50. Dean
Dean
Dean woke up hard.
He'd barely slept, his mind replaying every moment of the afternoon—the way she'd looked at him with trust instead of hurt, the sounds she'd made when he'd worshipped her body, the way she'd taken control and made him fall apart under her touch.
Christ, she'd been spectacular.
He rolled over, pressing his face into the pillow, and let himself remember. The taste of her on his tongue. The way her back had arched when he'd found that perfect spot. How she'd said his name like a prayer when she'd come apart in his arms.
He could live there. Between her thighs, making her gasp and moan and remember why they'd been so good together. Making her forget every reason she had to doubt him.
Dean sat up, running his hands through his hair, energy thrumming through his veins like caffeine. He felt renewed. Focused. Like someone had finally told him what his purpose in life was supposed to be.
Fiona.
Everything was about Fiona now. Not his career, not his reputation, not the approval of people who thought cruelty was clever. Just her. Making her happy. Making her trust him again. Proving every day that he could be the man she deserved.
He grabbed his phone, checking the time. Early enough to stop by the bakery she loved before work. The one that made those lemon shortbread cookies that had made her smile like sunshine the first time he'd brought them home.
She'd told him this didn't change anything, but she'd also let him touch her, taste her, love her the way he'd been desperate to do since the day she'd walked out.
That had to count for something.
Dean stood up, practically burning with renewed purpose. He had work to do. A wife to win back. A life to rebuild around the only person who'd ever made him feel like he was worth something.
And he was going to start today.
Dean sat in the parking lot of Fiona's elementary school, engine idling, staring at the small white bakery box on his passenger seat like it contained explosives instead of lemon shortbread.
He'd driven here on pure adrenaline and determination, but now that he was actually here, doubt crept in around the edges.
Was this too much? Too soon? She'd said this didn't change anything, and here he was, showing up at her workplace less than twelve hours later with cookies like some kind of lovesick teenager.
But Christ, he couldn't help himself. The memory of her smile—the real one, the one that lit up her whole face when she was genuinely happy—had been burned into his brain since that first time he'd brought these home. He needed to see it again.
Through the school's front windows, he could see the morning bustle—teachers arriving with coffee and canvas bags full of papers, kids being dropped off by parents who looked like they needed more caffeine. Normal life happening all around the woman who was the center of his universe.
Dean grabbed the box and got out of the car before he could talk himself out of it.
The front office smelled like industrial cleaner and the particular brand of chaos that came with corralling hundreds of children. The secretary looked up as he approached, her expression shifting from polite to curious when she saw the bakery box.
"Can I help you?"
"I'd like to leave this for Fiona,” he said, setting the box on the counter. "She's a fifth-grade teacher here."
"Oh, how sweet!" The secretary eyed him suspiciously. "She's been getting the most thoughtful gifts lately. The anonymous classroom donation, and now this."
Dean felt himself blushing. Fiona didn't know it was him, but she was being taken care of. That's all that mattered.
"Is there a message this time?” the secretary with a knowing look.
Dean had agonized over what to write, finally settling on something simple. Just a small card tucked under the ribbon.
"Just the card with the box," he said.
"I'll make sure she gets it," the secretary promised, already reaching for the intercom. "She'll be so surprised."
Dean thanked her and headed back to his car, but he couldn't resist glancing back at the school building. Somewhere in there, Fiona was probably straightening desks and laying out supplies, getting ready to spend another day transforming her students’ lives with her boundless patience and creativity.
And in a few minutes, she'd have a box of her favorite cookies and the knowledge that someone—even if it was the husband she was divorcing—was thinking about her happiness.