Chapter 14
Fourteen
The moment we stepped outside, the crisp evening air cooled the heat still simmering beneath my skin. I drew in a long, quiet breath and ran my thumb along the edge of the ring on my finger. It felt snug. Foreign. Like it belonged to someone else.
Dean led us down a narrow dirt path that wove through the trees toward the lodge. Other people moved along it too, scattered in pairs and small groups, their voices rising and falling in soft conversation. But there was a hush beneath all of it. Not silence—something quieter than that.
Up ahead, the lodge glowed with soft, golden light. It spilled from the tall windows and wrapped around the railings in strands of warmth, making the whole place look like a beacon tucked into the woods.
My footsteps slowed as we neared the stairs. I told myself that I just needed a moment to catch my breath. But the truth sat heavier in my chest—I wasn’t used to feeling this uncertain.
Dean reached for my hand without a word, threading his fingers through mine. Casual. Effortless. Like we’d done it a hundred times before.
But we hadn’t.
My chest tightened at the simple touch, and he must’ve felt it, because he stopped. Turned toward me.
The light caught him from just above, casting soft shadows along the lines of his face. His brows were slightly drawn, his mouth neutral. But his eyes—his eyes gave him away. There was something quiet behind them. Careful. As though he was holding his breath, too.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice low and even.
I nodded, though the motion felt weak. “Yeah. You?”
He hesitated. Then the corner of his mouth lifted, not quite to a smile. “I don’t bring many people into my world.”
Just that.
Simple.
Honest.
It was enough to knock something loose inside me. Make me wonder why of all people, he would choose me to be one of them.
He squeezed my hand once, grounding me in the weight of his touch. In him.
“Then I’ll try not to break anything while I’m here,” I said.
The corner of his mouth lifted, and this time, the smile reached all the way to his eyes.
Something burst in my chest, and I let out a quiet laugh—unexpected, but real—and the tension I’d been carrying slipped from my shoulders, just enough so I could breathe a little easier.
His thumb brushed lightly over the ring on my finger. Then again. A small, absent-minded touch that sent a quiet spark up my arm.
“Ready?” he asked.
I nodded and turned toward the steps again.
We climbed, hand in hand, while just ahead, the performance of our lives loomed in our future.
As we neared the top, Dean’s steps grew softer.
His fingers tightened around mine, and I could feel the tension in his grip betray the calm in his expression.
The shift in his energy was subtle, but it was there, and it took me back to that first night at the hotel—when he’d admitted, in that quiet, honest way, that he was nervous.
The same vulnerability flickered in him now, even though he was doing everything he could to hide it.
I took a deep breath, letting the crisp air fill my lungs, as my eyes scanned the deck full of people.
Around fifty were already there, too caught up in their own conversations to notice our arrival.
The sounds of the party wrapped around me like a vice—laughter, the clink of bottles, the occasional shout echoing from somewhere in the distance.
A live band played near the lodge, strumming a country tune I didn’t recognize, but the twang of the steel guitar hit me in a way I couldn’t explain—familiar, almost like a memory I couldn’t latch onto.
Everywhere I looked, people wore blue jeans and western shirts, the theme of the event obviously taken quite seriously.
I hadn’t fully known what to expect, but something about this evening was different than I’d imagined.
More familiar. Quaint. Something I’d expect from a bar-b-cue at Jake and Katie’s, instead of a corporate event.
I stepped closer to Dean, still trying to calm my racing heart, when something on the dance floor caught my attention.
A little girl—spinning.
Arms stretched wide, the edge of her long skirt in her hand, eyes closed, as though the thought of falling wasn’t even a consideration.
Her two Dutch braids lifted behind her, and the smile on her face was filled with such delight, it was as if she existed in her own orbit, completely unaware—or unconcerned—that anyone might be watching her.
And no one was.
Except me.
I scanned the distance, expecting to find a frantic parent somewhere on the lawn. But no one seemed to be looking for her. In fact, no one seemed to notice her at all. Everyone on the deck was too busy laughing, drinking, talking over the music, as if she wasn’t even there.
Dean must’ve felt the shift in me, because he bent slightly, voice low against my ear. “Something wrong?”
I shook my head but turned toward him anyway. “Do you think she’s lost?”
His gaze swept the crowd, but found mine again a second later, his brow pulling tight. “Who?”
“The little girl.” I tilted my chin toward the dance floor.
He followed my line of vision where the little girl had begun to wobble.
Before long, she toppled onto her backside—then began to giggle.
Dean smiled, and his whole demeanor softened. “Looks like she’s exactly where she’s meant to be.”
The words were simple, almost offhand. But something about the way he said them—the softness in his voice and the way he accepted that little girl’s presence without question—brushed against a part of me I hadn’t realized I’d left unguarded.
The part of me that had never had that kind of acceptance when I was young. That quiet belonging I’d only experienced a handful of times in my entire life.
Something in my chest tightened, then grew unexpectedly warm.
I took a breath, trying to ground myself, when someone—maybe her dad—scooped her up, dusted her off, and hoisted her onto his shoulders in one easy swoop.
Dean turned to me, a twinkle in his eye before his gaze locked on mine, causing everything in his expression to shift. He stared at me for a long time, and the lines in his forehead grew deeper. “You sure everything’s okay?” he asked quietly.
I wanted to turn away, but instead I lifted my head, knowing the former would only draw more attention. “Yeah. I just… I wasn’t expecting kids to be here.”
His head tilted slightly, brows pulling together as though my answer caught him off guard. “You’re not a fan?”
“It’s not that,” I said quickly, almost stumbling over the words. “I just—”
I looked into his eyes, searching for something to say that wouldn’t give too much of myself away. “It just surprised me. That’s all.”
Dean didn’t answer right away, but his gaze stayed on mine—steady, quiet, as if he were listening to something I hadn’t actually said out loud.
“Most people bring their families this week,” he said finally. “It’s kind of tradition.”
“Oh?”
He nodded, and his voice dropped lower still, his mouth dipping closer to my ear. “The firm puts a lot of weight on family. More than anything else, really.”
I leaned in slightly, every part of me on edge. His voice held a different kind of tone than before, like he was on the verge of revealing a piece of himself that no one else knew about.
“Dean! Vivienne!”
The voice rang out like a firecracker—bright, unfiltered, slicing through the moment before he had a chance to begin.
We both turned in unison as Trisha emerged from the crowd, red hair big and wild, barefoot, her high-heeled boots swinging from one hand as though she'd already given up on decorum for the night. Her cheeks were flushed, her smile loose around the edges.
Thomas followed behind her, wearing a red flannel shirt, and holding up two beers high in the air like a peace offering.
Trisha didn’t wait for an invitation. She threw her arms around us both in a dramatic, slightly off-balance hug that pulled me a half-step closer to Dean.
Her breath was laced with tequila as she whispered—far too loudly to be discreet—“Thank God you’re here.
” She pulled back, eyes wide as she glanced over her shoulder.
“Denise is already tipsy, and Rick is two drinks away from stealing the microphone from the lead singer.”
Dean chuckled softly, the sound low in his chest. “Where’s Emma?”
“Back at the cabin with her grandparents,” Trisha said, waving a hand dismissively. “They insisted on staying in for the night and babysitting.”
Thomas reached her side, handing a beer to each of us. “Which means,” he added with a grin, “we have the night off.”
Dean’s brow lifted. “Dangerous words.”
Trisha laughed, already swaying to the distant rhythm of the band. “Oh, please. We’ve earned it.”
Dean looked at me then, a small twitch of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth. He gave his head a faint shake, like he was trying to chase off whatever had just passed between us—but the air didn’t clear. It thickened, humming with something quiet and charged.
Thomas said something about the drive, then about the gas station down the road—the closest place with a cell tower—but I barely heard him.
Dean had moved behind me, his arm looping loosely around my waist. His thumb slipped into the top of my belt loop—the action so natural that I almost didn’t notice it at all.
Almost.
I tried to play it cool, to remind myself that this was part of the act. But the second he tugged lightly at my hip, my breath caught. My skin tingled where his hand rested, warmth flooding through me in slow, steady waves until it settled low in my belly.
God, I hated how easily he could do that—how effortlessly he could make my body forget everything my brain had been shouting for weeks.
That this was all for show.
That every touch was for the sake of the story.
That no matter how real it felt… it wasn’t.
It was difficult to think straight.
Especially when the feel of him behind me sent sparks through my body that reached all the way to my toes.
Maybe it was the altitude loosening my restraint, or the fact that we were in the middle of nature, surrounded by stars that stretched to eternity.
Whatever it was, I found myself relaxing into him, almost without thinking.
It was stupid, I knew it was stupid, but I loved how I felt in his arms. I wasn’t used to feeling small.
But with Dean, it was different. He made me feel.
.. delicate, like he could scoop me up without breaking a sweat, and I couldn’t ignore the mental image that slipped into my mind of him doing just that.
“That actually reminds me of when he showed up to Sadie Miller’s birthday with a bouquet he’d picked straight from Mrs. Steward’s garden,” Trisha said.
It took me a second to realize she was leaning past me to look at Dean, and that I’d apparently missed a whole stretch of conversation while drifting off into my own head.
“Do you remember that?” she asked him, her tone almost teasing. Then she turned to me. “He couldn’t have been more than twelve. And the flowers were wilted before he even made it there on his bike.”
“That’s our Dean,” Thomas said, grinning. “More romantic than Prince fucking Charming.”
I cleared my throat, thrown by the familiarity in the story—how it sounded like something pulled from childhood, something you’d only know if you’d been there. I glanced over my shoulder at Dean, then back at Thomas and Trisha.
“Wait. How long have you all known each other?” I asked.
Thomas looked puzzled, like the question didn’t make sense. Trisha tilted her head, eyes narrowing as she glanced past me toward Dean—but before she could answer, a low ripple of murmurs began to move across the deck.
The shift was subtle at first, like the collective intake of breath when something unexpected happens. Then heads began to turn.
I followed their gaze—just in time to see a tall woman step out of the lodge.
She wore cowboy boots, cut-off shorts, and had legs that went on forever. She looked like a supermodel, or someone who’d just walked off the set of a country music video.
She flicked her thick, brown, waist-length hair over one shoulder, and braced her legs apart like she was getting ready for the storm she knew she’d just created.
Behind me, Dean’s posture shifted. Not much—just enough to feel it.
I’d been so settled against him that when he stepped back, even slightly, the absence of his touch sent an involuntary shiver through my body.
Then Trisha’s hand closed around my arm, pulling me a little closer to her.
“Would you look at that,” she murmured. “She actually came.”
Questions formed on my tongue, but I bit them back. Whatever was unfolding was none of my business.
At least, it shouldn’t have been.
But I couldn’t stop watching. Couldn’t stop tracking every flicker of expression, every sideways glance. The way eyes darted from her… to Dean.
The realization landed in my gut like a stone.
They had history. The kind everyone here seemed to know about.
And then the rest clicked into place, sharp and certain.
She was the reason Dean hired me.
The reason he avoided certain questions.
The reason the air on this deck suddenly felt tight.
Trisha glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, then looked back to Dean. “This should be interesting.”
“Excuse me,” Dean said. He stepped away from me, set his beer on the nearest table, and crossed the deck with slow, deliberate strides.
He reached her without a word.
And then—he pulled her into a hug so tight it lifted her onto her toes.
Something twisted in my chest—deep, sharp—and I turned away before I could feel it fully.
“Excuse me,” I said to the woman behind me, my voice barely above a whisper. “Would you mind telling me where the bathroom is?”
She nodded toward a small wooden sign near the back wall, but I was already moving.
My thoughts splintered in every direction.
Of course.
Of course this was why I was here.
Not to play house. Not to soften Dean’s image.
I was here for her.
To be seen. To be compared.
To be a message.
It wasn’t the first time I’d been paid to make someone jealous.
But this time… it felt different.
Because for one fragile, stupid second—
This thing between Dean and me had started to feel real.