Page 190 of Banter & Blushes

I don’t answer. Can’t answer. Because the truth is, I’ve played out that exact scenario in my head a hundred times, and it makes me physically ill each time.

“Look,” Bradley says, his voice softening, “I’ve known you both for years. And I’ve watched you orbit each other like planets, always close but never quite colliding. It’s exhausting.”

“Tell me about it,” I mutter.

“So, do something about it,” he urges. “Take a chance. The Valentine Gala? It’s practically gift-wrapped for you. Romantic setting, fancy clothes, probably some slow dancing.”

I can’t help the small spark of hope that ignites at the thought. “She doesn't see me that way.”

“You don't know that,” Bradley insists. “Not unless you put yourself out there.”

I turn back to the blueprints, trying to refocus on the problem at hand. “Can we get back to work? We have a deadline.”

Bradley sighs, but gives up. “Fine.”

For all his prodding, Bradley means well. He wants me to be happy.

I just wish I was brave enough to reach for that happiness instead of admiring it from a safe distance.

As we dive back into the project, my mind keeps drifting to Friday night. To Briella in some beautiful dress, to slow dances and champagne and possibilities.

To what it might be like to finally cross the line I've been too afraid to approach for eight years.

And for once, I’m truly considering risking it all.

CHAPTER 3

BRIELLA

Ishould’ve known better than to invite Reid Bennett to the hospital gala. It seems at events like these, all eyes are on him. Not because he doesn’t fit in—he looks amazing in that navy blazer and crisp white shirt he’s wearing. Not because he isn’t charming—he had the whole table laughing before the salad arrived. I should’ve known better because it’s too easy to imagine him as mine when we are all dolled up and surrounded by so many other couples. Love is in the air at the annual Valentine Gala, and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be loved by my best friend.

I mentally shake it off when I hear the announcer call Reid’s name as a winner of one of the raffle prizes. Ried jumps up from his chair and whoops before taking the stairs two at a time to get his prize on stage. The hospital gala organizer puts a lei over his head while the announcer reads off his prize. My mouth drops open. My best friend just won an all-expense-paid trip to Hawaii.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” I say, laughing as he makes his way back to the table grinning like a kid at Christmas. “You never win anything!”

Reid grins, his chocolate brown eyes sparkling. “Maybe my luck’s finally turning around.” He winks and slides into his chair beside me, his leg brushing mine under the table. He doesn’t even flinch. Meanwhile, I’m internally combusting.

My heart does that fluttery thing it always does around him, and I shove it back where it belongs. Reid is my best friend. The one constant in my life since high school. Crushing on him was a phase I was supposed to outgrow . . . about eight years ago. Too bad the feelings are still there, growing bigger by the day, like a water balloon stuck on the faucet.

“You’re taking me with you, right?” I tease, even though the idea of spending five tropical days alone with Reid Bennett is equal parts thrilling and terrifying.

He doesn’t hesitate. “Absolutely. I only came tonight because of you. I never would’ve been here if you hadn’t guilt-tripped me into being your plus-one.”

“I did not guilt-trip you. I said you owed me for the time I pretended to be your girlfriend at your cousin’s wedding.” Especially since I’d wanted to wrap my arms around him and kiss him silly at the end of the night. Thankfully, I have the self-restraint of . . . okay, so my self-restraint is questionable, but still. I kept it together and didn’t actually kiss him silly. I should have gotten an award of some kind.

“That was a traumatic day,” he deadpans. “You made me slow dance to Ed Sheeran.”

“You’re welcome,” I say sweetly, taking a sip of my sparkling cider. “That song won a Grammy.”

His smile softens, and for a second, something passes between us—something quiet and tender and unspoken. Something that gets my hopes up and makes me want things I shouldn’t.

Then someone taps him on the shoulder to congratulate him, and the moment slips away.

Five days in paradise. Just the two of us.

What could possibly go wrong?

“I have nothing to wear,”I groan, collapsing dramatically onto my bed as I stare at the open suitcase on the floor. “Do I pack the coral sundress or the blue one? Or both? Or neither? What if I’m too hot in jeans but too cold in a dress? Ugh, why is this so hard?”

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