Page 37 of Shared By my Ex's Best Friends
I hope to God it’s not regret.
Inside, Ethan’s crouched beside a row of linen bows, his big hands working carefully to tighten them perfectly so they can go on the backs of the chairs. Liam’s bent over a clipboard, lips moving as he counts off something on the checklist.
Neither of them looks up. Neither of them sees us.
Which is good, because we’re soaked, and a little wrecked.
They’d be able to tell something happened between us, I’m sure.
I run a hand through my wet hair, trying to focus on the here and now, but I feel her next to me—feel that kiss like it’s still stamped on my mouth. My fingers twitch with the need to reach for her again, but I shove my hands into my pockets instead.
“Jake,” she says. I turn toward her.
“Yeah?”“Don’t… say anything,” she adds. “Not yet.”
I nod once. “Okay.”
Inside, however, I’m already replaying it all.
The way she kissed me back. The way she melted into me like she’d been waiting for that moment just as long.
The way she made me feel like I was the only thing that mattered in the world for those few electric seconds.
Something changed in that rain.
Something real.
No matter how much we try to pretend otherwise, there’s no going back now.
Chapter fifteen
LIAM
The reception hall smells like eucalyptus and wood polish, soft golden light filtering in through the wide windows. There’s a low hum of distant thunder still grumbling beyond the hills, but inside, it’s warm and dry.
String lights are already half-strung across the rafters, white folding chairs stacked in the corner waiting to be placed. We’re two days away from the wedding, the dress is clean and saved, and everything seems to be falling into place.
There are no more issues to deal with, it seems.
That is until the door creaks open.
Maya steps in first, soaked to the skin, curls dark and clinging to her cheeks. Her dress is plastered to her legs, and water drips off her elbows as she closes the door behind her with a quiet thunk.
Jake’s right behind her, equally drenched, his shirt nearly see-through where it clings to his chest, hair dripping into his eyes. They’re both flushed, breathing a little harder than they probably should be from a short run through the rain.
But it’s not the water that gives them away. It’s the silence.
Jake, normally cracking jokes within ten seconds of entering a room, doesn’t say a word. And Maya—God, Maya—she doesn’t even glance at the clipboard that’s been glued to her hand for the last forty-eight hours. Instead, she keeps her eyes down.
I clock it instantly.
Not because I’m nosy, but because I know them. All too well.
Jake’s always performing, charming, teasing, needling Maya just to make her roll her eyes. And Maya never looks disoriented. Not like this. She looks like someone dropped her in a place she doesn’t recognize.
I don’t say anything.
Just mark it down in my head. A red flag on the mental playbook.
