Chapter 16 #2
Dean’s arm hooked around mine again, and this time turned until we faced the same direction.
He led me in a slow walk around the dance floor, and my heart was pounding.
Not just from the demands of the dance, but from him.
The way he’d just looked at me, the way his eyes raked over me for half a second.
It was the first time he’d done that. The first time I had any sign at all that he was attracted to me—and most unnerving was that it didn’t feel like an act…
It felt like something he was actually trying to hold himself back from.
I felt almost breathless when his hand touched my back again. The pressure was steady and firm, in a way that made me want to lean into him, to ask what he was going to say, but the caller interrupted. “Change partners!” he called—then just like before, Dean’s hand slipped away from mine.
The music shifted into a faster reel, and hands began stretching toward mine again and again. People swept by in a blur, so quickly I didn’t even have the chance to see who they belonged to.
It was dizzying—boots stomping, faces flickering in and out, laughter spilling over the music which boomed under my feet—until I ended up arm-in-arm with a barrel-chested man in a bolo tie.
“Well,” he said warmly, “it seems we meet again.”
“Mr. McHenry,” I said, almost out of breath.
“Call me Charles,” he said with a small bow, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You holding up alright in this chaos?”
“Trying to,” I admitted, ducking my head as we entered another round of curtsies. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a dancer.”
“Ah, you’re doing just fine,” Charles assured me, steering us neatly through a turn he probably could have done in his sleep. “Just remember—it’s not about the steps, it’s about the company.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but the caller’s voice boomed again.
“Swing your partner, then do-si-do. Spin change and exchange the gears!”
And just like that, Charles released me with a flourish, sending me back into the crowd.
Round after round continued—dizzying faces, more warm hands catching and releasing mine—until suddenly a pair of strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind.
I turned my head just enough to see a broad chest and overalls and let out a relieved breath. Dean.
“Save me,” I whispered to him. “Get me out of here.”
A deep chuckle rumbled in my ear. “I was thinking the same thing,” he said, taking my hand until he spun me off the dance floor and toward the edge of the deck.
That’s when our eyes met—and I stared in shock at a man who definitely wasn’t Dean.
He was tall like Dean, almost as good-looking, but had big blue eyes and hair the color of bricks. “I’m so sorry,” I stumbled out. “I thought you were Dean.”
He grinned in reply, then pulled two beers from the cooler and handed one to me. “Happens all the time.”
“I’m Mason,” he added. “Dean’s younger––and better-looking––cousin.”
My face went warm, but I took a hefty swig of my beer and turned in the opposite direction.
Mason was handsome, yes—broad shoulders, sun-browned skin—but better looking than Dean? I had to disagree. Dean was appealing in a way that was hard to describe. He was the kind of man that didn’t try, didn’t flex, but ended up with everyone's attention anyway.
“You must be Vivienne,” he said. “The woman who stole my cousin’s heart.”
At that, I was thrown into my own reality, one where I was reminded of why I was here—to convince Mason, and everyone in attendance that Dean and I were in love.
My heart picked up speed, and I tipped my beer again. “Guilty as charged,” I said, taking a large gulp.
Mason let out a small laugh, but his focus was on the dance floor again, as though something out there amused him a little.
I followed his line of vision toward Dean, arms linked with a woman I guessed to be in her fifties. I knew she was likely a family member—probably an aunt.
Her hair was the same shade as Dean’s, they were both laughing, and they had the same smile.
How had I been so blind? How had I not pieced it together sooner?
And then, for the second time that night, my thoughts drifted to Dean’s parents.
I found myself wondering whether the woman on the dance floor was from his mother’s side or his father’s.
Growing up in foster care made things like that impossible not to pay attention to.
The shared tilt of a head, a familiar curve of a smile—the invisible thread that wove people together.
Family resemblance was something I noticed in everyone else—because I’d never had it myself.
That rare, quiet kind of belonging that came from seeing even the smallest piece of yourself reflected in someone else’s face.
“I have to say,” Mason’s voice broke through my thoughts, low and warm with amusement, “when I heard the rumors that Dean had fallen in love on his trip, I thought everyone was lying.”
“Why’s that?” I asked, clearing my throat, trying to steady the rush of emotion clawing its way up my chest.
Mason grinned, looking down for a second before meeting my gaze again. “Dean’s only introduced us to three women in his entire life,” he said. “And one of them was his date to prom.”
I blinked. “What?”
He laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yup. Thirty-three years, and that’s the list.”
Out on the dance floor, Dean was twirling a little girl with braces—a niece I presumed—and the two of them were laughing so hard they nearly tripped over each other’s feet. It was the kind of joy that didn’t ask for an audience, but found one anyway.
“I just didn’t think he had it in him,” Mason admitted, his grin softening. “He’s always so damn serious. Always working.”
I turned to look at him, then back to Dean, wondering if we were talking about the same man. The one who was going out of his way to make a little girl laugh until they both couldn’t breathe.
Mason followed my gaze, and something in his expression shifted—like maybe he’d seen the same thing I did. “Maybe things are changing,” he said finally, smiling wryly. “Guess that makes me the jaded cousin, huh?”
I let out a quiet laugh. “Should I keep that between us?”
He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Please do. If my aunts find out, I’ll have ten blind dates lined up before breakfast.”
I grinned, but before I could reply, his smile faltered. His gaze shifted past me—toward the far end of the deck. The easy charm faded from his face, replaced by something more thoughtful.
“Excuse me, Vivienne,” he said softly as he straightened. “There’s someone over there that I’ve been meaning to talk to.”
I followed his line of sight to find Blair sitting alone at one of the tables, a half-empty plate of food in front of her, boots kicked off and discarded beneath the chair. She rolled the same water bottle she’d been carrying around all night between her palms, as she stared out into the trees.
Mason hesitated for a second—hands in his pockets, lips pressed together in a thin line.
His steps were slow as he started toward her, almost cautious in his approach, as though he wasn’t certain if he was about to help or hinder.
Blair straightened—a little too quickly—when she noticed him, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
I didn’t want to intrude, so I looked away—but not before catching the flicker that passed across her face. It wasn’t irritation or surprise. It was much smaller, and more fragile than that—and was most certainly none of my business.