Page 40 of Trust Fund Baby

Without a moment’s hesitation, my fingers stretched out to meet his, skin against skin.

I’m not sure what I was doing exactly. Nothing ever made sense when it came to me and Sebastian. But he had extended an olive branch this weekend. The least I could do was meet him halfway.

He gazed at our intertwined hands, a flicker of disbelief crossing his face, as if he hadn’t anticipated this. As if he was expecting a resounding “no.”

Which only made the sting in my chest worse.

Sebastian’s fingers curled around mine, slow and deliberate, and that tiny movement sent a ripple of heat up my spine. We didn’t speak. We just walked—hand in hand—toward the edge of the makeshift dancefloor where the sand was warm beneath our feet and the fire crackled somewhere behind us.

I’d expected him to start dancing immediately, to make some snarky comment or pull me into some dramatic dip just to show off like he used to do when we were kids. But he didn’t. He just stood in front of me, still holding my hand, the music humming low and steady around us. The crowd faded to a blur of movement, a smear of laughter and flickering flames.

And then he stepped closer.

His other hand found my waist, warm against the exposed skin just above my hip. My breath caught in my throat, but I didn’t pull away. My hands settled awkwardly on his shoulders, then slowly slid up until they were around the back of his neck. I hated how easy it was to remember what this felt like. But a small part of me that had been missing for years felt like it was coming back to life.

We began to move, bodies swaying to the rhythm of the music. Just as we had done countless times before. When we were Seb and Rox—two kids wanting to take on the world together.

His thumb brushed against the bare skin of my waist, just the lightest touch, but it sent goosebumps racing up my arms.

“I don’t know if I can remember the last time we did this,” he whispered softly, his voice nearly drowned by the music and the crash of the waves.

I swallowed. “I remember.” How could I forget? “The White Party Memorial Day weekend that final summer. You pulled me onto the dance floor after stealing me way too many margaritas from the bartender and we danced to a Norah Jones song.”

Sebastian’s mouth curved, but it wasn’t the smug smirk he usually wore. It was something quieter, sadder. “You kept humming it for the rest of the night,” he said. “I thought you were drunk. But you said it was stuck in your head.”

“I was trying to relive it,” I admitted after a few beats of silence.

Sebastian’s brows pulled together in confusion.

“I wanted to make sure I remembered every second of it,” I continued. “Because it felt like a promise.”

My chest tightened at the memory. Because it was a promise, at least to me. But like so many other things between us, it had gone unspoken.

“God, we were such idiots,” Sebastian murmured.

I let out a short, breathless laugh. “Still are, probably. I mean look at us. Reliving our teenage years.”

We were quiet then. Just moved in a slow, lazy circle, as the sky melted into brilliant colors. The music shifted into something low and smoky with a saxophone curling through the beat. The party sounds faded into the background.

“I missed this,” he said eventually. Not loudly. Not some grand statement. Just a quiet confession of someone who didn’t say things unless he meant them.

I looked up at him, startled by the way he was looking at me. Like he was missing more than just dancing with me.

“That makes one of us,” I said lightly, but it came out more brittle than I intended.

He smiled. “Liar.”

I couldn’t deny it.

Because he was right. I had missed this. Missed him.

I was just too scared to admit it.

The anger had masked it all. Prevented us both from coming to our senses and seeing the error of our judgment.

His hand tightened gently on my waist, steadying me.

“I wonder where we’d be if we hadn’t—” he trailed off, like the rest of the sentence was too dangerous.