There weren’t many people Simon Riley would willingly wear a suit for, but Johnny MacTavish, unfortunately, was one of them.

Being his best man came with responsibilities Simon expected—keeping track of the rings, enduring photographs, making sure Johnny actually made it to the altar. What Simon hadn’t accounted for was you.

He’d seen you bloodied, exhausted, soaked through with rain, half asleep after operations. You were his friend, a close one, and after years of serving together, Simon thought he’d seen every version of you there was.

Then you rounded the corner outside the ceremony room, and his hands went still against his cuff.

The dress Emma had chosen suited you far too well. Your hair was done differently, and there wasn’t a weapon or piece of tactical gear anywhere in sight. Simon’s attention lingered long enough for you to notice. Yours did too.

“You look very handsome, Simon,” you told him, giving him an appreciative once-over.

For several seconds, Simon said nothing. “You look…” His voice came rougher than intended, the words faltering before he settled on one. “Beautiful.”

The compliment left you both unusually quiet until someone called for the wedding party, giving Simon an excuse to offer you his arm.

The ceremony should have reset things. It didn’t.

You walked the aisle together, Simon shortening his stride to match yours without thinking. When you reached the altar, his hand briefly covered yours before you separated, an unnecessary little touch neither of you acknowledged.

Hours later, he was still thinking about it.

He stood near the bar during the reception, barely listening to Price while Johnny and Emma moved together beneath the warm lights of the dance floor. Other couples gradually joined them, but Simon’s attention had settled elsewhere.

You stood across the room nursing a glass of wine, watching your best friend dance with her new husband. Eventually, Simon abandoned his drink and crossed the room.

He stopped beside you, lingering just long enough to catch your attention before tipping his head toward the terrace doors. You followed without question. The two of you had escaped enough crowded rooms together over the years that it felt natural.

The reception dulled behind you when the doors closed, leaving only muted music and cool night air. You wandered toward the railing while Simon remained behind, watching you.

Then the song changed. Something slower drifted through the glass. Simon approached without a word. When you turned, he simply held out his hand.

A smile tugged at your lips as you slipped your fingers into his, and his hand closed around yours immediately.

He drew you away from the railing, his other hand settling against your waist as yours found his shoulder. At first, Simon left several careful inches between you while guiding you slowly with the distant music.

You glanced pointedly into the space separating you.

“Don’t,” Simon warned quietly.

A laugh escaped you anyway.

His hand slid farther around your waist, and one firm pull erased the distance between you. Your body settled against his, a surprised breath catching in your throat.

He didn’t comment. He simply kept you there.

The teasing faded as you moved together, his palm warm and steady against the small of your back. Your fingers shifted against his shoulder, brushing his collar, and the silence between you changed.

Silence with Simon had always been easy. This felt warmer. Heavier. Something that had been simple to ignore until there was no longer any space between you.

His hold on your hand loosened, only for his fingers to slowly thread through yours.

Simon squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing once across your knuckles while you swayed together beneath the quiet spill of light from the windows.

It was a small gesture.

From him, it meant far too much.