a summer secret | beau maxwell ✶
summary: in which dean notices the quiet, suspicious intimacy growing between beau and his sister.
pairing: beau maxwell x fem!dilaurentisreader
notes: hi!! thank you so much for your request. i hope i've done your idea justice <3 💌
ˋ°•*⁀➷ in other words, four times dean notices moments between beau and y/n that feel a little too intimate to ignore, and the one time he finally catches on.
the thing about cape cod was that it had always felt like tradition.
same beach house, same salt-heavy air, same worn wooden deck that creaked under bare feet, same maxwells, same di laurentis family.
for as long as you could remember, summers were spent in cape cod. beach days, late-night bonfires, shared dinners, too many drinks, too much laughter.
it was familiar in the kind of way that felt permanent, except this summer, everything had changed. somehow, somewhere between classes at briar and now, beau maxwell had stopped being just your brother’s best friend and started becoming yours.
secretly, quietly, completely.
dean could absolutely never find out.
the first time dean nearly catches on, it happens before you even reach the holiday house, which in hindsight, should've been a clear warning. luckily, he brushes it off as nothing.
dean drives, claiming it’s because he knows the route better, but really, it’s because he has control issues, deeply mistrusting anyone else behind the wheel.
you sit in the backseat, legs tucked beneath you, sunglasses pushed up into your hair, one hand wrapped around an iced coffee.
beau sits in the passenger seat. too close, yet too far all at once.
he looks unfairly good for someone who’d been awake since six that morning, like he hadn’t spent half the night before in your dorm room, his hands warm against your waist as he kissed you breathless against the wall until you’d both lost track of time.
his hair is still damp from a shower, one arm resting against the open window, tanned skin catching the late morning light. every now and then, his gaze flicks to the rearview mirror, meeting yours.
never long enough for dean to notice, but always long enough to make your pulse jump.
“so,” dean says, one hand loose on the wheel. “ground rules for the week.”
you immediately groan from the backseat. “oh my god.” beau’s mouth twitches in amusement.
dean glances at you in the mirror. “don’t start.”
“we haven’t even arrived and you’re already lecturing me.”
“i know enough to know you make questionable decisions near large bodies of water.”
you sit forward slightly. “that was one time.”
“you fell off a paddleboard while it was still tied to the dock, y/n.”
beau coughs into his hand, attempting to hide his laughter. you narrow your eyes, gaze landing on the back of his head. “don’t laugh.”
he glances back at you, eyes warm. “i didn’t say anything.”
beau turns to look out the window, still smiling, feigning innocence.
you hate him a little for how easily he can do that. how easily he can sit in the front seat, acting as though nothing is happening. like he hadn’t slipped his fingers around your waist for one fleeting second while dean loaded the cooler into the trunk. like he hadn’t whispered, “i miss you,” even though you had been standing two feet apart.
dean keeps talking. something about not getting lost, not swimming too far out, and not letting joanna convince you to jump off the dock after midnight.
you hear maybe half of it, because beau’s hand has shifted. casual, at first, resting near the centre console, then lower. closer to the gap between the seats.
your eyes drop instantly. his fingers hang loosely there, hidden from dean's direct line of sight.
you stare at his hand for a second too long before reaching forward, pretending to grab something from the cupholder. your fingers brush his gently. the action so brief, yet enough for beau to react.
you notice the smallest flex of his hand, like he wants to catch yours and hold it.
“you listening, y/n?” dean asks suddenly.
your head snaps up. “yes.”
your brother looks at you in the rearview mirror. “what did i just say?” you blink. beau turns his face towards the window once more.
“you said...” you start slowly, buying time. “to make good choices.”
dean stares at you. “that is the vaguest answer you could’ve possibly given.”
beau loses the internal battle he must've been having with himself, laughing under his breath.
dean glances at him briefly, “what?”
beau shakes his head in response. “nothing.”
dean's eyebrows furrow temporarily, looking at his best friend for a few seconds more. not suspicious yet, just watching. you feel beau’s hand pull back instantly, and the absence of it makes your chest ache.
an hour later, somewhere after the second gas station stop, dean brings up a topic that almost ruins everything.
“oh y/n,” he says casually, like he hasn’t just lit a match in the middle of the car. “someone asked about you last week.”
you look up from your phone. “me?”
beau’s body stills, not much, but enough that you notice. dean reaches for his drink. “a guy from hockey. matthews.”
your face blanks slightly. “who?”
“exactly,” dean says. “which is why i told him no chance.”
you frown. “you told him no chance?”
“you can’t just police every interaction that may come my way.”
beau stays facing forward, but you catch the way his jaw ticks, fingers tightening briefly where his arm rests against the window. it's subtle, small enough that dean misses it entirely, however you don’t, of course you don’t.
“he asked if you were seeing anyone,” dean continues, completely unaware of the way your pulse had started to climb. “i told him no, and that he should probably leave it there.”
you stare at him. “that’s insane.”
“that’s overstepping, dean.”
beau joins the conversation before he seems to think better of it. “you told him she wasn’t seeing anyone?”
the car goes quieter, not silent, but quieter.
dean glances sideways at him. “yeah.”
beau keeps his gaze on the road. “right.”
your fingers tighten around your phone, anxiety coursing throughout your body. dean’s brows pull together slightly. “why?”
beau shrugs, attempting to be casual. “just asking.”
“since when do you care who my sister’s dating?”
there it is, the first crack.
you feel yourself almost stop breathing. beau doesn’t look at you, doesn’t move, doesn’t panic. he just leans back against the seat and says, “i don’t.” a beat passes, then he adds. “i just think maybe y/n can answer for herself.”
your heart twists. dean’s eyes narrow slightly, caught somewhere between amused and confused. “wow,” he says. “that's very noble of you."
you kick the back of his seat. “shut up.”
dean laughs, and the tension breaks, barely, but not completely. beau looks in the rearview mirror a few seconds later, and this time, when your eyes meet, there’s something there.
something possessive, something frustrated, something almost apologetic.
dean sees just enough of that glance to go quiet, only for a second, but you notice, so does beau.
2. the annual di laurentis & maxwell beach volleyball match
the second time dean nearly catches on, it happens during the annual beach volleyball match, which is ridiculous, because the annual match is usually the least romantic event of the entire summer.
the teams change every year, mostly because dean insists on drafting like he’s building an olympic roster instead of playing barefoot volleyball with relatives and family friends on a beach. this year, you end up on a different team to beau. which is both a blessing and a curse.
a blessing because standing beside him would have been dangerous. a curse because standing across from him somehow turns out to be worse.
he's shirtless, which shouldn't matter, because you've seen him shirtless before, many times.
with your hands against his chest, his mouth at your throat, his voice soft in your ear telling you to stay quiet. you should have been immune. unfortunately, you're not, not even close.
beau stands on the opposite side of the net beside joanna, sunlight catching on his shoulders, hair pushed back messily from the ocean.
you’re wearing a bikini you had almost talked yourself out of wearing. dean had barely glanced at you before immediately pointing at the sunscreen bottle, “don't make me remind you again.”
you had thrown a towel at his head.
beau, on the other hand, had looked once, only once, then very deliberately looked away, which told you everything.
dean is competitive in a way that makes everyone want to either laugh or throw something at him, joanna cheats shamelessly, and beau keeps failing at pretending he isn’t watching you, his attention drawn to you like instinct.
then the guys arrive. not your guys, not anyone’s guys.
just a group from a nearby beach house. loud, sunburnt, carrying beers they definitely should have finished slower. they linger too close to the edge of the game, watching. mostly you.
you feel it before you see it. that prickling awareness of eyes staying too long. one of them says something under his breath to another, and they both laugh.
you miss the ball, dean notices immediately. “you good?” he calls from beside you.
“yeah,” you say, shaking it off. “sun got in my eyes.”
beau’s gaze has already shifted. not to the ball, not to dean, to them.
his expression changes so subtly most people probably would have missed it. his shoulders square slightly, jaw tightening. the warmth in his face completely gone.
you feel your stomach dip, because beau can’t do anything, not really. not without making it obvious, not without stepping into a role nobody is supposed to know he has.
that might be the worst part of keeping something secret. it's not the sneaking around or the lying, it's the consistent restraint. the way love has to sit quietly inside your chest even when every instinct tells it otherwise.
the next serve comes hard, and you dive for it, sand scraping your knees as you manage to bump the ball up. dean shouts something triumphant, joanna yells that it doesn't count.
you laugh breathlessly, pushing yourself up onto your hands. following your action one of the guys whistles. low, obvious, clearly directed at you. your smile falters.
beau hears it, everyone hears it, but he reacts first.
“you wanna keep your eyes on the game?” he snaps.
the beach stills slightly. your head lifts, dean turns. the guy raises his hands, laughing. “relax, man.”
beau doesn’t smile. “then stop being fucking weird.”
beau is usually easy, relaxed, charming when he wants to be. this is different. this is sharp, personal.
dean looks between beau and the guys, then back to you. you can practically see the pieces moving in his head. you stand quickly, brushing sand from your thighs.
“beau,” you say softly, too softly. his eyes cut to you immediately, not like a family friend, not like someone who has known you forever. more like someone who belongs to you, like he forgot, for one second, that he wasn’t allowed to.
dean sees that too, his expression shifting, just slightly.
dean’s brows lift. “why wouldn’t she be okay?”
beau’s eyes flick towards your brother, and for one terrifying second, you think he might say something stupid. something honest. instead, he shrugs.
“because those guys are being assholes.”
dean stares at him, then slowly turns towards the guys. “he’s right,” dean says, and just like that, big brother dean takes over.
except now beau looks like he wants to murder someone, dean looks like he’s trying to understand why beau cares so much, and you're standing between them in a bikini, wishing the ocean would swallow you whole.
3. 'one double chocolate chip ice cream with sprinkles, please'
the third time dean nearly catches on, it happens because of double chocolate chip ice cream. by now, he knows he's not just simply imagining it
the afternoon starts on the boat. everyone spends hours out on the water. your skin feels warm from the sun, salt drying in your hair, laughter carried away by the wind.
beau looks incredibly good it almost feels painful.
he sits near the back of the boat, sunglasses on, one arm stretched along the seat behind him, t-shirt abandoned somewhere near the cooler. every time the boat cuts over a wave, his stomach tightens slightly, and you have to pretend very hard that you're looking out at the horizon.
you're of course not looking out at the horizon. you're looking at your boyfriend, from beneath your sunglasses, like a coward, like a girl undeniably in love.
later that evening, beau docks the boat. everyone wanders into town for ice cream.
the shop is crowded, sticky floors and bright menus, families packed shoulder to shoulder, kids running around with melting cones already dripping onto their hands. before you can order, joanna tugs you back outside, insisting she needs your opinion on a bracelet in the little store next door.
which leaves dean and beau inside, alone, with your order.
however, when you and joanna finally meet them outside, beau is already holding two cones. one mint chocolate for himself, one double chocolate chip for you.
complete with rainbow sprinkles. your favourite order. exactly.
dean’s gaze drops to the cones in beau’s hands before settling on his best friend, an unreadable expression on his features.
beau looks at him. “know what?”
you step forward quickly. “everyone knows my order.” dean turns to you. “no, i know your order.”
“why does he know your order?”
beau’s face remains calm, infuriatingly calm. “she gets it every year.”
dean points at him. “i do not like how reasonable that answer was.”
joanna laughs from behind you. “dean, you’re being insane.”
dean looks at you again as you take the cone from beau carefully.
your fingers brush his. a mistake, another one. beau’s thumb moves, not much, just a small, instinctive stroke over your knuckle before he lets go.
dean’s expression goes blank. not angry, not yet. just very, very still.
you immediately shove the ice cream toward your mouth like that can somehow undo the last three seconds.
“good?” beau asks quietly. too quietly.
dean stares, his gaze moving between you and beau, something unreadable settling over his features.
for the rest of the afternoon, he watches, and once he starts noticing, he can’t seem to stop.
he notices the way beau instinctively walks behind you on the crowded sidewalk, one hand briefly brushing your back to steer you away from a cyclist. the way you pass him your water bottle without even looking, and he takes it without question, like it’s something you’ve done a hundred times before.
dean isn’t entirely sure what he’s seeing yet, but he knows enough to realise this isn’t nothing.
the drinks night is supposed to be casual, which in hindsight, is exactly why it becomes a problem.
it’s just you, beau, dean and joanna at your favourite beachside bar in town, tucked around a small table beneath warm string lights, the air sticky with salt, and music low enough that everyone still has to lean in slightly to hear each other.
dean is, predictably, thriving.
he’s halfway through a beer, leaning against the back of his chair with that stupidly charming smile on his face while some girl at the next table over keeps glancing at him.
“oh my god dean" she mutters into her straw. “she’s been looking at you for ten minutes.”
dean’s brows lift. “has she?”
you snort. “don’t act humble. it doesn’t suit you.”
dean's gaze shifts to yours as a smirk graces his features. “what can i say...i’m naturally magnetic, y/n.”
“you’re naturally annoying.”
beau laughs quietly beside you, the sound brushing over you in the way it always does. low, familiar, private even when everyone else can hear it.
you don’t look at him. you can’t.
his knee is pressed lightly against yours beneath the table, hidden by the shadows and the angle of joanna's chair. it has taken every ounce of self-control in your body not to lean into him properly.
dean catches the girl’s eye and smiles. that’s all it takes, within five minutes, she’s at the table. pretty, confident, already laughing at something dean says before he’s even finished saying it.
then, because apparently the universe has decided to punish you personally, two of her friends follow suit.
one of them looks directly at beau and you feel your stomach drop.
she’s tall, sun-kissed, wearing a white linen dress. she has the kind of easy smile that comes from knowing it’s almost always returned.
“hi,” she says, leaning slightly towards him. “i’m natalie.”
beau glances at her politely, tipping his head in greeting. “beau.”
“beau,” she repeats, like she’s testing how it sounds. “that’s cute.”
your fingers tighten around your glass. joanna's eyes flick to you immediately. she knows, of course she does.
dean is too busy flirting to notice anything yet, but joanna sees the way your smile stills. the way you look down at your drink instead of across the table. the way beau’s knee presses a little more firmly against yours, like he feels the shift before you even say a word.
“are you here for the summer too?” natalie asks.
“just the week,” beau says.
not rude enough to raise questions, not warm enough to invite anything. still, it burns.
she doesn’t know he’s yours.
she doesn’t know that his hand had been at your waist fifteen minutes ago in the hallway outside the bathrooms, thumb brushing beneath the hem of your shirt while he whispered that you looked beautiful.
she doesn’t know anything, and you hate that she’s allowed to look at him like she might.
“you should come by our place later,” natalie says, smile widening. “we’re having people over.”
beau pauses and you feel your throat tighten instinctively. dean, finally tuning back in, glances over with lazy amusement. “look at that, maxwell. making friends.”
your nails press lightly into your palm beneath the table.
beau doesn’t look at dean. he looks at you, just for half a second, too quick for anyone else, long enough for your heart to twist.
he turns back to natalie. “thanks, but we’ve already got plans.”
your chest loosens slightly. natalie tilts her head. “all of you?”
beau’s mouth lifts faintly, but his voice stays steady. “yeah.”
dean narrows his eyes slightly. “do we?”
joanna immediately kicks him under the table.
“yes,” she says brightly. “we do.”
you take a sip of your drink to hide your smile. natalie lingers for another second, clearly not used to being dismissed that gently, then shrugs and lets one of her friends pull her back towards the bar.
the moment she’s gone, dean looks between all of you.
“why are you guys being so weird?”
joanna rolls her eyes. “because you make everything weird.”
you stand suddenly, grabbing your drink. “i’ll be back, i'm going to grab some water.”
you slip through the crowd towards the bar, heart beating too fast for something so small, because it is small. you know it’s small. beau didn’t flirt back, he barely even smiled, but secrecy makes everything feel sharper.
every glance someone gives him feels like a reminder that the world still thinks he’s available.
you’re waiting at the bar when he appears beside you. not touching, not close enough to be obvious, but there.
you keep your eyes on the counter. “you didn’t have to follow me.”
“yeah,” he says softly. “i did.”
you swallow. for a second, neither of you speak.
beau leans one elbow against the bar, studying your expression. “talk to me.”
your grip tightens slightly around your drink. “it’s silly, beau.”
his voice stays gentle. “i don’t think it is.”
you exhale slowly, trying to put words to the feeling. “it’s not even about her.”
beau stays quiet, letting you speak.
your voice softens, “it’s just… hard sometimes.” finally, you look at him. “having to sit there and act like i don’t care.”
something in his expression shifts immediately. understanding, softness, guilt.
he glances down briefly, then back at you. “i’m sorry, y/n.”
“for putting you in that position.” his voice is low, steady. “for making you feel like you have to pretend none of this matters.”
your chest tightens, “beau-”
“because it does matter.”
his gaze doesn’t leave yours. “you matter.”
your expression softens. his hand shifts on the bar, close enough that his fingers brush yours for half a second. quick. hidden.
his voice stays quiet. “i knew exactly who i was leaving with tonight.”
emotion lodges somewhere in your throat. you look down, a small smile finally pulling at your lips once more.
beau’s brows pull together slightly. “don’t apologise.”
“i know she didn’t mean anything,” you say softly. “i just… had a moment.”
his expression turns impossibly gentle. “you’re allowed to.” silence settles between you again, but it feels softer now, steadier. “are we okay?” he asks quietly.
this time, your smile comes easier. small. warm.
some of the tension leaves his shoulders. “okay.”
he says it so softly it almost sounds like relief.
back at the table, dean watches the two of you standing side by side at the counter, not touching, not too close, nothing obvious.
yet, something about it feels strangely intense, serious. your expressions are soft but focused, like you’re having a conversation that matters.
beau says something quietly. you look down, then back up. dean narrows his eyes slightly. he can’t hear a word, can’t see anything concrete, but something about the whole thing feels… off.
a series of tiny moments that finally stop feeling explainable.
nothing obvious, nothing he can actually point to.
yet, enough to leave dean with the quiet, unsettling feeling that he’s missing something.
back at the house, you find beau in the kitchen, alone. finally.
the whole house is loud around you, music plays from the living room, parents drink wine on the deck, dean somewhere outside arguing with joanna about whether he cheated at cards.
beau stands by the sink, sleeves pushed up, rinsing sand out of a cooler. you pause in the doorway, he looks up. everything in his face softens, quietly, instantly.
for a moment, neither of you move. “dean’s watching us” you whisper.
beau huffs softly, turning off the tap. “yeah.”
“it's pretty hard not to.”
you lean back against the counter, a small smirk gracing your features. “you were the one who knew my ice cream order.”
“i do know your ice cream order.”
his mouth curves faintly. “i'm sorry for paying attention to you.”
you give him a look. he steps closer, not touching, not yet, but close enough that the air shifts.
“i’ve been thinking about what you said earlier.”
your gaze lifts to his. the bar, about how hard this had become.
beau’s jaw tightens slightly. “i hate that you feel like you have to sit there pretending none of this matters.”
your chest tightens. “beau-”
“i mean it.” his voice is calm, steady. “watching you walk away earlier because you felt like you couldn’t react… it sucked.”
your expression softens. "it did for me too.”
“not being able to just…” he exhales, eyes dropping briefly to your mouth before lifting again. “be normal with you.”
your chest pulls tight. “beau.”
his gaze doesn’t leave yours. “i know why we’re doing this,” he says quietly. “i do. dean’s your brother. he’s my best friend. i understand why this is complicated.”
his voice drops. “but i’m starting to hate pretending.”
your throat tightens, you look down. “dean’s already noticing.”
a faint smile touches beau’s mouth. “unfortunately.”
you let out a small laugh, your face softening once more. “that’s what scares me.”
the words sit between you, honest, fragile. beau’s hand lifts slowly, giving you enough time to pull away. you don’t. his fingers brush your wrist, then settle there gently, hidden below the counter.
beau goes quiet. when he speaks again, his voice is gentler.
“dean finding out doesn’t scare me.”
your brows lift slightly. “it doesn’t?”
he shakes his head. “no.”
you laugh softly despite the seriousness of the conversation. “it should."
he stifles a small laugh before shaking his head. “what scares me is losing this.”
your breath catches, his eyes lock on yours.
everything in you stills. beau’s expression shifts, suddenly more vulnerable than before, like the words came out before he could stop them.
he swallows. “i’m serious, baby i-”
dean’s voice sounds down the hallway, growing louder as he nears the kitchen. beau steps back quickly, the action alone looking suspicious. dean appears in the doorway two seconds later, his eyes move from you to beau, then to the space between you, then back again.
you grab the nearest object off the counter. a spoon, for no reason.
dean looks at the spoon in your hand, then at you. “why are you holding that like a weapon?”
you look down. “because you scared me.”
dean's eyebrows furrow. “by entering a kitchen?”
beau coughs. dean’s eyes flick to him.
beau shakes his head. “nope.”
dean stares at him for one long second. then points between you. “you two are being weird.”
your stomach drops. “we’re not.”
“you think everyone is weird.”
“because lately everyone is being weird.”
he holds your gaze for another moment, and for a second, you think that’s it. that he knows, that he’s about to say it.
but then joanna yells from outside, accusing dean of hiding the cards, and he backs out of the doorway with one last suspicious glance. “this conversation isn’t over.”
you wait until he disappears. then exhale. beau looks at you.
“we’re terrible at this.”
the time dean actually catches you, it’s the last night, which feels unfair and inevitable at the same time.
the kind of thing summer had been building towards all week.
the house is full of noise behind you. music, laughter, screen doors opening and shutting, someone yelling about missing marshmallows, the distant clink of bottles being moved across the deck.
you slip away after dinner, simply needing some fresh air.
the dock is quiet when you get there, the water black and silver beneath the moon, the old wood still warm from the day’s heat beneath your bare feet. you sit at the edge with your knees pulled up, chin resting against them.
for a few minutes, you're alone, then the dock creaks behind you.
you don’t turn around, already knowing who had come to join you. beau sits beside you without speaking, shoulder brushing yours.
for a moment, neither of you say anything. tomorrow everyone goes home, and cape cod becomes another distant memory, until next year.
“you disappeared,” he says quietly.
his mouth curves faintly. “followed you.”
you look at him then, bad idea. the moonlight softens him. his hair is messy from the wind, sweatshirt sleeves pushed to his elbows, eyes fixed on you like the rest of the world had become background noise.
“dean’s inside,” you whisper.
“someone could come out.”
you should move away, you don’t. instead, beau’s hand finds yours, his fingers threading slowly through yours like he’s giving you every chance to pull away.
not rushed, not hidden this time.
“i’m tired of pretending i don’t want to do that,” he says.
your eyes sting suddenly. “beau.”
“i don’t want to spend the whole year only looking at you when no one else is paying attention, y/n.”
your fingers tighten around his. “i don’t either.”
he turns more fully toward you. “then we tell him.”
you laugh once, nervous and soft. “you say that like it’s easy.”
you huff a small laugh in response. he smiles faintly, but his eyes stay serious. “i’d rather deal with him than keep making you feel like something i’m hiding.”
that gets you, completely. this is exactly what you had been too afraid to say out loud.
you look down at your joined hands. “you don’t make me feel like that.”
“sometimes this does though, y/n”
you hate that he’s right. you hate that you love him for noticing. the word arrives in your chest before you can stop it.
maybe it had been there for longer than you realised, waiting patiently for you to stop looking away. beau reaches up slowly, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. you close your eyes for half a second, savouring the moment.
“we should go back,” you whisper.
neither of you moves. his hand stays on your cheek. your eyes open, and then he kisses you. softly at first, careful, like even now, even after everything, he’s giving you the chance to change your mind.
you lean into him, one hand curling into the front of his sweatshirt. beau makes a quiet sound into the kiss like the week had finally caught up with him all at once.
his arm slides around your waist, yours around his neck. for once, there is no pretending, no careful distance, no stolen almost-touch hidden behind towels or car seats or kitchen counters.
warm and solid and yours beneath the summer night.
“you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
you tear apart so fast you nearly lose your balance. beau’s hand catches your waist instinctively, which, unfortunately, does not help your case.
dean stands at the start of the dock. still, silent. your heart drops through your stomach.
he doesn’t look at you first, he looks at beau.
to his credit, he doesn’t move away from you completely. beau lets go of your waist, but he stays close. close enough that dean notices. close enough that you do too.
“how long?” dean asks, his voice calm, too calm.
you stand slowly. “dean-”
beau answers. “a few months.”
dean’s jaw tightens. “months,” dean repeats.
you wrap your arms around yourself. “we were going to tell you.”
he laughs once, humourless. “when? at your wedding?”
his eyes finally move to you, and the anger cracks just enough for hurt to show underneath. that is worse, so much worse. “you lied to me.”
your throat tightens. “i know.”
beau’s voice stays low. “that’s on me.”
dean turns on him instantly. “do not do that.”
“don’t stand there and try to take all of it like that fixes the fact that you’ve been sneaking around with my sister behind my back.”
“i’m not trying to fix it.”
“good, because it doesn’t.”
you step forward. “dean, please.”
his face softens for half a second at your voice, then he looks away, dragging a hand through his hair. for a while, nobody says anything. the water moves quietly beneath the dock. the house hums behind you, distant and unaware.
finally, dean exhales, long, tired.
you blink. beau’s head lifts slightly. dean looks at you both like you’ve personally exhausted him. “i’m not an idiot.”
you say nothing. he points towards the house. “the car ride? weird.”
“the volleyball thing? very weird.”
“the ice cream?” dean continues. “please. beau knew about the rainbow sprinkles, y/n.”
“lots of people know i like rainbow sprinkles,” you mutter weakly. dean gives you a flat look, you take it as a sign to stop talking.
“and the kitchen,” he adds. “you were holding a spoon like you’d been caught redhanded”
beau presses his lips together. wrong time to laugh, dangerously wrong.
“something funny, maxwell?”
beau shakes his head. “no.”
“good.” silence again. dean’s shoulders drop slightly, not forgiveness, not completely, but something less sharp.
“i’m not mad because it’s you,” he says, looking at beau. that surprises you, it seems to surprise beau too.
dean’s jaw works once. “honestly, if it had to be someone…” he stops, annoyed with himself for even saying it. “whatever. that’s not the point.”
your voice comes out small. “what is the point?”
dean looks at you, really looks at you, and suddenly he’s not angry in the loud way anymore.
the boy who used to carry your beach bag because he said you packed like you were fleeing the country. the boy who scared off guys before you even knew they were interested. the boy who pretended he wasn’t protective while being the most protective person alive.
“the point is you’re my sister, y/n” he says, softer now. “and he’s my best friend. and both of you decided i was the last person who got to know.”
your chest aches. “we were scared.”
you hesitate. dean’s expression shifts, that hurts him too.
“not like that,” you say quickly. “not because we thought you’d be horrible. just because it mattered. because you matter. because beau matters. and i didn’t want everything to change before we even knew what this was.”
dean looks at you for a long moment, then his gaze flicks to beau. “do you know what this is?”
beau doesn’t look away. “yeah.”
your breath catches. dean studies him carefully. “yeah?”
beau nods once. “i love her.”
everything stops. you turn towards him. for a second you forget dean is there, forget the dock, forget the entire summer sitting around you.
beau’s eyes meet yours, steady despite the nerves in his face. “i didn’t want to say it like this,” he says quietly.
your eyes burn. a small, helpless laugh escapes you. “on a dock while my brother plots your murder?”
beau’s mouth lifts faintly. “yeah. not exactly how i pictured it.” dean makes a strangled sound. “i’m literally standing right here.” you look back at him, wiping quickly beneath one eye.
dean stares at you, then at beau. he sighs like the universe has personally wronged him.
his voice is different now. still annoyed, still protective, but not furious. not anymore.
he steps closer, pointing directly at beau’s chest. “you.” beau straightens immediately. “don’t fuck this up.”
dean’s eyes narrow. “she’s my sister. don’t forget that.” beau’s face softens, but his voice stays firm.
dean looks away, jaw tight, before pointing vaguely between you both.
“and no more sneaking around.”
“and absolutely no making out on docks while everyone else is inside eating dessert.”
you frown. “that feels very specific.”
“because it just happened.”
beau looks down, hiding another smile. dean points at him again. “wipe that look off your face.”
beau immediately does, you bite your lip. dean turns to you, eyes narrowing. “and you. don’t think you’re getting out of this because you look emotional.”
you blink up at him. he lasts three seconds, maybe four, then his expression breaks. “come here,” he mutters. you step into him immediately.
dean wraps his arms around you, tight and familiar, one hand pressing briefly to the back of your head the way he used to when you were younger, crying over things you didn’t want to explain.
your throat closes. “i’m sorry,” you whisper.
he sighs into your hair. “yeah. you should be.”
his arms tighten. “i just didn’t want to lose you,” you admit quietly.
dean stills, pulling back enough to look at you. “you’re not losing me because you fell for my idiot best friend, y/n.”
dean doesn’t look away from you. “you’re stuck with me.”
your mouth trembles into a smile. “unfortunately.”
you laugh softly, and dean’s face eases a little at the sound.
he looks over your shoulder at beau. “you can walk her back.”
“don’t make me regret saying it.”
dean starts walking backward towards the house, still pointing.
“i don’t care if we’re outside right now, the door stays open.”
you groan. “you’re so annoying.”
he turns finally, heading back toward the house, but stops halfway. for a second, he looks back. not at beau this time, at you.
his expression softens. “for what it’s worth,” he says, quieter. “i’m glad it’s him.” he disappears into the noise of the house before either of you can answer.
you stand there for a moment, stunned. beau steps closer beside you. careful now. respectful of the fact that everything has changed, and yet nothing at all.
“you okay?” he asks. you look at him, really look at him. the boy you had spent the whole summer loving in glances, in almost-touches, in quiet corners and stolen seconds. the boy who had just told your brother he loved you without flinching.
you nod slowly. “you love me?”
his face softens. “yeah.”
your heart turns over. “that’s inconvenient.”
beau laughs quietly, stepping close enough for his fingers to brush yours. “very.”
you slip your hand into his, openly, for the first time. “i love you too,” you whisper.
beau’s entire expression changes. he leans down, then stops, glancing towards the house.
you laugh softly. “dean said no sneaking around.”
his thumb brushes over your hand. “not anymore.”
so you kiss him again, softly, briefly. smiling against his mouth when someone from the deck yells, “door stays open!”
beau drops his forehead to yours, laughing under his breath. for the first time all summer, you don’t pull away.
