Something had shifted between them at the bar the night before. He’d felt it, and, considering how extra-atomic cherry red Sloane had been when he showed up at her door earlier, Brady bet she’d felt it, too. The feelings they were supposed to be faking had started to become real.

The worry and concern Brady had felt when Emma had called saying Sloane was in trouble.

The protectiveness that had driven him to kick Derrick out and then share his first-time story.

The pride that he’d smiled through as Sloane had won over Cassidy’s patrons as she judged each embarrassing story—and there had been quite a few—hook, line, and sinker.

The simple pleasure he’d taken at holding her hand.

Yeah, something had changed for him, all right, and while he hadn’t set out to do what they’d just done, he was damn sure glad they had.

They lapsed into a contented silence after a few more minutes of talking. Then Brady dozed off and on. Sometime later, he woke to a newly clothed Sloane smiling. The power was back on.

“I guess someone didn’t get much sleep last night,” she said, voice all warm.

Brady sat up and cracked his neck. “I didn’t, actually. For the first time in a long while, it was hard to get everyone out of the bar. After you and Callum left, I got caught in an hour-long convo with Dewey, Stanley, and Dixon.”

“Don’t act like you weren’t having a blast talking to everyone.”

Brady shrugged. “It wasn’t half bad. They did offer to walk next to the boat in the parade and wear the shirts Santana ordered. Stanley even said he’d do a little dance if we wanted.”

Sloane walked to her dresser and pulled out a pair of socks. She’d gone from his now-favorite dress of all time to a tank top and some leggings he equally wouldn’t mind seeing on the bedroom floor. As she separated them, she paused.

“Wait. Is this the Stanley who threw a butter knife at you? The comedian you heckled?”

Brady laughed. “‘Comedian’ is a strong word, but yeah, that was him. I guess I was lucky his aim was as bad as his jokes.”

“And now he’s willing to dance for you.” She shook her head and tsked at his past rudeness.

“Hey, that’s the power of selling alcohol. The bartender may taketh but he giveths, too.”

“Well, last night you definitely givethed to everyone at Cassidy’s. I think you might actually have fans now. I heard a lot of people say they were going to go to the pageant just to cheer you on.”

“To cheer us on,” he corrected with a grin. “I wasn’t the only one charming men and women with my general awkwardness and gifability.”