Page 87 of Untruly With You

I really try not to imagine what it will be like when Sutton is in West River, surrounded by these hungry, gorgeous women.

“You really aren’t with him?” Cassidy’s sister asks, looking seconds away from an eye roll.

“We’re friends,” I say, sure, at least, of that one truth. But even as I say it, my mind is back on our last kiss we shared, how neither of us wanted it to end.

Finally, we turn the last bend of trail, the reception space at the Davis home in view.

“Sanctuary,” I plead to the house under my breath.

Sutton is waiting for me, offering a hand as I step down. Each bridesmaid gives me a pointed look before I descend, some smirking, some pouting in jealousy.

“Don’tleave me alone with them again,” I whisper, leading Sutton away.

He stifles a laugh.

Right after the engagement with Cassidy was official, Wells got to work transforming the barn. After completely gutting it and cleaning it from top to bottom, he poured a concrete floor, polished it, and even refinished the old wood walls. Yesterday, Wells took it a step further, wrapping the ceiling beams with lights, greenery, and florals.

We find our seats at a round table next to Frankie, Magnolia, Hank, and Cassidy’s parents. With his good arm, Sutton pulls my chair out for me, catching the suspicious attention of Cassidy’s parents. They, like apparently everyone in West River, must have heard about our fake relationship.

The barn is aglow with warm light. The air is filled with the undulating sounds of laughter and music. The fresh flowers scattered around are fragrant, making me wonder how this place ever housed animals. When I ignore the feeling of people’s eyes on me, I can actually appreciate the dreamlike ambiance.

I hardly register anything during the dinner of wild, braised venison, roasted broccoli, and potatoes from the Davis’ garden. I can hardly taste my meal when I notice the pointed looks passed between Sutton and his family.

At one point, I hear Frankie whisper to Sutton, “Youstillhaven’t?”

I act oblivious to their conversation going on at my side, instead watching Wells and Cassidy cut into their wedding cake.

“Haven’t found the right moment,” Sutton whispers back.

Cassidy shoves some cake in Wells’ face, eliciting a roar of laughter and applause from the crowded barn, loud enough for me to not hear Frankie’s next words to Sutton.

I lean back a bit, hoping to get close enough to hear again. I’m met with warm breath tickling my ear and Sutton’s hand on my shoulder. “Want to dance?” he murmurs.

Sutton laces his fingers with mine, and all the stares are worth it when we stand together. He keeps his hand in mine, leading me along with the crowd to the outdoor dance floor. Overhead, sparkling string lights blur with the stars, a perfect backdrop for Wells and Cassidy’s first dance. Heat radiates from where my hand rests in Sutton’s. The heat works its way up my neck, arms, and finally settles as blush behind my cheeks.

When the newlyweds’ first dance ends, we trickle onto the dance floor with the other couples. The melody of the new song is low and intimate. With his good arm, Sutton pulls me close against him. Everything else—the crowd, the whispers, the world—fades into the background as I rest my face against Sutton’s chest, relishing the sound of his racing heartbeat in my ear.

“How relentless have the bridesmaids been?” Sutton asks.

I sneak a peek at the huddle of pink gowns. Sure enough, each bridesmaid stares unabashedly at us.

“You have no idea,” I say under my breath.

“Wedidgive them something to talk about,” Sutton hums.

He leans down, resting his cheek atop my head. I close my eyes, soaking in the feeling of him close to me. Before he straightens back up, he presses a kiss against my forehead. Whispers ring toward us, fueled by speculation and, perhaps, a touch of jealousy.

“Okay, now you’re just taunting them.” A small laughescapes me. “They’re all plotting how they can stake a claim on you.”

Sutton dips lower, his breath brushing against my hair. “Let them try,” he whispers. “Trust me, they’re the last thing on my mind right now.”

My heart skips. The space between us narrows until there’s almost nothing left. My grip on Sutton’s hand tightens, as if I can physically make the seconds stretch longer.

My exhale is shaky.

We sway in slow circles for a few more songs. “I swear I’m a decent dancer when I’m not sporting five cracked ribs,” Sutton says. “My mom made sure of that.”

“Dang ribs getting in the way,” I mutter, skimming a hand across Sutton’s injured side.

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