The question hangs between us, weighted with possibility. If I admit the truth, I risk everything. If I lie again, I risk… what? His good opinion of me? His opinion shouldn’t matter. But it does. God help me, it does.

Before I can respond, the music ends. Around us, couples break apart, applauding the band. The moment shatters, the spell broken.

Matt steps back, his eyes never leaving mine. "Think about your answer carefully, Jackie. Because I'm going to ask you again, and next time, I expect the truth."

CHAPTER 4

Iwake to the sound of rain hammering against my hotel window. The weather app on my phone shows an angry red blob moving across the radar, covering most of Charlotte. Flash flood warnings, thunderstorm alerts, high wind advisories.

Perfect.

Nothing like a natural disaster to complicate an already complicated wedding weekend.

My phone buzzes with a text.

Catherine: Still on for today! Moving picnic inside to ballroom. Same time. Weather won't stop this party!

I admire her optimism, if not her judgment. Having planned more weddings than I can count, I know the chaos a sudden venue change can create. Especially with a guest list of two hundred.

I dress quickly in a casual sundress and cardigan, appropriate for an indoor picnic, and make my way to the hotel lobby. The rain is coming down in sheets, turning the worldoutside into a gray blur. I'm debating whether to brave the downpour or call a rideshare when a black SUV pulls up to the entrance.

Matt steps out, unfazed by the rain soaking through his shirt, and jogs to the revolving door. He spots me immediately, water dripping from his hair onto his shoulders, making him look like some kind of storm god come to life.

"You're here," he says, sounding surprised.

"I'm staying here," I point out.

"I know that. I meant, here. At the door. I was coming up to get you." He runs a hand through his wet hair, slicking it back from his forehead. "Catherine was worried about guests getting there safely."

The rain is torrential, and he's already soaked, and refusing would just seem petty.

"Thanks," I say, pulling my cardigan tighter around me. "That's... thoughtful."

His mouth quirks. "Don't sound so surprised. I'm capable of basic courtesy, even to people I suspect of lying to me."

"I'm not—" I begin automatically, then stop. No point rehashing this argument. "Never mind. Let's go."

Outside, the rain slams into us the moment we step from beneath the hotel's awning. Matt's hand finds the small of my back, guiding me quickly to the passenger side of his SUV. The gesture is protective, automatic, and weirdly affecting. I can’t help but notice all the small dominant gestures he makes. He reminds me of one of the heroes from our book club novels. The daddies who take care of their women with a firm, but caring, hand.

Inside the car, the rhythmic pounding of rain creates a cocoon of white noise, isolating us from the rest of the world. Matt starts the engine, cranking up the heater against the damp chill.

"Some storm," I say, for lack of anything better.

"Just a garden variety thunderstorm." He glances at me, amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. "Though the barometric pressure drop was significant. There's a chance of rotation if the system intensifies. I’m more worried about flash flooding in the historic district."

I blink at him. "Is that your sexy weather talk?"

He laughs, the sound rich and unexpected. "Just shop talk. Hazard of the profession."

"So this is mild for you? What do you consider an actual storm?"

Something shifts in his expression, a distant look replacing the amusement. "An EF4 tornado tearing through a residential area. A Category 5 hurricane making landfall in a populated city. The kind of weather that changes lives."

There's weight behind his words, a gravity that speaks to experience rather than theoretical knowledge.

"You've seen a lot of destruction," I say softly.

His hands tighten on the steering wheel. "More than most."