Chapter Eleven Reinforcements
Chapter Eleven
Reinforcements
Poppy
CeCe’s laugh carries across Gloria’s flower shop like wind chimes in a hurricane—bright, chaotic, and completely unstoppable. She flew in this morning, and I’m so glad she’s here.
“So let me get this straight,” she says, perched on a stool between buckets of peonies and what I’m pretty sure is artisanal moss. “You accidentally manifested a goat, the grumpy lawyer gave you his phone number, and you texted him about piano playing being sexy?”
I bury my face in my hands. “When you say it like that—”
“It sounds like you’re halfway to jumping his bones.”
“CeCe.”
Gloria snorts from across the room, where she’s arranging what looks like controlled chaos in a vase. “Jumping whose bones?”
“The emotionally constipated lawyer,” CeCe supplies helpfully.
“Dean,” I correct.
“Same thing,” they say in unison.
I grab a stem of lavender and twirl it between my fingers.
The smell is calming. I need calming. Because ever since I sent that text yesterday, my brain has been running a constant loop of what if he thinks I’m hitting on him, what if he doesn’t think I’m hitting on him, and what if I was hitting on him without realizing it?
Spoiler alert: I was totally hitting on him.
“He hasn’t texted back,” I say.
CeCe raises an eyebrow. “Since when?”
“Since… yesterday afternoon.”
“Honey. It’s been less than twenty-four hours.”
“That’s like three years in text time.”
Gloria abandons her arrangement and joins us, settling onto a velvet ottoman that definitely wasn’t designed for flower shops but somehow works perfectly here.
“Show me the conversation,” she commands.
I hesitate. “It’s not that interesting.”
“Bull. Hand it over.”
I reluctantly pass my phone. Both women crowd around the screen like they’re decoding ancient hieroglyphics.
“Oh my God,” CeCe breathes. “Look at these response times.”
“Immediate,” Gloria observes. “Every single one.”
“And he resigned himself to your color-coded itinerary.”
“That’s basically foreplay for control freaks.”
I grab the phone back. “You guys are reading way too much into this.”
“Are we though?” CeCe tilts her head. “Because from where I’m sitting, this looks like a man who’s trying very hard not to be interested and failing spectacularly.”
Gloria nods sagely. “The best ones always fight it the hardest.”
“He’s not fighting anything. He’s just… Dean. Serious and professional and probably regretting ever letting Mason use his property.”
“Uh-huh.” CeCe doesn’t sound convinced. “And that’s why he hand-delivered you a sandwich after the goat incident?”
“That was basic human decency.” And I now regret telling them that.
“Poppy, darling,” Gloria says, her voice gentle but firm, “basic human decency doesn’t involve gourmet turkey and smoked gouda from the area’s most beloved deli.”
I pause. “How do you know what kind of sandwich it was?”
“You described it. In detail. Twice.”
Shit. I did, didn’t I?
“Plus,” CeCe adds, “you’ve mentioned his jawline at least four times since I got here this morning.”
“I have not—”
“Sweetie, you have.”
“I was being descriptive.”
“You were being thirsty.”
I throw a piece of baby’s breath at her. She dodges it with dancer reflexes.
“Okay, fine,” I admit. “Maybe I’m a little… aware of him.”
“Aware,” Gloria repeats, like I just said I’m a little aware of gravity.
“Physically aware.”
“There it is,” CeCe says triumphantly.
I groan and flop backward against a pile of burlap that smells like dirt and possibility. “This is such bad timing. I’m trying to run the biggest wedding of my career. I’m supposed to be focused. Professional.”
“Who says you can’t be professional and attracted to someone?”
“Me. Because I get weird when I like someone. Remember Jake?”
CeCe winces. “We don’t talk about Jake.”
“I reorganized his entire apartment on the second date.” I pause, remembering back.
“To be fair, his apartment probably needed reorganizing.”
“I color-coded his spice rack, CeCe.”
“…Okay, that was a lot.”
Gloria laughs, low and knowing. “Honey, some men like a woman who takes charge.”
“And some men run screaming.”
“The ones who run aren’t worth keeping anyway.”
I sit up, brushing burlap fibers off my dress. “Besides, it doesn’t matter. After this weekend, I’m going to Italy. A week of pasta and wine and absolutely zero responsibility for other people’s happiness.”
“Italy,” CeCe muses.
Only because it’s already paid for. Before I can slide into doom and destruction, my phone buzzes. All three of us freeze.
“Check it,” CeCe whispers.
“What if it’s just work?”
“What if it’s not?”
I grab the phone with shaking hands.
DEAN: Muffin broke into my house again. She’s holding my office hostage.
The attached photo shows Muffin sprawled across Dean’s desk, belly up, looking absolutely blissful.
“Oh my gosh,” CeCe squeals. “He sent you a dog photo.”
“That’s…” Gloria studies the screen. “That’s his office, isn’t it? He’s at work, and he stopped to take a picture of the dog and send it to you.”
My stomach does something fluttery and inconvenient.
“It’s just about Muffin.”
“Honey,” CeCe says gently, “men don’t send unsolicited dog photos unless they’re flirting.”
I stare at the picture. Muffin looks ridiculously content, like she owns the place. And in the background, I can see the edge of Dean’s laptop, some scattered papers, and a coffee mug that looks expensive.
It’s intimate. Weirdly domestic.
I type back: She knows a good office when she sees one.
Three dots appear immediately.
DEAN: She’s drooling on my case files.
POPPY: That’s her way of improving them.
DEAN: My client might disagree.
POPPY: Your client clearly has no appreciation for artistic collaboration.
DEAN: Is that what we’re calling it?
I bite my lip, suddenly hyperaware of CeCe and Gloria watching over my shoulder.
POPPY: I’m calling it Muffin being Muffin.
DEAN: Fair point. How’s the wedding prep?
POPPY: Controlled chaos. Your favorite kind.
DEAN: I don’t have a favorite kind of chaos.
POPPY: Sure you don’t.
The dots appear and disappear. They appear again.
Finally, he replies.
DEAN: See you tonight.
I stare at the screen.
“What does that mean?” I ask out loud.
“It means,” CeCe says, “that he’s thinking about you too.”
“Or it means he lives there and will inevitably see me when he gets home.”
“Or,” Gloria interrupts, “it means he’s looking forward to it.”
I lock my phone and set it face down on the counter. “You guys are delusional.”
“We’re optimistic,” CeCe corrects. “There’s a difference.”
“A small one.”
“Speaking of which,” CeCe says, suddenly standing and brushing off her jeans, “I brought supplies.”
She walks over to her oversized tote bag and starts pulling out items like a magician’s assistant: champagne, fancy face masks, a bag of gummy bears, and—
“Is that glitter?” I ask.
“Emergency glitter,” she confirms. “In case your lawyer needs some joy forced into his life.”
“Please don’t glitter bomb Dean.” Something tells me he would not appreciate it.
“I make no promises.”
Gloria claps her hands together. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
I look between them—CeCe with her mischievous grin, Gloria with her knowing eyes—and realize I’m either about to have the best week of my life or the most embarrassing.
Possibly both.
“Promise me,” I say, “that you won’t do anything that’ll get me kicked off the property.”
“We promise,” they say together.
Too quickly.
Way too quickly.
My phone buzzes again. This time it’s not Dean.
IVY: Emergency! Mason’s parents just decided to come a day early. They’ll be here tomorrow morning and want to meet everyone involved in the wedding. Including you. And they’re… particular.
I show the text to CeCe and Gloria.
“Well,” CeCe says cheerfully, “looks like tomorrow just got interesting.”
“Define particular,” I mutter, already mentally rearranging my entire schedule.
My phone buzzes again.
IVY: Also, they’re bringing their two dogs. Hope that’s okay!
I close my eyes.
“More dogs?” Gloria asks, reading over my shoulder.
“More dogs.”
CeCe grins. “I’m definitely staying for this.”
And suddenly, I have the horrible feeling that this wedding is about to become way more complicated than one slightly possessed goat and a grumpy lawyer who may or may not be flirting with me via dog photos.
But honestly?
I can’t wait to see what happens next.