Page 90 of At First Dance
Crew.
Baseball cap turned backward, duffel slung over one shoulder, and a familiar grin spreading across his face like he’s just landed a punchline.
“Well damn,” he says, his voice lazy and amused. “Am I interrupting something?”
Rowan stiffens beside me. “You’re early.”
“Training got canceled this morning,” Crew says, grinning easily. “Figured I’d surprise Mom. Maybe liberate some of her peach cobbler.”
Rowan doesn’t bristle at first. He tips his chin. “You’re late. Lila already requested blackberry for tonight.”
Crew laughs, then looks at me. “Hey, superstar.”
“Hey.” I give him a small smile—automatic, familiar, maybe too familiar—and feel the air shift. Rowan’s hay fork pauses mid-lift. Not a slam, not a sulk—just the briefest hitch before he sets the next bale like it weighs more than it did a second ago.
Crew edges closer to the big doors, hands in his pockets, sunlight on his back. “You look good, Ivy.”
“Thanks.” I feel Rowan move in my periphery, not away but closer, grabbing the water bucket like it needs him right here in earshot. His jaw works once. The muscle eases.
“I saw the press thing,” Crew adds, voice softer. “You handled it.”
“Working on it,” I say, honestly.
Rowan steps between us and the dust motes, passes me a bottled water without looking like it’s a gesture. Our fingers graze. A quick static pop that settles the restlessness in my chest.
Crew clocks the exchange, lifts his palms in a peaceable shrug. “Didn’t mean to interrupt chores.”
“You didn’t,” Rowan says, finally meeting his eyes. “You here, you help.” It’s brotherly, not biting. He jerks his head toward the feed room. “Grab the square shovel.”
Crew grins and goes, boots thudding. Regaling me with a few of our PR dates and all the ways he consistently screwed them up. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it for a beat, caught on the way Rowan’s gaze skims my face and then centers, like he’s reminding himself what’s real.
“You okay?” he asks, low.
I nod. “Yeah.” A breath. “You?”
His mouth tips. “Pacing myself.” Another quick flick of his eyes toward the doorway where his brother disappeared, then back to me. “Stay for lunch?”
“I was hoping you’d ask.”
Before he can say anything else, my phone buzzes in my pocket again, relentlessly.
I glance down.
Celeste.
Of course, it’s her.
I silence the call without hesitation, but Crew notices.
“You gonna answer that?”
“Nope.”
He nods slowly. “Good.”
Before I can ask what he means by that, Rowan’s voice echoes from behind us.
“Ivy, can you hand me the hose?”
