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I watch him go, unable to stop the laugh that escapes me.

Well, would you look at that? Back in the day, I couldn’t get Dean to leave me alone no matter how hard I tried. Now all I have to do is look at him funny, and he’s practically sprinting for the nearest exit.

If only I’d known it was this easy.

“Wow. That’s some superpower you’ve got there.”

I turn to find Mikayla standing beside me, looking thoroughly amused.

“That dipshit has been hitting on me all night,” she explains, nodding toward Dean’s retreating figure. “I’ve told him to fuck off at least three times, but apparently he doesn’t understand English anymore.”

“Well, I’m glad I could be of service.”

“Oh, honey, you have no idea.” She laughs before pulling me into a hug. “It’s good to see you, Max.”

Before I can respond, a few of the other women I met at Sunday’s brunch join us, greeting me with warm smiles and enthusiastic hugs.

Some of the tension I’ve been carrying around all evening begins to ease.

None of them look at me with suspicion. Nobody whispers behind my back or takes a cautious step away when I approach. If anything, they seem genuinely pleased to see me, which is a welcome change from the reception I’ve been getting everywhere else in this godforsaken town.

“Well, look who finally decided to grace us with her presence,” Holly teases, giving me another quick hug. “We were starting to think you’d blown off the whole reunion.”

“Trust me, the temptation was there.”

“Can’t say I blame you,” Mikayla muses, taking a sip of her drink. “This whole week has been one giant shitshow.”

“Amen to that.”

We’re still laughing when a sudden burst of applause erupts from the other side of the gym.

I turn toward the entrance, wondering what the hell could possibly warrant that kind of reception.

And then I see her.

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Laura mutters under her breath, verbalizing the exact same thought screaming in my head.

We watch in disbelief as Peyton struts into the gym wearing her old Fairhope High cheerleading uniform.

The whole fucking thing.

The blue-and-white pleated skirt. The fitted top with FAIRHOPE emblazoned across the chest. She’s even tied her hair back with an oversized blue ribbon, completing the look with a pair of white sneakers that I’m willing to bet have been sitting in the back of a closet since graduation. She’s all white and blue spirit, except for the little red string tied to her wrist.

“I can’t believe she actually went through with it,” Holly mutters beside me, sounding every bit as disgusted as I feel. “God, that woman has some nerve.”

“Oh, come on,” Tammi says with a laugh. “She’s just showing a little school spirit.”

“School spirit?” Holly scoffs. “She’s the fucking mayor, not the captain of the cheerleading squad. Someone needs to remind her that we’re not teenagers anymore.”

I bite back a laugh as Peyton makes her way through the crowd, accepting compliments and posing for pictures like a celebrity arriving at a premiere.

Of course, people are eating it up.

A few of her former cheerleading friends rush over to greet her, and within seconds, she’s surrounded by a small crowd of admirers, all laughing and fawning over her as if we were back in high school.

Jesus Christ. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if this town ever decided to build a statue of Peyton Crawford.

My attention soon drifts away from her and back toward the projection screen, where another photograph has appeared.