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“Why?”

“Because apparently everyone in your life knows everyone.”

I laugh.

She's not entirely wrong, but I try not to think about what happens when my worlds collide. Because sooner or later, my brother is going to find out I'm falling for his best friend.

And I have a feeling neither of us is prepared for the fallout.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

DELANEY

I'm beginning to think watching Hayes Bishop be effortlessly charming for an entire evening might actually kill me.

By five-thirty, I've watched him serve more champagne than I thought one person could carry, pose for dozens of photographs, and kneel to sign a little boy's Phoenixes jersey so they could talk at eye level.

And somehow, it's that last part that's doing the most damage. The boy can't be more than eight, and Bishop spends several minutes listening as he explains something about his own hockey team. When the boy finally walks away, he's grinning so hard his cheeks must hurt.

He catches me watching and winks. I wonder if there's any version of my life where that man doesn't make me feel seventeen again.

Dinner is announced shortly afterward. The players trade their aprons for tuxedo jackets and take their assigned seats among the guests. Unfortunately, Mercer and Avery are at another table.

Over the next two and a half hours, we're served four courses, each more elaborate than the last, while foundation representatives speak about the community programs the evening supports.

The first course is a delicate salad with candied pecans and a tangy vinaigrette, followed by a creamy butternut squash soup with a faint hint of nutmeg. By the time the filet arrives, served with buttery mashed potatoes and roasted asparagus, I'm beginning to understand why people pay six hundred and fifty dollars for a ticket.

Although the champagne might have something to do with it, it's crisp and slightly tart, with tiny bubbles that tickle my nose every time I take a sip.

Bishop catches me studying my glass and leans closer.

“Good?”

“I'm trying to decide if I actually like champagne or just like drinking it somewhere fancy.”

He laughs under his breath.

“Probably a little of both.”

There are announcements, speeches, and more applause than I've heard at some hockey games.

Bishop introduces me to everyone at our table. He never rushes me. Never talks over me.

And when someone asks what I do, he doesn't introduce me as Declan Beckett's little sister. He tells them I work in publishing, which shouldn't matter as much as it does, especially when he mentions Wilder House by name.

I catch him listening while I explain the editorial work I've been doing, his hand resting against the back of my chair.

By the time dessert arrives, I've met more people than I can reasonably remember. And my cheeks hurt from smiling.

Bishop was right about one thing. Rich people are terrifying. A weekend getaway goes for an amount that could probably pay for a year’s tuition at North Pines.

He excuses himself to speak with a foundation donor, and Avery reappears at my side a moment later.

“Having fun?”

“Actually, yes.”

“Told you.”