Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
DEAN
If I had written a playbook for the world’s most backward, inefficient, and emotionally chaotic path to a first date, it wouldn’t have matched what happened between Brynn and me.
Yet this playbook was perfect. It started with a lie at a wedding mixer, escalated to a public kiss, and ended right back where the whole charade began.
Tropical Hops was the same cozy craft brewery on a breezy island, with the cheery turquoise walls I always mocked but secretly liked, and that battered longboard mounted above the taps like it was the Ark of the Covenant.
Once again, Braden Coleridge was tending bar.
The place was slow this afternoon, just a couple of retirees at the far end and a sunburned couple making out like they’d invented kissing.
Braden spotted us, grinned, and headed our way.
“Hey, you two look familiar. Brynn, definitely. Weren’t you at the same wedding?
” he asked me. After a very abbreviated explanation that she was a new Dove Key resident and I would be soon, he lit up.
“In that case, first round’s on the house.
Unless you want something top shelf, in which case, I’ll pretend I don’t know you. ”
“We’ll take one of your IPAs,” I said with a grin. “Surprise us.”
“You got it,” Braden said, then turned to Brynn as he pulled the tap. “You keeping him out of trouble?”
“No,” she deadpanned. “But I’m documenting every moment for the trial.”
He laughed and indicated he’d bring our beers to us.
After we settled into a private booth, I couldn’t stop looking at her. The lighting was criminally flattering, and she’d let her hair down, signaling we were done pretending to be responsible. Even her smile was looser.
Braden arrived, setting down two frosty pint glasses with a flourish. “Tidal Hops IPA. My flagship beer. Let me officially welcome you to Dove Key, Brynn. And Dean”—he clapped me on the shoulder—“congratulations on discovering life in the slow lane.”
“Sounds like a great toast to drink to.” I raised my glass. The IPA was all citrus and pine, cold enough to bite. For a while, we sat, soaking in the lazy drift of conversation from the bar, where Braden had returned and was chatting with a regular.
Brynn’s eyes scanned the pub, a smile spreading across her face. “I can’t believe we’re here again. It still doesn’t feel real. Doris is giving me three months to learn the ropes before I’m fully on my own.”
“You’ll be fine. You might even be overqualified.”
Brynn grinned, then her expression turned serious. “I’m scared I’ll fail. That it’ll go south like all the other times I’ve tried something for myself and crashed.”
I set down my beer. “That’s not how I see you at all.”
She raised an eyebrow, as if daring me to say more.
“You’re the opposite of a quitter,” I told her. “Even when some idiot like me tells you it doesn’t matter, you stick to your guns.”
She looked away, blinking quickly. “What if it isn’t enough?”
“Then I’ll catch you. And if I fail as a small-town financial advisor, you can throw ice cream at me until I’m unrecognizable.”
Brynn laughed, then lifted her pint for a toast. “To new beginnings.”
“And to hoping we don’t suck at them.”
We clinked glasses again. This time, it felt like a promise.
Then the front door clattered open, and in walked Austin and Eli Coleridge, looking like they’d just rolled out of a beer commercial.
Austin’s shirt was clean but somehow already untucked, and Eli wore a rash guard and board shorts, his hair a sandstorm of cowlicks.
They headed Braden’s way and the three heads converged.
Then surprise flitted over Eli’s and Austin’s faces.
They beelined for our booth, Eli in the lead, a massive grin spreading across his face.
“Mercer!” he boomed, sliding into the booth next to me with enough force to rock the whole table. “Braden just gave us the rundown. A fake relationship that turned real? That is the most ridiculously romantic thing I’ve ever heard. I’m impressed. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
Austin slipped in next to Brynn. He nodded at her, then me, with a flicker of something like approval in his cautious gray eyes. “So you’re sticking around, huh?”
“That’s the plan.” A warmth spread through my chest that had nothing to do with the IPA. “Assuming the town will have me.”
“Oh, we’ll have you,” Eli declared, clapping me on the shoulder. “We’re always looking for new talent for the annual conch-shell-blowing contest. You look like you’ve got strong lungs.” He waggled his eyebrows at Brynn, who couldn't hide her smile. “So, when’s the grand opening of the new Scoop?”
“We’re having a low-key opening next week,” Brynn said. “If I survive Doris’s training boot camp.”
Austin pointed a finger at me, a hint of a smile raising his lips. “If you’re gonna stick around, you’ll need to learn how to handle a rod. It’s embarrassing otherwise. I’ll take you out sometime. Show you the basics, so you have a shot at keeping up with Brynn.”
I tried to laugh it off, but the offer felt damn good. Like a formal welcome ceremony for a local. “Thanks. I’d love that.”
Eli launched into a wild story, mostly directed at Austin, about a grouper that nearly capsized their cousin’s boat. Austin just rolled his eyes.
Brynn leaned close and whispered, “See? I told you they’re all softies.”
I looked at the battered longboard, the turquoise walls, the people who’d already decided I was one of their own.
And I felt it, for the first time. Belonging.
The second round went down smoother than the first. Eventually, the Coleridge brothers moved on to an impromptu darts tournament, and Brynn and I were alone again.
“So, where are you staying?” I asked, the practical question rising to the surface.
“I’m in a little rental flat for now. Doris is still in the apartment above the Corner Scoop. She’s got to pack up a lifetime of stuff before she moves in with her sister, so I told her to take her time.” She smiled a little shyly. “It’s a mess, but it’s mine for now. What are your plans?”
“I’ll head back to Atlanta tomorrow. I gave two weeks’ notice, so I’ll need that time to wrap up my projects. Then probably another week to pack up my life and get out of my lease.”
Her smile faltered for a second. “You’ll be gone three weeks?”
“No longer,” I promised, reaching across the table to take her hand. “You don’t need to worry about me staying there. I’ll be making some calls starting tomorrow. That listing I showed you in the ice cream shop—a space on Main Street a couple of blocks from the Scoop—really caught my eye.”
“Yeah?” she asked, her eyes lighting up.
I grinned. “Yeah. I’m going to put an offer on it ASAP. It’s not huge, but it’s got great visibility. And a one-bedroom apartment right above it, so both our living situations could be set right out of the gate.”
Brynn’s mouth formed a perfect O, then broke into a wide, beautiful smile. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope,” I said, a wave of pride rising. “As soon as I saw it, I had a feeling that was the one. I’ve gotten better at recognizing that over the last month.”
Brynn’s smile faltered as she twisted a napkin. “Do you ever worry that we’re just setting ourselves up to fail? That this is all too much, too fast?”
“Maybe,” I admitted. “But I’d rather try and fail than chicken out before the starting gun.”
“Me too.” She squeezed my hand, her eyes shining. “New homes for each of us. We could fix them both up together.”
“I’d offer to help, but I nearly lost a finger assembling IKEA shelves last year.”
“Maybe not such a great idea,” she said with a teasing laugh. “But I like the idea of you trying.”
The future, which had been a formless void just a few days ago, was now a blueprint. A complicated, wonderful blueprint we could build together.
When we left, the late sun was a melted orange over the sea, turning the water to copper. Brynn looped her arm through mine as we navigated the sidewalk. We strolled slowly, in no hurry, the evening breeze thick with salt and possibility.
“Wanna come up?” Brynn asked, nodding to the row of brightly painted townhouses up the next block. “You can see my hand-me-down sofa. It’s a real work of art.”
“Lead the way,” I said. “I need to see what I’m up against.”
The short walk was full of lazy conversation—plans for porch furniture, which sports teams we’d support if forced at gunpoint, where to get the best Cuban sandwich within fifty miles.
We reached her door. Brynn unlocked it and gestured for me to step inside.
The place was barely furnished, with a few cardboard boxes by the entryway and a navy-blue sofa that looked like it had survived several hurricanes.
The kitchen was clean and relatively updated.
On the counter sat a single mug, bright yellow, with TEACHERS ARE MAGIC in blue glitter.
“Make yourself at home,” Brynn said, kicking off her shoes.
The space was unassuming, but it already radiated her personality—practical, a little messy, endlessly hopeful.
“I like it,” I said.
“You don’t have to pretend. The sofa’s a disaster and the air conditioning sounds like it’s experiencing a painful death.”
I shrugged one shoulder. “Feels more like home than anywhere I’ve lived in years.”
She went quiet, eyes shining. “Just wait a few months when we’re settled in, huh?”
We stood there for a moment, neither of us moving, the gravity between us suddenly too strong to ignore. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around my waist, resting her cheek against my chest. I hugged her back, feeling her heartbeat match mine.
“Remember when I said this place wasn’t real life?” I murmured into her hair. “I couldn’t have been more wrong. This is the only thing that’s ever felt real.”
She squeezed tighter. “It always has been for me. I’m just glad you see it too.”