Page 48 of Dashing for Love

Anthony is behind the bar as always. He uncaps my favorite beer, a pilsner from the brewery in town, without me so much as asking, and it’s sliding into my hand as I ease onto the stool.

“By yourself?”

“Meeting someone.”

He nods and turns away without another word. I bite my cheek to keep from laughing. The man couldn’t be more different from his gossip-mongering brother if he tried.

I take a swig of the beer. And another, and another, until it’s gone and Anthony is sliding another in front of me. I’m halfway through it when a flash of yellow in my periphery has me turning.

My vision narrows to pinpoints, and everything else gets blurry. I grip the glass like it’s going to keep me from drowning.

A faint humming sounds in my ears, and it’s impossible to think as I scan her head to toe, the entire world grinding to a halt as I try to make sense of the woman in front of me. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. I can’t speak. My brain is malfunctioning. I’ve glitched.

Goldie Dash.

The woman I suspected, but didn’t dare hope for.

Looking at me as though she’s in trouble and biting her lip. A lip I’ve tasted.

“You,” I croak.

She nods wordlessly.

I force my jaw shut and swallow thickly. “Holy shit.”

She perches on the stool next to me, one foot resting on its rung and the other tipped on the floor, clearly ready to bolt at the slightest misstep as my life flashes in front of me.

Goldie running to catch up with me and Willa. Goldie building sandcastles with us on the beach. Goldie’s hand as we walked home, pudgy and sticky in mine after too manypopsicles. Goldie in middle school, Goldie as a sophomore when we were seniors. Goldie here. Goldie there. Goldie everywhere.

Goldie.Goldie.

Reality is crashing over me in waves as I stare at her. Is this okay? AmIokay?

Oh, God. I’veseenher. And she’sseenme.

It was the hottest night of my life.

With my best friend’s little sister.

It’s a freaking trope from a romance novel. I’ve read this book before. Only this is real fucking life.Mylife.

“You,” I breathe again. “Your hair.”

“Temporary wash.”

“Your tattoo.”

“Covered by the gloves.

“Your voice.”

“Easily changed,” she says, sounding like Dawn.

“And your scent,” I whisper.

Her lips curve. “Didn’t change.”

I nod, everything locking into place. Of course it was her. How could it have been anyonebuther?

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