Page 20 of The Ex-Girlfriend Agreement

I ignore his advice and finish half the drink in another swallow, welcoming the warm buzz that begins to spread through my limbs. "I'll be fine."

His skeptical look says he doesn't believe me, but he doesn't comment further as we make our way to our assigned table. My family is already seated—parents, Taylor and James, cousins, and a few close friends. Chase is there too, I notice with a sinking feeling, seated directly across from my empty chair.

"There's the lovebirds!" my mother exclaims, waving us over. "Come sit down. The ceremony is about to start."

Dean's hand finds the small of my back as we navigate between tables, a gesture that should be purely for show but sends tingles up my spine nonetheless. We take our seats just as the first performers emerge, their movements graceful and precise as they tell ancient Hawaiian stories through dance.

Under normal circumstances, I'd be captivated by the performance. Instead, I'm hyperaware of Dean beside me, of his thigh occasionally brushing mine under the table, of his arm draped casually over the back of my chair. I finish my mai tai and signal a passing waiter for another.

"You might want to slow down," Dean whispers, his breath warm against my ear.

"I'm celebrating my sister's wedding," I whisper back, a little too defensively.

His fingers brush the nape of my neck, just below my upswept hair—a touch so light it could be accidental, but the way my skin erupts in goosebumps tells me it's not. "Just looking out for you."

The second mai tai goes down as easily as the first, the sweet fruit flavor masking the substantial amount of rum. By the time dinner is served—a traditional feast of local specialties—a pleasant warmth has spread through my body, softening the edges of my anxiety.

"You two are so cute together," my cousin Melissa sighs from across the table. "How do you make it work with the long distance?"

Dean's arm tightens imperceptibly around my shoulders. "Lots of FaceTime," he says smoothly. "And remembering what's important."

"Which is?" Chase interjects, his tone casual but his eyes watchful.

Dean meets his gaze steadily. "That some things are worth any sacrifice."

His words hang in the air between us, loaded with meaning that goes beyond our pretend relationship. I take another large sip of my drink, needing the liquid courage.

"Dean's very understanding about my career," I add, trying to steer the conversation back to safer ground. "And I try to get back to Colorado whenever I can."

"Though not as often as I'd like," Dean says, his fingers tracing small circles on my bare shoulder.

"New York must be exciting," Chase says, leaning forward. "All those museums, theaters, restaurants. Very different from small-town Colorado."

The implied comparison isn't subtle. I feel Dean tense beside me but keep my smile fixed in place.

"Both have their charms," I say diplomatically. "I miss the mountains when I'm in the city."

"And I miss her," Dean adds, so naturally that for a moment I almost believe him.

The conversation shifts as the dessert course arrives, but the undercurrent of tension remains. I find myself drinking more than I normally would, finishing a third mai tai and starting on a glass of wine someone places in front of me. The alcohol creates a pleasant buffer between me and the increasingly complicated emotions swirling inside me.

After dinner, the formal part of the evening gives way to music and dancing. The tables are moved aside to create a dance floor, and couples begin to sway to the live band's rendition of Hawaiian love songs mixed with contemporary hits.

"Dance with me," Dean says, standing and offering his hand.

It's not really a request, and I don't really want to refuse. I place my hand in his, letting him lead me to the dance floor. His arm slides around my waist, drawing me against him as we begin to move to the music. My hand rests on his shoulder, our clasped hands held between us.

It's a familiar position—we used to dance like this in his living room to no music at all, just because he knew I loved to dance and he loved to hold me. The memory hits me with unexpected force, bringing a lump to my throat.

"You okay?" Dean asks, his voice low near my ear.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The combination of alcohol and nostalgia has left me dangerously close to tears.

"Liar," he says, but there's no bite to it. "You've had too much to drink."

"Maybe," I admit, letting my head rest against his chest. It's easier than looking at him. "But I'm fine. Just…thinking."

"About what?"

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