Page 39 of Best In Class (Savannah's Best #7)

Luna

T he sun is starting to slip behind the horizon, and I’m barefoot in the sand with a glass of champagne in hand, laughing so hard I nearly spill the golden bubbles down my sundress.

Miss Abigail is telling a story— loudly —about Dom’s first crush (spoiler alert: it was me ), and it is, to put it mildly, humiliating for him.

“I swear on my skillet, he was ten years old and writing poetry…a haiku . I still remember it,” she says, hand on her hip, miming dramatically. “ Luna smells so good. Like bubble gum and shampoo and dreams. I’d eat her notebook .”

I wheeze into my glass. “I didn’t smell like gum!”

“He taped a flower to a piece of notebook paper and signed it with a heart,” she adds, grinning wickedly. “He was always a romantic fool.”

Dom, who’s walking up behind us with a bowl of pulled pork, groans. “Mama, are you done exposing my childhood to national security risks?”

Miss Abigail pats his cheek. “Not even close.”

We’re at Dom’s Tybee Island summer getaway for my birthday party. And it’s everything Dom said it would be.

His beach house is a white-shuttered, wide-porched stunner tucked just beyond the dunes, with hammocks swinging between palm trees and a wraparound deck built for lazy evenings and louder company.

The house is airy and sun-drenched, all reclaimed wood floors, and crisp cotton slipcovers. But we’re not inside. No one is.

The party has spilled onto the beach where picnic tables are set up. There are string lights and driftwood centerpieces holding mason jars of fresh flowers.

There’s a breeze off the ocean, salty and calm.

Music is playing—an easy mix of R my favorites. Aurora made key lime pie, and assured me that Harrison had nothing to do with it.

We have a wine table set up.

Dom raided Lev’s wine cellar.

He grumbles about it, but it’s his little sister’s birthday party, and he knows I like a good Brunello di Montalcino.

I’m standing in the sand, my feet buried in it, my heart full to the brim.

Dom comes up behind me and wraps an arm around my waist. He smells like sunshine, smoke from the grill, and champagne.

“Happy birthday,” he says into my hair.

“Best one ever.”

He presses a kiss to my temple. “You’re barefoot in the sand, and you haven’t checked your phone in three hours. I’m taking credit.”

I turn in his arms and grin. “You get partial credit.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Who gets the rest?”

I glance around. “The wine.”

As if summoned, Lev strolls over with a glass of wine and a smirk. “Y’all living together now, or just rotating toothbrushes?”

I gasp. “Lev!”

Miss Abigail fans herself. “Well, I don’t know anything…but if I did, I couldn’t say.”

Dom just chuckles and kisses my shoulder.

The truth is that he’s moved in. His mailing address is still Lev’s, though. That’s so Miss Abigail doesn’t get upset .

His things are in my closet.

He cooks us breakfast so Miss Abigail has no choice but not to.

We fall asleep in my… our bed at night.

And I wake up every morning hoping and praying that this doesn’t end.

Because I never thought peace would look like this.

Lev lifts his wine and toasts loudly so everyone can hear and join in, “To my sister, the toughest woman I know. And to the man crazy enough to try to keep up with her.”

Everyone cheers, holding their glasses up.

The sun dips below the line of the ocean, and the first star glints in the sky. The party continues. People are staying the night on the island. Some at our place, some at a hotel where we rented all the rooms for the party.

Laughter drifts like music. Someone’s just started toasting marshmallows.

Dom kisses my hair and whispers, “I love you, Moonbeam.”

I close my eyes and let the moment sink in. Because this is what love feels like when you’ve earned it. When you’ve fought your way back to it. When you know you’re home.

“I love you, too.” I turn and flash him a smile. “Wanna go skinny dipping later tonight when everyone is sleeping?”

“Why wait?” He grabs my hand. “Come on! I know a place.”

“But—” I look around, and everyone is still there, and they’d notice if we were naked.

“Trust me, Luna,” he says, his voice serious.

I smile. “I do. Let’s go.”