Page 17 of This

“He’s right,” Liam confirms from the hallway.

“Liam,” I shout. “Go away!”

Dane laughs, and I can’t help but smile at the way he chews on his bottom lip.

Once he pulls me off the bed, he picks his shirt off the floor. I check the mirror and fix my hair, so I won’t give Keaton a reason to be suspicious of my disappearance. We share almost everything, but I’ll avoid anything Dane-related as long as possible. Whatever this is won’t change my mind about leaving Phoenix. I don’t need her thinking otherwise.

He steps behind me and folds his arms around me. “We’re spending time together before you leave,” he says, looking at me through our reflection. “No nosy couple or another guy vying for your attention. Just you and me.”

I turn around in his arms. “Are you asking or telling?”

“Does it matter?” He kisses the tip of my nose and walks away without my answer.

But, no, it really doesn’t.

Ihelp Keaton set upa table by the front door for guests to grab a thank-you bag on their way out. After eating all the candy out of a few, we set them aside. We move a few more over to eat later. A break before dessert was a terrible idea.

When I step back out on the deck, Patrick waves me over to him and Joyce. At first, I think they’re talking to Liam’s dad and probably a cousin—a young blonde dressed more for a nightclub than a backyard. Then I see Dane with them, his back to me. By the time I figure out what is about to happen, it’s too late.

Patrick puts an arm out for me, and Dane glances back. He wipes a hand over his mouth, hiding a smile. At least one of us finds meeting the parents without warning entertaining. I step under Patrick’s arm, and he pulls me against his side.

“This is our other girl, Bennett.”

They always introduce Keaton and me the same way—“our girls”—never differentiating between us. It throws people off when they later learn I go by a different last name or our birthdays are a few months apart. We all secretly enjoy it, Patrick the most.

“Greg here is Liam’s uncle, and this is his wife, Aubrey. I believe you’ve already met his son, Dane.”

Greg takes my hand in both of his, squeezing it. They carry themselves the same, straight backs and strong shoulders. But Dane’s eyes hold a softness missing from his father’s.

“A pleasure, my dear. I hope Dane’s represented the Masters name well.”

Dane rolls his eyes, and I smile.

“If anything, he’s saved it from the damage done by Liam.”

Patrick chuckles as Joyce covers her face, embarrassed over nothing. “She’s kidding,” she says.

“Of course she is.” Greg steps back beside Aubrey. Her hand goes straight to his chest to claim him.

She can’t be more than a few years older than me, but anyone younger must pose a threat, judging by the way she clings to him. It makes me sad for her.

Patrick and Greg transition into a conversation about classic cars, and I excuse myself. I continue the tour of family and friends for the rest of the night, flitting in and out before anyone traps me for long. Ford stays away, only swooping in for a hug before he leaves. He reminds me we’ll see each other at the wedding, then heavily hints we should meet up sooner. I answer with a noncommittal shrug.

Every so often, Dane catches my eye and smiles or trails his fingers across my back as he walks behind me. It turns into a game—how close we can get without talking to the same people.

By the time most of the guests have cleared out, I haven’t seen Keaton for a while. I find her in the family room, spreading blankets out on the floor, and tackle her in the middle of them. We sprawl out on our backs to stare at the ceiling like we’ve done an uncountable number of times over the years. At one time, we did this in the backyard, but after a few coyote sightings in the area, Patrick insisted we camp in a safer location.

“Which of us is getting up to shut off the light?” I ask.

“I got this.” She pulls out her phone, and a minute later, Liam walks in with Dane right behind him.

“What do you want, woman?”

“Can you shut off the light, please?”

He narrows his eyes but flips the switch next to the doorway. The ceiling lights up in glowing stars—not the cheap yellow shapes in an eight-year-old’s bedroom, but bright dots of different sizes, creating a night sky above us. Constellations, a shooting star. All the beauty of the universe without the intimidating vastness. You can disappear into it without being lost.

“Is this what you’re doing for the rest of the night?” Liam asks.

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