He studied me for a long minute, as if deciding whether I was salvageable.
“I grew up thinking people were like fish. Spook easy, bite at anything shiny, mostly just want to be left alone. But the good ones—you have to earn their trust. Takes patience.”
“Or chum,” I said.
He grinned, brief, sharp, then gone. “That too.”
As we drifted, the rhythm of the boat and the sun’s heat worked a slow anesthetic on my nerves. After a while, I forgot to care how I looked. My shoulders dropped and my stomach settled. I let the sun melt the rest of my defenses.
Austin, who had been silently watching the lines, turned his attention to me. “What’s your line of work back in the city? When you’re not crashing weddings, I mean.”
“Finance,” I replied, the word feeling hollow out here. “I’m a Certified Financial Planner, but now I work as a futures analyst for a big investment firm.”
Austin nodded slowly, his face giving nothing away. “Sounds important.”
“It’s mostly just moving decimals around on a computer screen,” I admitted. “I used to do financial planning with families and small businesses. Helped them prepare for the future and enjoy the present, you know?”
“I know a little about running a business,” Austin said, a hint of dry humor in his voice.
“I liked it more in some ways,” I continued, the thought forming as I spoke. “It felt like I was actually impacting people’s lives, not just a balance sheet.”
Brynn, who had been quietly listening from the bow, wandered over. She nudged my arm, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Careful, Mercer. You’re starting to sound like you’ve got itchy feet, too.”
I immediately put my guard back up, shrugging off the observation. “Nah. The money’s too good to walk away from.”
She didn’t push, just gave me a small, perceptive smile before turning back to her fishing rod.
But she was right, of course. I hadn’t thought about it in a while, but watching Austin—a guy who ran his business with his own two hands, who answered to no one but the tides—stirred something in me.
The idea of having my own shingle, a small CFP firm helping people like Austin and other small businesses, had a certain appeal.
An image of me with a shop on Main Street under one of those ridiculous ornate lampposts flashed before me, and I almost laughed.
Yeah, right…
A frown lowered my lips as I tested the line for a vibration. Nothing. I eased out a long sigh.
Brynn handed me a fresh can of soda. “You know, you’re allowed to enjoy this. It’s not a test.”
I rolled the can between my palms. “I’m not good at things I can’t win.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You really think everything’s a competition?”
“Not everything. Just the stuff that matters.”
“And what matters?”
I was saved from answering by a shout from Austin. “Brynn! You’re up.”
She scrambled to the stern and hauled on the rod, muscles flexing as she wrestled with whatever was on the other end.
The fish was a good one—a speckled snapper, scales iridescent in the sun.
Brynn whooped as she landed it, and Austin clapped her on the back before letting it slip back into the water.