Page 28 of This Beautiful Lie
Katie arched a brow. “You haven’t said two words to Dean all night, andthat’snot like you.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but they were right.
And worse—I hated how good they were at reading me.
So I did what I always did when I didn’t have the words: I grabbed my glass, took a long sip, and turned toward the deck. “I donothave to stand here and take this kind of harassment.”
“You can run, but you can’t hide,” Tuesday called after me, her voice singsong and smug.
I didn’t answer, just pushed through the back door and let the night swallow me.
The air hit my skin in a rush—cooler than before, carrying that faint scent of smoke and citrus and something sweet.
The light had shifted. Maybe I had too. Now that my friends had pointed it out, the difference in my behavior was impossible to ignore.
I’d only been inside an hour, maybe less, but everything out here had changed. The backyard had emptied, the games and drinks abandoned. Now everyone was tucked in around the fire pit, golden light flickering over faces, soft laughter curling through the dark.
I moved toward them slowly, my drink warming me from the inside out. Each step was a little steadier than the last, but my heart was slightly out of rhythm.
The patio lights hung above like a net of stars, swaying gently in the breeze. God, I’d always loved this space. It felt like something out of a memory I hadn’t made yet, soft and safe—the kind of place where something important might happen.
And then I saw him.
Dean.
He stood across the fire, leaning lazily against the railing as though he had nowhere better to be. But at the same time, he looked like he belonged here. As though he’d been here every night for the last decade…
My eyes locked onto his face, wondering if he’d ever been to one of these parties before, but that would have been impossible. I would have remembered him. I was certain I would have introduced myself. And Dean wasn’t someone you could ever forget.
The firelight caught the sharp cut of his jaw and the slight bend in his nose that hinted at a break from some long-ago accident—probably playing sports. His mouth was full and relaxed, moving with a quiet confidence as he spoke to someone out of frame. A beard shadowed his jaw––worn with confidenceas though he had nothing to hide. His dark hair was a little too long at the collar, curling just slightly, like he'd run a hand through it one too many times.
He looked tired. Not the bad kind—more like someone who'd lived a little too hard and didn’t bother pretending otherwise.
And God, he was beautiful.
Not perfect. But in a real way that somehow made it worse. Like you could reach out and touch him.
“Speak of the devil,” Jake said behind me, loud enough for everyone on the deck to hear.
I flinched, breath catching, and almost dropped my margarita.
Dean’s head turned. Sharp. Like a switch had flipped somewhere inside him. His gaze found mine across the glow of the fire, and he stopped moving.
Just like that he wasn’t lounging anymore.
The shift was small. A straightening of his spine. A drop of his arm. A stillness that hummed too loud to ignore.
My stomach flipped, but Jake kept talking, oblivious. “We were just talking about you.”
But I barely heard him, because Dean’s eyes were still on me, searching mine as though he knew things about me that I’d never said out loud…
And for a breath too long, I couldn’t look away.
I forced a smile and raised a brow. “All good things, I hope?” I said, pretending that every nerve in my body wasn’t aware of Dean’s presence.
Jake grinned wider. “I was just telling everyone about your cherry trick.”
Oh god. Please, no...
