“Want to dance?” Dean asked, holding his hand out to her.
She was still processing Spencer’s words as he led her onto the dance floor. He spun her into him, winking at her. She laughed, squealing when he dipped her.
“Is it a prerequisite for the Ryans to dance?” she asked, breathless when he spun her around.
“Yes. Aunt Imogene had a friend that owned a dance academy. She made us all take lessons, out of solidarity.” Dean shook his head. “You look gorgeous.”
“You don’t look too bad yourself,” she said, trying to keep up with him. While covertly searching for Spencer.
“He’s behind you,” Dean said.
Her heart stopped. “He is?”
“He’s headed this way,” Dean said, nodding. “Looks pretty pissed off to me.”
“He does?”
“Not that he deserves you,” Dean continued.
She smiled at him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’re a good guy, Dean.”
He looked down at her. “Let’s keep that our secret.”
“Cutting in,” Spencer sai
d sharply.
She stared at him. “Is that a request?”
Spencer sighed, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Yes. It is. May I cut in?”
“Watch it,” Dean said. “She’s all handsy.”
She giggled, a mix of nerves—and hope.
Dean left, leaving them alone on the dance floor.
“Did you hear my speech?” he asked.
She nodded.
“What did you think?”
She brushed the hair from his forehead. “You love me?”
“Yes.”
“I admit that makes me happy. Happier than I’ve ever been.” She swallowed.
“I love you.” He stopped dancing, cradling her face in his hands. “Always.”
She sucked in a deep breath, feeling light and oh so blissful. She couldn’t stop smiling.
He rested his forehead against hers. “Are you going to California? If you are, I need to get my résumé in order.”
She laughed. “You’d go?”
He nodded, his expression stern. “I go where you go. I want what you want.”