Page 10 of The Ex-Girlfriend Agreement

"Robert," Linda chides, but she's smiling too.

"No one's sweeping me anywhere," Brooke says firmly. "I'm exactly where I want to be."

The ambiguity of that statement hangs in the air between us. Where does she want to be? In New York? In her career? Or—and this is the thought I can't allow myself to entertain—with me?

Dinner progresses with the expected questions about our relationship, my ranch, her job. We field them effortlessly, a well-rehearsed duet of half-truths and outright lies. By dessert, I'm almost enjoying myself. Brooke's family has always felt more like a real family than my own ever did—warm, boisterous, genuinely interested in each other's lives.

"Remember when Dean taught Taylor to ride?" Linda reminisces, her expression fond. "She was so scared, but he was so patient."

"I wasn't scared," Taylor protests, but she's smiling. "Cautious."

"You were terrified," Brooke laughs, the sound genuine for the first time tonight. "But Dean was amazing with you."

Her eyes meet mine across the table, soft with the memory. It was a good day—Taylor conquering her fear, Brooke proud of her sister, me feeling like I belonged with these people.

"Dean's always been good with the Callahan women," Robert says, raising his glass in my direction.

Something loosens in my chest at the simple acknowledgment. A reminder that once upon a time, I really was part of this family.

"Well, let's see if he still is," Taylor's maid of honor—Jessie? Jamie?—says with a mischievous grin. "I dare you two to kiss. Right now."

The table erupts in theatrical "oohs," and Brooke's cheeks flush pink. Under normal circumstances, this would be nothing—a quick peck, maybe slightly more showy for the audience. But these aren't normal circumstances. We haven't touched each other that way in two years.

"Come on," Taylor eggs us on. "You're acting like you've never kissed before!"

If only she knew.

Brooke turns to me, her expression a complicated mix of panic and resignation. I could make this easy—a brief, chaste kiss that would satisfy the crowd without crossing boundaries. The smart move.

But I've never claimed to be smart when it comes to Brooke Callahan.

I cup her face in my hands, my thumbs brushing her cheekbones, and watch her eyes widen slightly. Then I lean in, giving her a moment to prepare, to pull away if she wants to.

She doesn't.

The first brush of her lips against mine is electric, a jolt that travels from my mouth straight to my core. Her lips are soft, warm, achingly familiar. I meant to keep it simple, but then her mouth parts slightly on a small intake of breath, and I'm lost.

My hand slides to the back of her neck, drawing her closer as I deepen the kiss. She tastes like champagne and the chocolate dessert she just ate, sweet and intoxicating. For a moment—one perfect, suspended moment—she kisses me back with equal fervor, her hand coming up to grip my shirt.

The table around us disappears. The ruse disappears. There's only Brooke, her lips moving against mine, her body leaning into me, her small sigh that I feel rather than hear.

Then reality crashes back as the table erupts in cheers and whistles. I pull away slowly, reluctantly, to find Brooke staring at me with dark, dazed eyes.

"Damn," someone says appreciatively. "Get a room, you two!"

Little do they know, we already have one. One room with one bed that I'll now be acutely aware of all night.

I clear my throat and lean back in my chair, deliberately casual. Like I didn't just kiss her with two years' worth of pent-up longing. Like my heart isn't hammering against my ribs.

"Satisfied?" I ask the table at large, my voice remarkably steady.

Brooke's aunt fans herself dramatically. "Oh my. No wonder you've kept him around, Brooke!"

Laughter ripples through the gathering. Brooke manages a smile, though her fingers tremble slightly as she reaches for her water glass. I place my hand casually on her thigh under the table—a gesture that would look like a comfortable intimacy to anyone watching, but is actually meant to steady her.

She jumps at the contact, her eyes flying to mine. I raise an eyebrow slightly, silently asking if she's okay. After a moment, she nods, almost imperceptibly.

The conversation moves on, but the energy between us has shifted irrevocably. The careful distance we've maintained since arriving has collapsed, leaving us in dangerous proximity to feelings neither of us wants to acknowledge.

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