Chapter 5
Chapter Five
brYNN
The reception was in full swing, a joyful tumble of clinking glasses and fairy lights strung over Sunset Siesta’s beach.
Alone for a moment, I sat at the head table with a champagne flute in hand and took my first real breath of the day.
The ceremony just down the beach had been beautiful, our toasts funny and heartfelt, and I had managed to get through my own speech without ugly-crying.
Now, finally, with all the public-facing duties over, I could just be.
From my vantage point, I observed the happy couple. Holly and Josh were surrounded by admirers, lost in their own universe. My gaze drifted to the starlit tropical sky. It was absurd how much I didn’t want the trip to end.
I had a perfect view of Dean. He was circulating with a glass of whiskey in hand, effortlessly playing the charming Best Man—laughing with a group of Josh’s college friends, gracefully dodging a bridesmaid who was clearly on the hunt, even enduring a back-slapping hug from Holly’s uncle.
He excelled at being exactly what the moment required.
A pang of something I refused to name—envy, longing—twisted in my gut.
That line of thought ended with a thud when Todd Peterson sat across from me, clutching a plate of potato salad and looking like he’d spent the night fighting off wild dogs.
“Hi, Brynn,” he said glumly.
“Hey, Todd. You doing okay?”
He picked at his salad. “I think there’s Miracle Whip in this. I’m more of a mayo guy.”
“Rough.”
“Anyway, I wanted to say sorry if I was too forward the other night. Carol confirmed you have a boyfriend.”
I could have let him dangle, but he looked genuinely miserable. “Yes, I do. It’s okay, Todd. We’re all doing our best.”
He brightened a bit. “Yeah. Well, Carol’s taking me back to Atlanta tomorrow morning.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. “Safe travels, okay?”
He rose to his feet like a limp noodle. “You, too. Good luck with the boyfriend thing. He seems nice.”
Todd shuffled off, then detoured to explain to a baffled wedding guest that the reception's spotty Wi-Fi was likely due to interference from the kitchen's commercial microwaves. I exhaled a deep sigh. That chapter, at least, was closed.
I stared absently at the pier and its bobbing boats. I would return to Atlanta the day after tomorrow. But here, with the salt air in my lungs, I felt brave enough to imagine a different future. One with Dean? That might be a stretch, but tempting. Then another future flitted through my mind.
Doris’s words from yesterday echoed. “Ever thought about running an ice cream shop, honey?”
I’d dismissed it as another risk I wasn’t built for.
But the memory of standing in the Scoop, the easy confidence I felt there…
it was the one time this trip I felt at home.
What if my life wasn’t about finding someone, but about building something?
The thought was so big, so audacious, it made my pulse quicken.
It was the scariest, most exciting idea I’d had in years.
A shadow fell across my table, pulling me back from my thoughts. Dean appeared, wearing a frown. With a sigh, he dropped into Todd’s empty seat and stared at the plate. He raised his head and arched a dark brow. “Did I just witness a breakup?”
“Only if you count Miracle Whip as a dealbreaker.”
“I don’t trust anything with that many syllables.” He smiled, something softening behind his eyes. For a moment, we were just two people, not actors in a farce. The thought was exhilarating and terrifying.
The DJ started the first dance. Holly and Josh swayed, lost in their own universe. I felt a pang of envy at how easy they made it look.
Dean followed my gaze. “You ever think about it?”
“This? Getting married?” I shrugged, forcing a laugh. “Maybe in another life.”
He studied me. “What’s stopping you?”
I wanted to tell him the truth—that I’d spent so long making myself small and safe that wanting more felt like a crime. That I was tired of playing it safe but didn’t know how to stop. Instead, I said, “I guess I never met the right guy.”
Dean grinned, lazy and wicked. “That’s a low bar, Vance.”
“You’d be surprised.”
He reached across the table, his fingers brushing mine, so brief I could pretend it didn’t happen. We sat like that for a while, the music wrapping around us. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t restless or looking for an exit. I was just present, accepting what might come.
Dean stood, pulling me up by the hand. “Come on. Let’s make some bad decisions.”
Laughing, I let him lead me to the dance floor, my hand warm in his. The night, and all its possibilities, awaited.
The DJ transitioned from an upbeat party track to a slow, sultry love song with a heavy bass line that vibrated through the sand and into my bones. Dean pulled me into his arms, his hand confidently resting on the small of my back. We fell into an easy rhythm, our bodies swaying together.
“Having fun yet?” I murmured, my lips close to his ear.
His hand tightened, pulling me flush against him. I could feel the hard planes of his chest and the solid strength in his thighs.
“I’m starting to see the appeal of these things.” His voice was a low vibration against my cheek. “The open bar helps.”
“Just the open bar?” I teased, letting my hands wander from his shoulders to the back of his neck, my fingers playing with the soft hair at his nape. His breath hitched, a tiny sound that sent a thrill through me.
“Okay, maybe the company isn’t so bad either,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to my mouth. “You feel incredible in my arms, Brynn.”
The directness of it stole my breath. “Being your fake girlfriend is a tough job. But someone has to do it.”
His eyes darkened, the blue turning to a deep, stormy cobalt. The air between us crackled, thick with the memory of our last kiss and the unspoken promise of the next one. This wasn't for show anymore. We both knew it.
“We’re still on duty, right?” he murmured as he maneuvered us to a more dimly lit section. “We have to make it look convincing for the audience.”
He leaned in and captured my mouth in a slow, deliberate kiss.
There was no pretense of performance. It was pure desire.
His lips were firm and confident, moving over mine with an ease that made my knees weak.
He tasted of whiskey and salt, the intoxicating flavor of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.
When he pulled back, I was breathless, my lips tingling. I looked up at him through my lashes, a slow, wicked smile spreading across my face. “Absolutely. Can’t let our audience down, can we?”
Before he could react, I initiated the next kiss, rising on my toes to meet him.
I slanted my mouth over his, my tongue swiping against his bottom lip, a bold invitation he answered immediately.
He groaned, a low, guttural sound, and opened for me, our tongues tangling in a heated dance.
It was a kiss that spoke of long nights and messed sheets, a kiss between two people who were done playing games.
The music was a distant thrum, a bassline for the beat of my heart.
Dean’s hand slid from the small of my back, his fingers tracing a fiery path up my side until his thumb brushed the curve of my breast. I gasped into his mouth, the shock of pleasure so intense my hips instinctively pressed closer, seeking more.
I could feel the hard ridge of his erection against my thigh, undeniable proof of what this was doing to both of us.
My hands, which had gripped his hair, slid down his neck, my nails grazing his skin. He shuddered.
The song faded, the final notes hanging in the humid air like a held breath. He pulled me in for one last, deep kiss that had nothing to do with rhythm or romance and everything to do with raw, possessive hunger.
When we broke apart, we were both breathing heavily. The rest of the party was a blurry constellation of fairy lights. No one was paying us any attention.
“Come up to my room?” My voice was a husky whisper I barely recognized.
His dark, turbulent eyes widened for a second. Then a slow, sexy smile spread across his face, a look of absolute victory.
“I thought you'd never ask.” He captured my hand, his grip possessive. “I need to get you out of here. Now.”
We left the warm glow of the fairy lights behind, moving at a pace just shy of a run. He pulled me past the shimmering blue of the resort pool, our footsteps crunching on the shell path that led toward the room blocks. The air was charged with anticipation, humming with tension.
Suddenly, he stopped. In the deep shadow between two sheds, under the heavy scent of a frangipani tree, he spun me around and slammed my back against the rough bark.
The impact knocked a sharp gasp from my lungs.
His mouth crashed down on mine, a brutal, claiming kiss.
This was pure, desperate need. He pressed his body against mine, his shaft a hard, insistent ridge against my stomach, grinding against me in a slow, torturous rhythm that made my knees buckle.
“I've been thinking about this for days,” he rasped, his lips brushing mine as he spoke. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“Me, either.” I fisted my hands in his shirt, pulling him closer. We kissed again, now fueled by frustration. “So why are we standing here?”
With a grunt, he captured my hand again. His grip was almost painfully tight as he pulled me down the path. The last fifty feet were a blur of urgency, every step charged with the promise of what was coming.
We reached Room 215. I fumbled, the key card slippery in my sweat-slicked hand. Dean was so close behind that I could feel the heat of his chest. His hand closed over mine, gentle then firm, as he slid the card in and shouldered the door open. I stumbled inside.