“And one you might want to stick around?” Emma adopted a hopeful look. She cut her own questioning off with a hand held up to stop Sloane from answering. Though Sloane had no idea what she would have said. “I should say, I’ve already made peace with you moving and staying away, and I won’t for a second try to guilt you or beg you to come back into my orbit. But I like seeing you happy, and, well, I just like seeing you. So, for tonight, why don’t you do me a favor and pretend you live here again. Then tomorrow, remember that you’re leaving. Then after the pageant, tell me which felt better. What do you say?”

Sloane opened and closed her mouth because she didn’t know what to say. Not because Emma had never pressured her in any way, shape, or form to move back to Arbor Bay—especially not asked her to imagine she was back—but because for the first time, the weight of realizing she was leaving hurt. Way more than it had a few days ago.

Maybe she didn’t want to go.

But she wasn’t going to tell Emma that. Not now with everything else going on.

She nodded instead. “I can try.”

…

Missy Robertson was drunk and swearing she wasn’t, Ms. Peggy had an eye patch on, Dewey’s shirt was wet from the impromptu men’s wet T-shirt contest out on the patio, Callum and Emma were talking in rasps after their karaoke set, and Sloane had kicked off her shoes beneath the table she was sharing with Marcus and Felicity, since she’d damn near worn her feet out after dancing for over an hour.

Brady, sexy-as-hell and smooth-talking bartender extraordinaire, was in his element, slinging drinks and vibing with every person who stood across from him.

“He really loves this place, doesn’t he?”

Felicity was wearing a cute yellow dress that did everything for her tan, perfectly applied makeup, and a nice smile. She nodded toward Brady, and Sloane could tell there was some wistfulness there.

That should have made Sloane feel some kind of jealousy, she guessed, but it just wasn’t there. Maybe because she felt she understood Felicity and the reason why she and Brady hadn’t worked. Neither one had understood the other, and they didn’t seem like they wanted to now.

While Sloane had been staring at Brady, he’d been staring at her, too. He’d also laughed with her, danced with her, and even kissed her beneath the horror-movie-styled antler chandelier. During that time, Marcus and Felicity had done more or less the same things, just within their own bubble.

Plus, Sloane understood that wanting someone and a small part of you wishing you’d done things a bit differently weren’t the same things.