Page 16 of Practically Perfect Together

"We're not dressed for a wedding," she protests, though with less conviction.

I glance down at her simple navy dress. The same one she wore to our family dinner. "You look beautiful. And everyone's too busy having fun to care about dress codes at this point." I nod toward a groomsman who's removed his tie and jacket, currently spinning an elderly woman who might be someone's grandmother.

"Five minutes," she relents finally. "One dance, no talking to the bridal party, and then we leave before anyone realizes we don't belong here."

"Deal."

As we slip along the edge of the reception, I can't help but enjoy the conspiratorial thrill of it all. Savannah Carter, professional rule-follower, sneaking into a wedding reception. If only her corporate clients could see her now.

The band transitions to a slower song, a cover of an old standard that has couples naturally drawing closer. I extend my hand to her with a slight bow.

"Ms. Carter, would you do me the honor?"

She rolls her eyes but places her hand in mine. "You're ridiculous."

"Part of my charm."

Leading her onto the dance floor, I pull her gently into my arms as the music washes over us. I settle one hand at the small of her back and take her hand in my other, beginning to move to the melody. For a moment, she's stiff in my embrace, glancing around as if expecting security to escort us out at any second. Then, gradually, she relaxes against me, her feet finding the rhythm as we begin to sway and step together.

"You're a good dancer," she says, sounding genuinely surprised.

"Don't sound so shocked. We mountain men have hidden talents."

"Very hidden," she quips, but she's smiling now, finally letting herself enjoy the moment.

As we move together, something shifts. Maybe it's the music, or the soft glow of the string lights, or the way she feels in my arms—but suddenly this isn't a joke anymore. It isn't pretend. Her hand fits perfectly in mine, her body moving in sync with my steps as if we've been dancing together for years.

She must feel the change too, because her eyes lift to mine, questioning.

"What?" she asks softly.

So many answers run through my mind.You're beautiful. This feels right. I'm falling for you.

"Nothing," I say instead. "Just thinking this fake engagement has its perks."

"Like crashing weddings?"

"Like dancing with the most beautiful woman here."

Her rhythm falters slightly. "Careful, Jameson. There's no audience to perform for."

"I know." The honesty in my voice surprises even me.

She studies my face, as if trying to decode a particularly complex contract clause. "What are we doing?" she asks, her voice barely audible over the music.

"Dancing," I say lightly, though we both know that's not what she's asking.

"At someone else's wedding reception."

"Minor detail."

The song shifts to something slower, more intimate, but we don't break apart. Her hand remains in mine, and I find myself drawing her closer. In this moment, with no business deals or family members watching, no pretense necessary, there's something different about the way she feels in my arms. Something honest and unguarded that makes my heart beat faster.

"Savannah," I begin, not entirely sure what I'm going to say, only knowing I need to say something. "I think?—"

"Jamie! I thought that was you!" A hand claps me on the shoulder, and I turn to find Mike, the groom himself, beaming at us. "Man, when did you get here? I didn't see you at the ceremony!"

Savannah's eyes widen in a clearI told you soexpression.

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