Without any wedding events to attend, there was nowhere we needed to be and nothing demanding our attention.
So after breakfast, we ended up back in town without really deciding to. I showed Dane the small bookstore I’d spent half my teenage years hiding in whenever I wanted to avoid people.
He tried to look unimpressed when the owner recognized me immediately, but it didn’t quite land, especially after he somehow ended up talking to her for nearly twenty minutes anyway.
Afterward, we stopped at a café and took our drinks outside to a shaded table overlooking the water. We read the novels we’d picked up at the bookstore in comfortable silence.
At some point, we drifted along the waterfront again, moving through tourist shops and side streets branching off the main strip. Dane asked about places I hadn’t thought about in years, old restaurants I used to go to, my favorite ice cream shops.
Most of my answers ended with some version of I haven’t been here in forever.
And still, it felt strangely good to see everything again.
The entire day had slipped by without effort. The realization followed me all the way back to the room, sitting somewhere at the back of my mind.
Maybe that was why I found myself hesitating in front of the bathroom mirror, adjusting my tie more carefully than necessary.
When I finished straightening my collar and stepped back into the room, Dane was fastening his watch near the bed.
I started toward my jacket, then paused when I couldn’t quite get one of the cufflinks to sit right.
I tried again. Still wrong.
“Here,” Dane said, already walking over.
“I’ve got it.”
“You very obviously don’t.”
Before I could argue, he took my wrist.
The movement shouldn’t have meant anything at all, but I went still as he worked.
His fingers brushed the inside of my wrist as he fixed the cufflink, lingering just long enough for me to notice.
Memories of last night came back too easily: the hard press of his body against mine, the rough edge of his voice, the way he’d said my name like it meant something more than it should have.
Heat crept up my throat.
I looked away quickly. Dane either didn’t notice, or was kind enough not to say anything.
“There.” He finished with the first cufflink and reached for the other wrist.
I could have done it myself. I should have done it myself. Instead, I let him.
When he was done, he stayed close, adjusting my tie without a word. His fingers slid beneath the knot, straightening it, smoothing it down, unhurried. His hand settled briefly against my chest as he finished.
Neither of us moved straight away.
Then he cleared his throat and stepped back. “There.”
I glanced down. The tie looked no different than it had before. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
A silence settled between us. It had been happening more often lately. It was too easy to sit beside him, to reach for him without thinking, too easy to stop questioning where any of it was heading.
That was the part I couldn’t quite settle in my head: the fact that it was starting to feel normal.
