Page 24 of Baby for My Best Friend's Brother

She snaps the photo. I already feel captured.

EIGHT

CLIFF

The hotel room is quiet except for the soft shuffle of our feet across the carpet and the low hum of music playing from Sophie’s phone.

It’s an acoustic cover of an old love song. It’s slow and a little wistful. It fits.

Sophie’s in my arms, her cheek against my chest, her hands looped loosely around my neck. She sways with me like we’re still out on the dance floor instead of standing in the middle of a motel room in Alaska.

“This counts as our last dance, right?” she murmurs.

I tighten my hold on her waist. “It better not be our last.”

She tilts her head to meet my eyes. “You know what I mean.”

Yeah. I do. It’s been hanging over us all day. The clock. The ticking down of her time here. It’s made every smile feel more precious. Every touch more urgent.

I clear my throat and step back, just enough to reach for the bottle chilling in a metal ice bucket on the dresser. “Figured wedeserved a little send-off.” I lift the champagne. “Swiped it from the reception.”

Her eyes light up. “You stole booze from the wedding?”

“Borrowed. Slate owes me for letting him marry my sister.” I pop the cork and catch the foam with my thumb. “Besides, it seemed like the right way to end the night.”

She watches as I pour two glasses. There’s something softer in her expression now. Not tired, exactly. Just contemplating. Like she’s soaking this in and storing the memory away for later.

We sit on the edge of the bed, our knees bumping, champagne flutes in hand. She takes a sip, then sets her glass down with a quiet clink.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” she says.

I lean in. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of us speaks. The only sound is the ice melting in the bucket and the faint music still playing in the background.

Then she turns to me, her voice lower now. “I don’t usually do this.”

“Steal champagne?”

She smirks. “No. I mean… this. Flings. With my best friend’s brother. Things that make me feel like I’m living in a romance novel.”

I laugh. “You think this feels like a romance novel?”

“A little.” She brushes her fingers along the edge of her glass. “Don’t you?”

“I haven’t read any romance novels, but…. yeah.” I nod slowly. “It’s kind of hard to believe.”

I lower my forehead to rest against hers. “But novel or not, I’m not ready for this to end.”

Her smile falters slightly. Pulling back slightly, she takes another sip of champagne.

“I love my life in Seattle,” she says after a beat. “I really do. My work, my friends. I’ve built a life there.”

“I believe it.”

“But sometimes it feels like there’s no room for…”

“For what?”

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