Page 26

Wes lowers himself onto the blanket with the kind of ease that only comes from years on skates and charm. “Mind if I sit?”

I hesitate. “You already are.”

He gives a soft chuckle, eyes on the fire. “Right.”

We sit in silence for a few minutes, the hum of conversation swirling around us. He’s wearing that navy jacket again—the one he’s had forever—and his knee bumps mine lightly.

“So,” he says, finally. “Good turnout.”

“Abby threatened to egg every house that didn’t show.”

He smiles. “Sounds about right.”

A beat.

“You looked like you were having a good time earlier. Laughing with Abby. You’ve still got that spark.”

I shrug. “Doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means something to me.”

I glance at him. His expression is open, unguarded. That alone almost undoes me.

“You don’t get to just come back and say that,” I whisper. “You don’t get to remind me what it used to feel like.”

“I’m not trying to remind you.” He shifts closer. “I’m trying to find a new way forward.”

The noise around us fades. The fire pops loudly, sending a spark into the air.

Someone calls for music. Abby cues up an old playlist. That stupid Ed Sheeran song from their engagement party comes on, and I nearly choke.

Wes hears it too. “Remember that night?”

“Barely.”

“You were wearing that blue dress. I kept trying to hold your hand and you kept pretending not to notice.”

“I was nervous.”

“You were perfect.”

My heart thuds. And I hate that it still does.

He moves to stand, then extends a hand.

“Come on,” he says. “One dance. For old times’ sake.”

I should say no. I should absolutely, 100% say no.

Instead, I let him pull me up.

He holds me gently, one arm around my waist, the other cradling my hand like something fragile. We sway in slow, quiet steps. It’s ridiculous. It’s wonderful. It’s heartbreak waiting to happen.

My throat tightens. “I never stopped wondering why you didn’t fight for me.”

“I thought walking away was the fight. I thought I was protecting you.”

“And now?”