“You’re too young to know about this,” I say, laughing as he spins me.
“Know what?” he asks, his grin teasing.
“This song,” I say, laughing despite myself. “It’s from 10 Things I Hate About You. It’s my favorite movie.”
“I’m the youngest in my family, with three older sisters. I know things,” he says, leaning in closer. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t learn about you, what makes you Addison.”
His voice softens, and the air feels heavy between us. “… and how to fit into your life.”
I look up at him, my breath catching. “Dylan…”
“Don’t say no. Not yet.”
For a moment, I forget about the crowd, the event, everything. All I can see is him, his eyes full of something I can’t quite name but I can feel all the same.
The song ends, and the room bursts into applause, pulling us back to reality. Dylan steps back slightly, his hand still holding mine.
“Well?” he asks, his grin returning.
I shake my head, laughing. “You’re impossible.”
“Impossible to say no to?” he says, eyebrows wiggling.
He’s right, I can’t say no. To him. To us. To the world knowing about us, or at least our towns.
I lean into him.
His lips meet mine in a soft, confident kiss, like a promise. The crowd erupts into cheers, but I barely hear it. All I can feel is him.
When we finally break apart, his forehead rests against mine, and he grins, just a little smug.
“So,” I say, when the cheers die down. “Ready to tally up the auction totals, pie sales, and probably fix one more ‘urgent’ bathroom sign?”
Dylan chuckles. “You mean the ‘Official Firefighter Relief Station’ one Leah renamed?”
I grin. “Exactly.”
Because love is great. But tonight, we’re still running a fundraiser. And I’m still Addison Bennett, the woman who doesn’t run. Not anymore.
29
EPILOGUE
ONE MONTH LATER
Dylan
The sun is setting over Bluewater Cove, casting everything in that golden light that makes the lake shimmer like it’s alive. I watch Addison laugh at something Maggie said. She’s standing in the kitchen, helping out with dinner preparations. She looks effortlessly beautiful, as always.
It’s been a month since the fundraiser. A month since she let me kiss her in front of half the town. A month since she decided that worrying what others think is overrated.
“You’re staring again,” Addison says, her voice teasing as she catches me from across the room.
“Can’t help it,” I shoot back, taking a sip of my beer.
“Maybe I should charge you,” she says, raising an eyebrow as she walks toward me.
“For what? The view?”
