Chapter 24
TWENTY-FOUR
Meadow
The music coming from the DJ’s speakers pounds through the floor beneath my heels, vibrating up my legs as I laugh breathlessly, my arm resting over Owen’s shoulder as he spins me beneath the twinkling lights.
The reception has fully come alive.
I hardly know any of these people, but damn, they know how to party.
I’ve attended countless weddings where the reception was either awkward, boring, or a complete doozy. But this feels like a club with everyone packed onto the dance floor.
The deck is glowing beneath the golden bulbs strung overhead, gently swaying in the night breeze. The ocean is barely visible beneath the onyx sky, just the faint outline of white waves hitting the shore in the distance.
Upbeat music pulses through the air, blending with guests singing along, feet stomping back and forth from the bar to the dancefloor, and the occasional shout from someone who’s definitely going to be in hangover hell in the morning.
And for the first time since cocktail hour… I feel okay again.
More than okay, actually.
A soft buzz hums through my veins, loosening every tight edge until all that’s left is laughter and bliss.
Owen pulls me into his chest, his hand sliding to my waist as I stumble into him, giggling as the world tilts just a little from the cocktails.
“Careful, Mrs. Brooks,” he murmurs against my ear, his voice low and amused.
God, I never want him to stop calling me that.
“Me?” I grin up at him. “You’re the one who keeps spinning me.”
“Can’t help it,” he rumbles, his hand tightening on my hip. “You look so damn sexy in that dress. I need the full view.”
My skin tingles as I feel a blush creep along my cheeks.
“I can’t fucking wait to take it off you tonight,” he promises, voice low and hungry as he nips at my earlobe.
Fuck.
I press my thighs together to push down the ache in my core. I lean into him, my arms looping loosely around his neck as we sway to the music, his body warm and hard against mine.
Owen’s signature scent of cinnamon and leather mixes with the salty air, centering me in a way no one else can.
I briefly close my eyes and inhale, soaking up the moment.
Stay here, I tell myself.
Just stay here.
The DJ’s voice suddenly cuts through the music, loud and animated.
“Alright, alright, everybody! It’s that time. Let’s get our single ladies out on the dance floor. If there’s no ring on it, you’re up here—no excuses!”
A chorus of cheers and claps erupts around us. I laugh under my breath as Owen’s chest rumbles against mine.
“It’s your moment,” he teases.
I roll my eyes. “Um, absolutely not.”
This is so not my scene. I hate being put on the spot like this—where a whole audience is watching.
“Oh, come on,” Owen nudges. “Don’t tell me you don’t want to catch the bouquet and actually become Mrs. Brooks.”
I chuckle and shake my head.
“I think I’d rather keep my dignity intact than beg for a bouquet,” I scoff.
“Eh, I think you secretly want it,” he smirks.
He’s right about one thing—I do want him.
But I have no desire to get bumped around or accidentally have my hair ripped out of my scalp as a group of grown women battle for a bouquet.
I swat at his chest, but before I can argue further, a swarm of women rushes past us toward the center of the dance floor, already squealing with excitement.
The DJ cranks up the volume, and the opening beat of Single Ladies blasts through the speakers.
“Okay, that’s my cue to leave,” I laugh, starting to step back.
Owen’s hand catches mine, squeezing gently.
“Go,” he whispers in my ear, nodding toward the group. “Have fun.”
I hesitate for half a second before slipping my hand from his and weaving my way toward the group of women gathering near the bride.
It’s silly. It’s just a bouquet toss.
Thirty seconds, maybe less. And then it will all be over.
I can handle thirty seconds.
The energy on the dance floor is complete chaos—girls laughing, fixing their dresses, primping their hair, and jostling for a spot like it’s a full-contact sport.
I hover toward the back, already regretting my decision.
God, I feel so awkward standing out here…
This was a mistake.
Yeah, I’m gonna go—
Before I can retreat, the bride turns around with her bouquet in hand, grinning over her shoulder.
“Ready?!”
The music swells. The women around me scream.
And suddenly, I’m shoved forward. Hard.
“Sorry!” someone laughs, not sounding apologetic at all as she elbows her way past me.
Another girl bumps into my shoulder, nearly knocking me off balance as she pushes closer to the front.
Cool.
This is fun.
Love that everyone’s entire romantic future apparently depends on catching this Godforsaken bouquet.
I let out an awkward laugh, stepping back and lifting my hands in surrender.
You know what? They can have it.
I don’t need this as badly as they do.
The bride counts down, “Three! Two! One!”
Anticipation builds as she tosses the bouquet high into the air. Time slows for half a second as it arcs above the crowd before a tall, stunning redhead leaps up and catches it effortlessly.
The crowd erupts.
She squeals, jumping up and down, clutching the bouquet to her chest like she just won an Oscar.
“OH MY GOD!” she screams, laughing as her friends swarm around her.
I can’t help but smile a little at her excitement as I step back out of the crowd, smoothing my dress.
Even though this isn't my thing, it’s sweet to see how much this means to her.
“Let’s hear it for the ladies!” the DJ booms again. “Now it’s time for the gentlemen!”
A group of guys is already being shoved forward, chuckling protesting, some clearly more into it than others.
I scan the crowd automatically until my eyes land on Owen.
He’s standing near the edge of the dance floor, drink in hand, watching everything unfold with mild amusement. My heart lunges for him when he finds me across the way, his lips curving up in an amused grin.
He’s in the crowd of men waiting for the toss, lingering near the back—just like I was.
There are plenty of undeniably handsome men in the group with their sharp suits, perfect smiles, and effortless charm.
But none of them even come close to Owen. Not one of them holds a candle to how ravishing he looks tonight, especially now, stripped down to just his dress shirt and slacks.
It still blows my mind that Owen wants me …
He could have very easily left me on the beach with my book and margarita to go catch up with his friends and do his own thing. But instead, he’s wanted to spend every waking second of his time here with me.
My chest tightens with the realization that this thing between us might actually go further than just sex or a vacation fling.
I’ve wanted this for so long, and it finally feels like it might happen. Like it’s right in front of me, and all I have to do is reach a little further.
Everyone turns their attention to the groom as he spins and holds the garter up in his hand.
“Who’s gonna be next?” he shouts.
The guys gather in closer, some ducking, some jumping, all of them shouting over each other like wild animals. The garter flies through the air as the groom tosses it.
I blink hard, making sure I’m not seeing double as the garter slaps directly into Owen’s chest.
Oh.
My.
God.
Owen caught it.
Well, he technically didn’t catch it. He wasn't even reaching for it. It just… perfectly landed on him.
What are the freaking odds?
Owen freezes, wide-eyed as if he doesn't know what to do next.
The garter drops slightly, and he fumbles to catch it, staring down at it through furrowed brows.
The crowd claps and hollers as the garter tangles between his fingers.
“No way!”
“That was rigged!”
“Bro, that was fucking fate!”
“Hell yeah, Owen!”
My stomach drops as I realize what Owen’s about to have to do.
He’s going to slide that delicate little garter up the long, sleek legs of the woman who caught the bouquet.
“Looks like we’ve got our lucky guy!” The DJ calls out.
Owen shakes his head immediately, laughing nervously.
“Nah. No, I’m good—” he starts, holding his hands up.
But the groom is already pushing him forward.
“Oh, come on, Brooks! You’ve gotta do it! You can’t back out now.”
“Do it! Do it!” The crowd chants.
Owen’s throat bobs as he glances up, his eyes immediately finding mine.
For a split second, the chaos, shouts, and cheers vanish as we lock gazes.
Owen’s eyes fill with hesitation and uncertainty, like he's asking me without saying a word. And because I don’t know what to say—what to do—I force out a half-smile and nod.
But he doesn't move. He just stands there—frozen and staring at me as burly bodies hoot and holler around him.
Owen’s shoulders tense as the groom claps him on the back, steering him toward the center of the dance floor, where the redhead is already being guided into a chair, giggling and flipping her hair over her shoulder.
Owen tears his gaze from me, his expression almost painful.
When my eyes land on the woman sitting in the chair, all I can think of is one thing.
She’s stunning.
Absolutely breathtaking.
Long auburn hair cascades down her back in soft waves. Her skin is smooth and glowing. She has these cute little freckles dusted across her nose and cheeks.
Her full lips are painted ruby red, curved into a confident, sexy smile. Her crimson dress hugs her body as if she were born to wear it, accentuating every line and dip of her lean frame.
She doesn’t look nervous, like I would be.
She looks like she belongs here. Like she thrives on the attention.
This is her world, and Owen is her oyster.
Meanwhile, I would be on the verge of throwing up if I were sitting in that chair with over a hundred people watching me.
But Owen… Even though I can tell he feels uneasy about the whole situation, he still fits right in.
Beautiful belongs with beautiful.
I try to swallow, but it feels impossible as it all seems to click in my head.
I love Owen, but these aren't my people.
I don’t feel comfortable here. I’ve never fit in with the cool, athletic, popular crowd.
But these are his people. Before I met Owen, he was a fucking football star at a D1 college. Everybody knew him. Everybody wanted him.
Meanwhile, aside from my professors and a couple of friends, no one at my school knew my name, and I liked it that way.
I genuinely like being invisible.
I like nerding out and being alone. I like closing myself in my room and disappearing into a book for hours. I like wearing baggy clothes when I go out so I don’t get weird glances from unsuspecting men.
As insecure as I can be at times, I like being… me.
And the cold, hard truth is that Owen couldn't be farther from me on the social spectrum.
I love Owen. I love him with my whole heart. I will always love him.
But I fear that I’m trying so desperately to make something work that isn't meant to be.
As much as I love him, we don’t fit.
But they do.
As Owen stands next to the magnetic woman with silky red hair, I can’t help but recognize how right they look together.
They look like they make sense. Two gorgeous, outgoing, show-stopping people who could dominate the world together.
And it’s not just about their looks. It’s how they have the spotlight on them, and they still look so comfortable. This is their element, where they were born to be.
She is the type of woman that Owen deserves to spend his life with.
Not… me.
Never me.
Not the girl who let herself get shoved to the back of the bouquet toss.
Not the girl who doesn't know if she would even be able to recite vows at her own wedding one day, in fear of fainting.
Not the girl who can’t make small talk without overthinking every word.
Not the girl who still lacks confidence, even when the man she wants the most looks at her like she’s everything.
The crowd whistles as the song changes— Pony by Ginuwine rolls through the speakers.
Owen glances back at me, worry contorting his handsome face as he kneels in front of her. I’ve never seen him so stiff—so out of his depth—as the lace garter dangles from his fingers.
The floodgates I’ve been forcing shut burst open.
It was never supposed to be me.
It was never going to be me.
I can’t—
I can’t watch this.
But I do.
I decide to watch—to torture myself as I refuse to look away.
His hands tremble as he reaches for her leg, briefly shutting his eyes and hesitating for half a second before sliding the garter up her calf.
The group of men grows rowdy, whistling and shouting as he settles the garter on her thigh.
She places a hand on Owen’s shoulder before throwing her head back with an infectious laugh.
She’s perfect.
He’s perfect.
A hot tear slips down my cheek before I can stop it. I swipe it away quickly as my vision starts to blur.
This thing between us was always meant to be temporary, wasn't it?
How did I trick myself into thinking otherwise?
My lips tremble as the music and chatter become too much—too loud, too overwhelming, too humbling.
I take a step back.
Then another.
No one notices. No one cares.
They’re too busy watching them.
I turn on my heel before I start sobbing and make a scene.
I need to get out of here before Owen can notice I’m gone.
I weave through the crowd, my heart pounding so hard it feels like it might crack my ribs. The reception fades behind me as I push through the doors, the humid air sticking to my skin as I toss off my heels and step from the deck onto the sand.
The beach is so dark.
Eerily dark and quiet.
The sound of the ocean crashes against the shore, steady and relentless.
I walk aimlessly, trying to outrun the sick feeling twisting through me. When my knees drop to the sand, I break.
A sob comes from deep in my soul as I press my palms into the sand, the wind whirling through my hair as tears spill freely down my face.