We swayed.
A slow, quiet back-and-forth, the house dark and silent, the winter sky pressed against the windows. His prosthetic made the tiniest difference in the rhythm, just enough that I could feel it if I paid attention, a slightly heavier step, a careful recalibration, but it didn’t make him clumsy.
It made him present.
“See?” I said, dropping my voice. “Everything still moves just fine, Vaughn.”
“You’re bossy as hell,” he muttered.
“You like it,” I shot back.
His lips curved into a real smile then—a quick, reluctant flash that gutted me.
Warmth pooled low in my stomach. The space between us shrank without either of us consciously deciding to close it. My chest brushed his with every shift. His thumb traced a small, absent-minded arc at my hip bone through my shirt, and my body lit up like he’d run a live wire against my skin.
This was too close. Too easy. Too dangerous.
Two minutes. You promised.
I let us sway for a few more heartbeats, memorizing the way he felt when he stopped fighting his own body. Then I cleared my throat and stepped back, gently sliding his hand off my waist.
“Time’s up,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t sound as breathless as I felt. “See? Toes intact. Pride mostly intact. Rhythm confirmed.”
He looked at me like he was still counting something only he could see. Then he shook his head, scoffing lightly. “Yeah, well. Add beer and twenty bodies in a room and we’ll see how intact it stays.”
“That’s what walls are for,” I said. “You find a corner, lean, sway. No one cares. They’re too busy posting their drinks on Instagram.”
He huffed, which was as close as he got to a laugh when he didn’t want to give me one. “A crowded bar is a lot,” he said again, more quietly. “Maybe next time.”
The tiny sting came anyway, pricking the inside of my ribs. I pasted on a grin. “Fine. I’ll just go dazzle the entire population of Star Harbor without you.”
“Try not to get arrested,” he said dryly.
I grabbed my coat from the hook and shrugged it on, stuffing my hands into the sleeves. “No promises.”
At the door I paused and glanced back.
He was watching me, one hand rubbing absently at the seam where his prosthetic met his skin, the other hanging loose at his side. His face was neutral, but his eyes were not.
My heart kicked once, hard.
“Think about it,” I said, voice softer. “The Lantern, I mean. Kit’s dragging Hayes. It’ll be loud and ridiculous. You two can complain about it together.”
Something flickered across his expression at my brother’s name, some kind of internal calculation. Then his mouth flattened. “Thanks for the invite,” he said, which was clearly Wes-speak forfuck no.
I nodded and lifted a shoulder like it didn’t matter. “Okay. Don’t wait up for me.”
“I won’t,” he said automatically.
We both knew he would.
I opened the door, winter air rushing in, sharp and clean. As I stepped out onto the porch, I could feel his gaze between my shoulder blades, hot and heavy, following me all the way to Kit’s waiting car.
The Lantern was hummingwhen we walked in.
Warm light spilled over scuffed floors, catching on old ship wheels and brass lanterns hung along the walls. Somebody had strung fairy lights over the bar like constellations, and the smell of beer, fried food, and cheap citrus slices wrapped around us as we pushed through the door. A three-piece band was wedged into the corner—guitar, upright bass, and a guy with a fiddle who looked like he’d been born on that little stage. The music rolled across the room, something low and bluesy that made the windows shiver in their frames.
Out past the glass, the lake was a dark, restless shape, snow piled along the shore like the rim of a world.