Page 69 of Shared By my Ex's Best Friends
His eyes search mine, and we just look at each other for a bit too long. It’s quiet, but heavy with things we can’t say here. Not yet.
“You clean up well,” I tease, running my fingers along the edge of his loosened collar.
“You look…” He exhales slowly. “Devastating.”
My cheeks flush, and I duck my head for a moment before his knuckles lift my chin.
“Don’t forget to save me a dance,” he murmurs, his lips brushing my temple, barely a whisper of contact.
“I wouldn’t dare.”
We linger for a second before I step back, heart thrumming like a drum line under my ribs.
***
The reception blooms into life the moment the sun dips low enough to make the conservatory feel like something enchanted. The golden hour spills through the tall glass walls, setting the tables aglow and creating halos around everyone’s heads as laughter swells and champagne flutes clink.
String lights flicker on overhead, soft and twinkling, like stars have descended just for the occasion.
I slip back inside, the hum of conversation wrapping around me like a shawl. The long banquet-style tables are already bustling—guests chatting over passed dishes and wine being poured into stemmed glasses. A low jazz version of “At Last” plays through the speakers, and the couple is lost in each other near the head table, cheeks pressed together, swaying slowly.
It’s beautiful.
It’s overwhelming.
And somehow, I’m holding it all together.
I head toward the bar, needing a glass of something cold just to settle my nerves, but halfway there, a familiar hand brushes mine.
My breath catches. I’m not hiding anymore. Not from them. Not from myself.
I turn, and Jake is suddenly beside me.
“Fancy seeing you here,” he murmurs, his grin lazy, his voice soft.
He’s discarded his jacket, rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, and looks like sin and salvation wrapped in linen. A few curls have fallen across his forehead, and there’s a little mischief in his eyes that makes my stomach churn
“I thought you said you couldn’t dance in these shoes,” I say, nodding toward his loafers.
“I lied.” He offers his hand. “Come with me.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, just threads his fingers through mine and tugs me onto the dance floor.
The music shifts to something slow and dreamy. “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” Figures.
Jake pulls me close, one hand sliding to my waist, the other holding mine loosely as he rocks us gently to the rhythm. He doesn’t say anything at first, and I’m grateful. It lets me feel. Just feel.
The way he smells—clean and warm, like cedar and something faintly smoky.
The way his hand fits so perfectly against my lower back.
The way he’s looking at me like I’m the only person in the room.
“This is dangerous,” I whisper before I can stop myself. “I want it, but being here…what if people judge us?”
He hums. “Who cares what other people think?”
My chest aches. “I know I shouldn’t care, but it’s hard to pretend there won’t be consequences.”
