Page 83 of This Beautiful Lie
I sank into him, my chest tightening with something that felt too big, too real to name.
And that was when thunder cracked across the lake, sharp and violent, tearing the moment apart. Lightning split the sky, and an instant later the heavens opened up, and rain poured in sheets, sudden and cold, drenching us in seconds.
Laughter and squeals rose from the fire as people scattered for cover. Dean grabbed my hand, holding onto me tight. “Come on,” he said, and we both began to run.
We slipped through the mud, laughing when we almost fell, breathless as the storm swallowed us. By the time he shoved the cabin door open, we were soaked, leaving puddles everywhere we stepped.
George trotted over with his toy in his mouth, tilting his head to the side like we’d both completely lost it.
Dean bent to scratch his ears, then kicked off his shoes by the door. “Don’t look at me like that,” he told him. “I would’ve noticed the storm coming if?—”
He stopped cold, then his gaze lifted to mine.
My laugh stalled, caught in my chest, and turned into something else entirely.
His shirt clung to him, rain-darkened and molded to every line of muscle on his body. His hair was slicked back, water still tracing along his jaw. And when he looked at me now, there was no teasing in his expression. Just that steady, intent focus—like the storm hadn’t just soaked us, it stripped something bare between us.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For tonight. For spending so much time with my family. For… all of it.”
The way he looked at me made it hard to breathe. Then his jaw tightened, like there was something on his mind he wasn't sure he should say.
He stepped closer, his hand lifting to the side of my face, his thumb resting at the corner of my mouth like he needed the contact to steady himself.
“You have no idea what you do to me.”
The words landed heavy—quiet, unguarded—and my breath hitched before I could stop it. I should’ve said something. Anything. Instead, I stayed still, afraid that if I moved even an inch closer, neither of us would stop.
His mouth curved, slow and restrained, like he knew exactly how close we were to crossing a line.
Then he let his hand fall.
“Go take a shower,” he said gently. Not dismissive. Protective. Like he was choosing the harder thing.
“If you don’t get out of those wet clothes…” His words trailed off as his gaze dipped, just briefly, over my body. “You’ll catch a cold.”
I blinked, my pulse still racing. “You’re worried I’ll catch a cold?” I repeated, trying to regain my footing—even though my heart was pounding.
I understood exactly what he was doing. Creating distance. Because if he didn’t?—
Something warm flickered in his eyes. “I’m worried about a few things,” he said quietly.
I nodded, understanding more than he’d actually said out loud. “Okay.”
I took a step back, then another. “But don’t think I’m showering because you told me to.”
His grin was instant. “I wouldnever.”
The playfulness in his voice nearly undid me. I hurried the rest of the way to the bathroom, his quiet laughter followed me as I closed the door—not teasing, not making fun. Just there.
A minute later, steam filled the shower, and heat loosened the chill from my skin. I closed my eyes and breathed. But even then, I couldn’t rinse him away—the care in his voice, the way he’d stepped back instead of forward, the weight of all the tension between us.
That part clung to me.
Long after the water was turned off.
By the time I stepped back into the room—barefoot, a towel twisted around my hair—the cabin had settled into silence. The lights were off, the only sound was the steady patter of rain against the windows.
I moved carefully through the space, my eyes adjusting to the shadows—and then I saw him.
