Chapter 7
SEVEN
JO
The next day, I’m closing up my shop for the night when Dean walks in.
I’ve been touching my lips all day, hardly believing he’d kissed me.
“What brings you over here?” I smile at him as I cross the room to him. My arms are aching for his touch.
Dean steps closer—not crowding, not assuming—just close enough that to feel the warmth of him.
“Jo,” he says softly, “about yesterday…I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that kiss.”
“Me either.”
He lets out a breath, eyes searching mine. “May I?”
My heart gives a ridiculous flutter. “Yes.”
He leans in and presses a gentle, careful kiss to my lips.
It’s brief—barely more than a brush—but it sends warmth blooming through my chest. When he pulls back, I’m smiling without meaning to.
“That’s all I’m going to do,” he says, a little breathless but steady. “Because if I keep going, I’m going to forget every professional boundary I just promised myself I’d keep.”
I laugh—quiet, delighted, embarrassingly giddy. “Probably wise.”
He takes my hands, holding them between us like they’re something important. “Jo… I want to do this right. Dinner. Talking. Real dating. Not sneaking kisses while you’re supposed to be planning a festival.”
My throat tightens. “You want to date me? Publicly?”
“If you’ll have me.” His smile is small and earnest. “I don’t do anything halfway.”
Warmth spreads through me—hopeful, terrifying, wonderful. “I’d like that. A lot.”
He squeezes my hands once, gently. “Friday night. Seven. And Jo? Wear something that makes you feel beautiful.”
“I feel beautiful right now.”
His expression softens—completely undone for a moment—before he steps back. “Then wear anything.”
“I know I said I wasn’t going to do this...”
And then I’m back in his arms, with his lips on mine. I sigh against his mouth.
The door bursts open, the chimes jangling frantically.
Asher and Mads tumble in like a badly choreographed comedy routine, clearly expecting to find us working on festival plans.
Dean and I spring apart.
“Oh!” Mads stops short, her eyes going comically wide. “We were just—”
“Checking on things,” Asher finishes, his gaze bouncing between us with growing delight. “But it looks like you’re—”
“Busy,” they say in unison.
Dean clears his throat. Adjusts his collar. Somehow manages to look both authoritative and utterly caught. “We were reviewing the festival plans.”
“Is that what we’re calling it?” Mads stage-whispers to Asher.
“Mom has some lipstick—” Asher gestures vaguely at his own mouth. “Just, you know. As a friend. I’m telling you as a friend.”
I swipe at my lips, heat flooding my face. “We were—”
“Totally making out,” Mads supplies helpfully. “It’s fine. We’re thrilled. Asher, show them how thrilled we are.”
Asher pulls a chair from the corner, sits down with elaborate casualness, and produces—I kid you not—a bag of popcorn from his jacket pocket. “Oh, don’t mind us. Pretend we’re not here.”
He eats a piece of popcorn. Slowly. While maintaining direct eye contact with Dean.
“Are you serious right now?” Dean demands.
“Completely serious, Chief.” Asher grins. “This is the best thing that’s happened all month. I’m invested.”
“Asher—” I start.
“Mom, did you know Dean likes romantic comedies?” Mads interrupts, settling in beside Asher like they’re about to watch a show.
“I never said that,” Dean protests.
“Chief, remember that time you said you loved The Proposal?” Asher eats another piece of popcorn. “At the station?”
“That was about fire safety protocols in the movie,” Dean says, ears going red. “The sprinkler system was completely inadequate for a building that size.”
“Sure it was, Chief. Sure it was.”
I try very hard not to laugh. Fail completely. The sound bubbles out of me, and suddenly I’m doubled over, tears streaming down my face while Dean stares at me like I’ve betrayed him.
“You’re not helping,” he tells me.
“I’m sorry.” I’m absolutely not sorry. “But you have to admit this is ridiculous.”
“What’s ridiculous is that my employee is eating popcorn while interrogating me about my dating life.”
“Not interrogating,” Asher corrects. “Observing. There’s a difference.”
Mads pulls out her phone, angles it toward us. “Say cheese!”
“Madison Cooper—” I lunge for the phone, but she’s quicker, dancing out of reach.
“This is going in the family album! ‘The day Mom and Chief Beckett finally admitted they’re into each other.’”
“We’re not—” I start, then catch Dean’s eye. He raises an eyebrow, and suddenly I’m remembering the way his hands felt on my waist. The promise in his voice when he said Friday. The heat in his gaze that suggested he was thinking about clearing my counter and doing wildly inappropriate things.
“Okay, fine. We might be into each other.” I cross my arms, trying for dignity and probably achieving nothing close. “But that’s between us, not entertainment for you two.”
“Too late.” Asher eats more popcorn. “Mads, I give them two weeks before they’re officially together.”
“I give them three days,” Mads counters.
Both statements are clearly audible. Both directed at us like we’re not standing right here.
“I’m standing right here,” Dean says, voice strained.
“So am I!” I add.
They high-five.
Dean makes a sound of pure frustration, stalks to where Rex is still lying across my feet—completely unrepentant about his role in this disaster—and tries to pick him up.
Rex goes full dead weight. Seventy pounds of uncooperative dog who whines like Dean is the villain in a Dickens novel, separating star-crossed lovers against their will.
“Traitor,” Dean mutters, struggling with his traitorous dog’s limp body. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
Rex’s tail thumps once. Then he goes back to whining dramatically.
I watch Dean wrestle with his dignity and his dog, and fall a little bit more in love with both of them.
Finally, Dean manages to haul Rex toward the door, the dog dragging his paws the entire way. “We’re going now. Rex needs dinner.”
“Rex needs his mom and dad to stop fighting their feelings,” Mads calls out.
Dean’s ears go impossibly redder. “That’s—we’re not—”
“Friday night,” I interrupt, saving him. “Seven o’clock. You’re picking me up.”
He stops. Turns. Looks at me with such tenderness that Asher makes an actual gasping sound.
“Friday,” Dean confirms. “Wear comfortable shoes.”
The door closes. Rex howls mournfully from outside like his heart is breaking.
I stare at the door, at my son and future daughter-in-law who are absolutely never letting this go, at the festival plans still spread across my counter.
Then I start laughing. Because this is my life now. Dating my son’s fire chief. Being ambushed by well-meaning children. Having a dog who’s more invested in my love life than I am.
“You two are never going to let this go, are you?” I finally manage.
“Never,” they say in unison.
“We’re so happy for you, Mom.” Asher stands, pulls me into a hug that smells like popcorn and cologne. “You deserve this. Happiness. Someone who looks at you like Chief Beckett does.”
“How does he look at me?” I whisper against his shoulder.
“Like you hung the moon.” Mads joins the hug, sandwiching me between them. “Like he can’t quite believe you’re real. Like he’s terrified and thrilled and falling so hard it hurts.”
My eyes burn. “That’s very specific.”
“That’s what I see.” She pulls back, frames my face with her hands. “You’re glowing, Jo. I’ve never seen you glow like this.”
“I kissed a fire marshal,” I admit. “In my boutique. Where anyone could see.”
“Good.” Asher grins. “Let them see. Let the whole town know my mom is happy.”
They leave shortly after, still laughing, still high-fiving, still absolutely delighted with themselves. I watch them go, then turn back to the counter where Dean’s plans are still spread out.
Detailed diagrams showing traffic flow. Permit applications already filled out. Timeline suggestions. A Valentine’s Trail that’s bigger and better than anything I imagined.
He did this for me. Spent hours creating something that solves my problems and expands my dreams simultaneously.
My phone buzzes.
Dean: Rex is sulking in the truck. He thinks I’m the villain. Am I the villain?
I smile.
Me: You’re the hero. Don’t let anyone tell you different.
Three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.
Dean: Friday can’t come fast enough.
My heart does something acrobatic in my chest.
Me: Agreed. But you should know. I’m going to spend the next two days thinking about that counter-clearing comment.
The dots dance for a long time.
Dean: That’s the idea.
I bite my lip, heat flooding through me at the implication. At the promise.
The door chimes again. I look up, expecting Asher and Mads to have returned with more popcorn and commentary.
Instead, it’s the entire book club. Michelle, Hazel, Amber, and Jessica, all trying to look casual and failing spectacularly.
“We were just in the neighborhood—” Michelle starts.
“We saw Dean leave—” Hazel continues.
“And his truck is still outside—” Amber adds.
“So we thought we’d check on you—” Jessica finishes.
They all stare at me. At my smudged lipstick. At my flushed cheeks. At the plans spread across my counter and the smile I can’t quite hide.
“Oh my,” Michelle breathes. “Something happened.”
“He kissed you,” Hazel accuses. “Didn’t he?”
“Tell us everything,” Amber demands.
I laugh. Can’t help it. Can’t stop it. Just stand there in my boutique full of dreams and friends and second chances, and let myself be happy.
“He’s taking me to dinner,” I finally say. “Friday night.”
They erupt. Actual squealing. Hugging. Jessica might be crying.
“I knew it!” Grandma Hensley appears from behind a display case—when did she even get here?—brandishing her cane victoriously. “I called it at the coffee shop! That tension! That chemistry!”
“Were you hiding in my boutique?” I demand.
“I was shopping,” she says with great dignity. “The fact that I witnessed your romantic breakthrough is merely coincidence.”
Michelle pulls out champagne from her bag. Actual champagne. “I brought this just in case.”
“You were that confident?” I watch her pour into the coffee cups someone produced from somewhere.
“Honey, we’ve been watching you two circle each other for days.” Hazel accepts a cup. “The tension was visible from space.”
“To us finding Jo’s happiness!” Michelle raises her cup.
“To Dean’s excellent plans!” Amber adds.
“To fire marshals who know how to kiss!” Jessica contributes.
“To second chances!” Hazel finishes.
We toast. Drink terrible champagne from coffee cups. Laugh until my sides hurt.
And through the window, I can see Dean’s truck still parked outside, Rex’s face pressed against the glass, tail wagging.
Friday night feels impossibly far away.
But for the first time in seven years, I’m not afraid of what comes next.
I’m excited.
Friday evening arrives before I’m emotionally prepared for it.
I’ve changed my outfit three times, curled my hair twice, and reapplied my lip gloss four times. At this point, if Dean cancels, I will simply walk into the ocean and begin a new life as a disappointed mermaid.
The doorbell rings.
I freeze.
Then I trip over my own rug.
Then I open the door like a woman who absolutely has her life together.
Dean stands on my porch in a navy button-down, looking like he’s trying very hard not to tug at the collar. He’s holding flowers—actual flowers—and Rex sits at his heel wearing a tiny red bowtie.
“You brought…your dog?” I ask.
Dean sighs. “He refused to let me leave the house. I tried logic. I tried bribery. He sat on my shoes.”
Rex wags proudly.
I laugh. “Well, he looks very handsome.”
Dean looks at me then—really looks—and something softens in his expression. “So do you.”
The compliment hits me somewhere dangerously close to my heart.
We walk to the restaurant, The Salty Pearl, which may have been a mistake since Amber runs the place, but it’s the best seafood in town. All locally caught fish.
As soon as we’re seated, Amber finds like like a bloodhound. “Dean, if you have any plans to propose tonight, let me know. We’ll bring out free cake to celebrate.”
“Amber… It’s our first date,” I remind her.
“Oh, right. But you never know.” She winks at me, and I roll my eyes. I’ve been spending too much time with Caroline at the coffee shop. That girl has mastered the eye roll.
Dean’s stayed quiet this entire time, but his eyes are dancing, like he’s amused.
I get the fresh caught shrimp, and he orders the blackened Red Drum.
When our food comes, he takes my hand and squeezes it.
“While it’s a bit soon for a proposal, I’m very happy to be here with you tonight.
I know your friends are eager to see you settled and blissful, but I want to take it slowly with you.
Get to know you. I want to learn your habits and what your favorite ice cream is. ”
“It’s cookie dough,” I supply.
“Mine too,” he admits. “I have some in my freezer right now.”
“So do I.”
His eyes crinkle at the corners, and my belly does that flip flop thing it used to do when my crush in high school would acknowledge my presence, which wasn’t often.
I lift my wine glass. “To many nights eating cookie dough ice cream together.”
He meets my glass with his. “Cheers to that.”