“Yeah. I am.” I glance at him, then smile. “You know, he did text me last week.”
Dylan groans. “Please tell me you blocked him this time.”
“Nope.” I grin. “I screenshot Mr Langford’s testimonial and hit mute. Very mature. Very smug.”
He leans closer. “That’s my girl.”
I arch a brow. “Still not your girl, firefighter.”
“Working on it.”
There’s a moment. A quiet one. The noise of the room fades, and it’s just us. I open my mouth to say something, but the bandleader steps up to the mic and starts speaking.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for coming tonight to support Birch Harbor’s bravest. We’ve had an incredible turnout, and this community’s generosity is truly special. But before we continue with the evening, we have a special treat. Dylan, would you like to take it from here?”
My eyebrows shoot up. “What’s going on?”
Dylan flashes me a sheepish grin. “You’ll see.”
Before I can protest, he steps onto the small stage, taking the mic from the bandleader.
“Alright, everyone,” he says, his voice carrying through the room. “I promise I won’t keep you long. I want to thank everyone who made this night possible, especially Addison Bennett.”
The crowd claps politely, but my cheeks burn as dozens of heads turn toward me.
“Addison didn’t just plan a fundraiser two weeks after the wedding of the year. She led us through a storm, literally and metaphorically. She kept this event stitched together with spreadsheets, willpower, and more maple pie than anyone thought humanly possible.
“And when the dunk tank got denied and half our signage was stuck in transit, she didn’t flinch. She just solved it. Quietly. Fiercely. That’s who she is.”
Dylan pauses. “And I thought she deserved something special since she worked so hard.”
He nods to the band, and the opening chords of “Can’t Take My Eyes Off You” fill the room. My heart stops.
He’s not going to…
He wouldn’t.
But he does.
Dylan starts singing, his voice low and slightly rough at first but growing steadier with each word. The room erupts into laughter and cheers, and I feel frozen in place, equal parts mortified and charmed.
As he gets to the chorus, he steps off the stage, mic in hand, and walks toward me. My eyes widen and I shake my head, but he just grins, holding out a hand.
“Dance with me,” he says, not a plea, not a challenge. Just a moment offered, open and easy.
I don’t hesitate. I set down my binder and slide my hand into his without missing a beat.
“Only if you promise not to dip me into the dessert table.”
He grins, tugging me gently forward. “No promises. You look like something worth falling for.”
“You’re such a menace,” I whisper, already smiling.
“And you’re still here,” he murmurs, pulling me closer.
I don’t pull away.
The crowd parts, giving us space, and suddenly it’s just us. The band takes over for the second verse.
