In the rom-com movies my sister made me watch growing up—and by made me, I mean she baked the most delicious brownies and I was only allowed to eat them if I watched her chick flicks—the hero runs to the heroine and tells her right away when he realizes precisely how he feels.

In real life, there’s a lot of waiting around.

A lot of small talk.

A lot of “how do you know the groom and bride” and “what do you do” conversations with people I’ll never talk to again. That’s okay. I don’t mind. I’m good at small talk, and frankly, it’s part of my job. But it occupies an inordinate amount of my evening and makes it damn hard to find a spare moment with the sister of the groom.

Since she’s in the wedding party, the photographer whisks the crew away shortly after the ceremony to snap sunset photos of the group. I down a glass of champagne, eat some kind of mushroom appetizer, and chat with friends, family, and random doctors from Chase’s hospital. When they learn what I do, they seem particularly interested in sharing stories about some of the most absurd outdoor injuries they’ve treated, from gnarly broken bones to dangerous wild animal bites. It’s like we’re on two sides of the equation. I’ve seen or heard of the mishaps as they occurred, and they’ve treated them.

“What about you? Ever been injured in the woods?” a doctor with glasses and a crooked nose asks.

“Sure. I’ve had my share of wounds, from a broken arm to a sprained ankle. But hey, I’ve never been skunked or bitten by a raccoon, so there’s that.” I tap a wooden beam for luck. “And I’ve managed to avoid tripping on twigs.”

The guy laughs. “You don’t want to end up with a twig in the wrong place.”

And I don’t want to think about what that place would be, either, so I politely excuse myself.

These random conversations continue throughout the evening, into the reception, and during the dinner itself. At one point, Mia swishes past me, stopping briefly to whisper, “Nice tie.”

“Nice everything,” I say.

She purses her lips and blows me the barest of kisses.

Then she’s gone, chatting with her mother, chatting with her father, talking to Max. I keep myself busy, catching up on the latest from Dylan and his identical twin, Flynn. Honestly, if Dylan weren’t holding my sister’s hand, I’d be hard-pressed to tell the brothers apart.

The evening unfurls into toasts, laughter, delicious food, buzz-worthy champagne, and more happiness than I’ve ever seen in one place. Chase and Josie move onto the deck for their first dance as husband and wife, and when “Overjoyed” by Matchbox Twenty ends, they dance through another song, then another, as more guests join in.

One of the groomsmen rises, and for a second, I think he’s going to ask Mia to dance. I’m not okay with that. Not in the least.

I stand, cut a path across to her, and hold out my hand. “Dance with me.”

Her smile lights up her face. “I was hoping you’d ask.”

Out on the dance floor, we join dozens of couples. Mia’s parents, Josie’s parents, Spencer’s parents, and Charlotte’s parents, too. Max and Henley laugh as they shimmy, and I faintly remember him mentioning once that Henley loves to salsa and had taken him to dancing lessons. I knew then she was the one for him, hook, line, and sinker. I’d never thought anyone could lure Max to a dance floor. But now he twirls his fiancée in a circle. He doesn’t even balk when he sees me take Mia in my arms.

She places her arms on my shoulders, and mine circle her hips, as chastely as I can manage. The lights on the deck twinkle, and the stars wink in the night sky. Tall buildings in Manhattan tower around us, sprinkling their own light in an iridescent nighttime painting.

Mia fiddles with my tie, running her fingers over the knot. “So where’s your plus-one?” she asks, staring at the knot.

“I’m hoping she’s right here. And you?”

She smiles, the kind of smile she can’t seem to contain. “The same might be true for me.” Instinctively, I wrap my hands tighter around her hips.

“We fit,” she says softly, just for me. The way she looks at me triggers a rush of heat across my skin.

“I’d say we fit incredibly well.”

“Do we?”

“We do, Mia.” I want to bring her closer, kiss her till she’s drunk on me.

“I know.” She swallows, waiting for more, it seems.

Good. I want to go first. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“You mean the other night?” she asks, her voice like a feather. “You can’t stop thinking about the other night?”

I shake my head. “No. Just you. Everything about you.”

A smile tugs at her lips. “Everything?”

“Every single thing,” I say, taking my time with each word. “Kissing you. Touching you. Knowing you.”

“But there are reasons . . .”

I shake my head and lift her chin. “I don’t care about the reasons not to be with you,” I say, my voice low but firm, because once you realize you might miss out on the greatest chance ever, the reasons shrink to nothing. “I don’t care about the miles. I don’t care that we live on different coasts. All I care about is how I feel, not only when I’m near you, but when I think of you. Don’t you see how you make me feel?”

“How do I make you feel?”

My gaze drifts down, taking in the view of her in my arms. Her strong, toned body, the lines of her neck, the softness of her skin. I dip my face near her neck, ever so subtly inhaling her. She intoxicates me. “Like my body is humming. Like I’m vibrating. Everything crackles when I’m with you.”

I meet her eyes once more. Those eyes—I could get lost in them. Hell, maybe I’ve already gone missing. Maybe I’ll never be found because this is where I want to be.

She draws a deep breath. “There’s a lot I want to tell you, Patrick.” I tense, my shoulders tightening, my body going rigid. This can’t be good. “But when we’re like this, I can’t really think.”

Her breath flutters across my jaw, and it stokes the flames inside me.

“And why’s that?”

“Because of how you make me feel,” she whispers.

I relax. That’s better. Maybe whatever she wants to tell me is something we can deal with. “How do I make you feel?”

“Like I want to be in my body and out of my body,” she whispers. Her palm slides up the back of my neck, and I nearly growl. Her back is to the crowd, and we’re at the edge of the deck. No one can see that her fingers have traveled into my hair. She plays with the ends, and her touch drives me out of my mind. It’s a straight shot of lust to my chest, and heat pools in my groin.

“Mia,” I whisper, almost a warning.

Her fingers thread through my hair. She inches closer. Her lips are so damn near to me. “But most of all, I feel like I want you in my body.”

I groan. I can’t even speak. Can’t form words. My brain is a haze. It’s a hot, fuzzy, static haze, and my fingertips burn with desire as I dig them into her hips. She’s reduced me to nothing but lust, nothing but fire, nothing but heat.

She’s rendered me speechless, aroused, and completely, absolutely over the moon.

“Jesus Christ, Mia,” I manage to say, a desperate groan under my breath, and I don’t care if Max is watching, or Chase, or anyone. But a quick scan tells me they’re all in their own worlds, so with my hands on her hips, I yank her closer, letting her feel what she’s done to me.

She smiles, a wild, wicked grin.

But this is more than sex. The way I feel for her is so much more. “Listen,” I say, before she kills all my brain cells with her words.

“Talk,” she gently commands.

“I don’t care that you live in California and I live here. I want to be with you. Even if we’re long distance, even if it’s hard to see each other, I’m absolutely crazy for you, Mia,” I say, and my heart feels a thousand times lighter.

And then a thousand times fuller when she says, “I’m so crazy for you.” Her body melts against mine as if it’s as much of a welcome relief for her to speak her truth as it is for me to speak mine. “I thought I would go out of my mind if I didn’t say something.”

“I wish I could kiss you right now.” My eyes survey the crowd, our friends and family dancing on the deck with us. As much as I want to crush my lips to hers, now’s not the time for that kind of public display of affection.

“Kiss me tonight, then. Can I come over later? When the wedding ends?”

“If you don’t, I think I might die,” I say, laughing.

She levels me with her gaze once more. “Don’t die until you make love to me.”

I’m fried. I’m toasted. I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want Mia under me, over me, with me all night. “That’s all I’ll be doing once you knock on the door.”

She curls her hand around my shoulder. “There’s something else I want to tell you.” Her voice is wobbly, and my chest hollows with her words.

But I steel myself to take a hit tonight. Let’s do this. Let’s finish it. I need to know once and for all what I’m up against.

A shriek of excitement cuts across the deck. “It’s finally time for cake!”

We both startle and turn toward Nick’s pregnant wife, who’s pointing excitedly at the towering white cake as she calls the wedding party over.

Once more, my arms are empty.