Chapter 16
Sixteen
I walked out of the bathroom feeling the weight of the old woman’s words pressing down on my chest. I didn’t head toward the noise and lights.
I went the other direction—down the quieter stretch of deck where the music faded into the chirp of crickets.
The air was cooler here, the shadows thicker, and for the first time all night, no one was looking at me.
I leaned against the railing, let my head tip back, and drew in a slow breath.
The woman with the long legs—the one I’d assumed was Dean’s ex—wasn’t his ex at all. She was his sister.
His sister.
The thought rang like a bell in my head, each echo pulling another thread loose.
The woman in the bathroom wasn’t just some sweet stranger either.
She was his grandmother. Which meant Mr. McHenry—the sharp-eyed man with the knowing smile—was his grandfather.
The one Dean built cars with. The one who taught him how to fish.
I pushed away from the railing. The boards creaked under my shoes as I walked down the stairs at the back of the lodge, my chest heavy, and my thoughts racing to keep up.
It all made sense now—too much sense.
The way Thomas and Trisha told childhood stories. The way Blair’s arrival stirred whispers. The way everyone seemed to already know who I was without me saying a word.
I’d been brought into the lion’s den blindfolded, and I couldn’t do it anymore.
I was halfway down a dirt path that faded into trees when I heard him.
“Hey! Where are you going?”
I froze. Took a beath. Turned.
Dean stood five steps behind me, hands buried in pockets, moonlight catching in his eyes.
“The cabin’s that way,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder with a nod of his head.
Something in my gut twisted. “You lied to me. This isn’t a corporate retreat—” I jabbed a finger toward the deck. “That’s your family.”
He stopped mid-step, watching me carefully. “You’re right,” he said finally, his voice calm. “The people back there are my family—”
“And that wasn’t part of our deal.”
“But I didn’t lie. We work together. McHenry and Associates is our family business.”
I hesitated for a moment, my throat tight with emotion. “Then why didn’t you just say so?”
He moved toward me slowly, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I did.”
“Oh, please. Don’t gaslight me, Dean.”
His mouth curved—not in mockery, but in something that looked a little like disbelief. “I gave you a whole binder full of information.”
I blinked, searched his face, expecting smugness but finding nothing of the sort. Just quiet honesty.
“I thought that was… background,” I said.
“It is. About them. About us.”
And then it hit me. Every story in that binder rewrote itself in my head, suddenly so obvious I couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it before.
I glanced toward the deck, where the faint hum of steel guitar carried on the breeze. “I can’t lie to them,” I whispered. “I can’t—” The words caught in my throat. “They’re your family.”
Something flickered in his eyes—guilt, or maybe something softer. “We had a deal.”
“That was before I knew what I was agreeing to.”
“Why does it matter who they are?” he asked quietly. “You’ll never see them again after this.”
I froze—because he was absolutely right. I wouldn’t.
So why was my chest aching?
I had a sudden flash of Helen—so soft, steady, and irritatingly wise.
Maybe Dean was making a mistake. But it was his mistake to make, not mine.
“What’s your plan?” I whispered, for the first time seeing the wounded little boy who’d lost his parents way too soon. Seeing the boy who locked doors and protected everyone around him.
His gaze flickered over my face. “What do you mean?”
“After this—when you go back to your life, and I go back to mine—what’s your plan?”
Realization softened the lines of his forehead, and he shrugged. “After this weekend—I’ll tell them we broke up.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
I pressed my lips together, wanting to refuse. Wanting to walk away. But for some reason… I couldn’t.
Dean’s eyes were on mine, searching for something. Maybe agreement. Maybe acceptance. Then he tilted his head to the side and lifted his chin toward the deck. “If we stay out here much longer, there will be rumors.”
There was something playful in his tone. Something boyish that made my heart patter.
A smile slipped out of me before I could stop it.
I turned away—biting my lower lip in an effort to tame it, but it was too late. He’d already seen the way he affected me
He came toward me, then stopped just a breath away, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his overalls. “I’m sorry I didn’t make myself clear earlier.”
The way he said it, the way he took accountability for what could have easily been my own mistake, sent my pulse skittering.
“Yes, they are my family,” he went on, “but the deal is still the same. One week. That’s all. Then you never have to see me again.”
I looked up at him, and his eyes locked with mine, warm and inviting. “I promise there won’t be any more surprises.”
He offered me his arm, “What do you say?”
I hesitated for a heartbeat, then against my better judgment, looped my arm into his.
He glanced at me, a twinkle in his eye, as he walked toward the deck. “How did you figure it out, anyway?”
I tipped my head up, unable to hide the amusement in my voice when I answered. “I met your grandma in the bathroom,” I said.
His brows lifted, and the corner of his mouth tugged in an adorable grin. “You did, huh?”
“Mm-hm… Helped her change a diaper, actually.”
That made him stop mid-step. “You—what?”
“She needed me to grab the wipes,” I explained, realizing for the first time how ridiculous the whole situation had been. “So, I helped her… and then, she gave me a palm reading.”
The laugh that burst out of him was unlike anything I’d ever heard—deep, unguarded, bent over at the waist, annoyingly infectious. It made my stomach do an involuntary flip.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry that happened to you!”
I shook my head, “Don’t be sorry. It was actually…nice.”
“I met your sister, too,” I added almost as an afterthought.
He stopped walking and turned to face me. “Oh, yeah?”
“Your gran said you two had a falling out.”
His jaw flexed. “Some would call it that.”
“And what do you call it?”
“Avoidance.”
“On your part or hers?”
“Hers.”
I almost wanted to roll my eyes because it sounded exactly like something John would say. “Well, she’s here now, isn’t she?”
“She is.”
“Does that make you feel better?”
“No.”
“Why’s that?”
His gaze found mine again, and his voice dropped to almost a whisper. “Because she’s broken, and I can see it. But she won’t tell me why or give me a way I can fix it.”
The words hung between us, heavier than I expected. There was an ache in his voice that made my chest tighten, a thread of vulnerability he wasn’t trying to hide.
Before I could stop myself, I reached up to touch the rough line of his jaw. “It’ll be okay.”
His breath caught, and for a second, neither of us moved—suspended in something that had nothing to do with this ridiculous contract.
“Hey!”
We turned in unison toward the sound of Trisha’s voice—coming from somewhere up above.
I glanced up toward the deck, finding her standing at the top of the stairs, hands on her hips.
“What are you two doing down there? The square dance is about to start!”
For a second, neither of us answered—and the moment we’d been standing in didn’t break—it just hovered, fragile, and unfinished. I could still feel the warmth of Dean’s hand close to mine, the awareness of him pressing tight between us.
Then Dean shifted beside me, like he’d suddenly made a decision. “Coming!” he called up to her. Then his fingers closed around mine, firm and certain, and he started toward the stairs.
I glanced up at him, my heart still a little off beat.
“Guess that’s our cue,” he murmured.
And as he led me back toward the noise and the lights, I had the unsettled thought that whatever had just started between us was the beginning of my undoing.
I’d never do-si-doed before in my life, but the moment we stepped up the stairs, the air practically vibrated with energy—boots stomped, hands clapped, and a man’s twangy voice cut through the speakers.
“All right now! Gentleman, you stand on the left, ladies to the right—don’t be shy now!”
Dean’s hand settled at the small of my back and he steered me toward a gap on the dance floor. The wood planks thudded below my feet with the rhythm of the music.
“Bow to your partner”––the caller sang—“now bow to the corner.”
Dean gave an exaggerated bow, grinning with encouragement, as I somehow managed a shaky curtsey before straightening again.
Before I knew what was happening, Dean’s hand was in mine, and his other was sliding around my waist. Everyone around us was in the same position, but the action was jarring, especially after our moment earlier.
Before I knew it, I was spinning—fast. A blur of faces and swaying skirts whipped across the dance floor, making me almost dizzy.
“Now do-si-do—back to back, nice and easy like!”
The steady pressure of Dean’s arm was the only thing that kept me upright.
His hands guided me until our shoulders brushed.
I caught the faint smell of cedar and soap on his skin as we began to circle, and my pulse tripped over itself.
It wasn’t just the scent—it was the heat of him, the unshakable steadiness in his touch, the way my body seemed to recognize his before my mind could catch up.
“You’re doing great,” he whispered close to my ear.
“Well, I feel like an idiot,” I confessed.
He grinned then, slow and deliberate. “If this is you looking like an idiot…” But he stopped talking, and eyes brushed over my body.
“Promenade—” the announcer called. “Take her home, boys, don’t let her stray!”