Chapter Thirty-Two Mine
Chapter Thirty-Two
Mine
Dean
She’s on the terrace when I find her.
Because of course she is. Backlit by the sunset like some Renaissance painting, hair loose and catching gold, wearing this white linen thing that makes my chest tight.
Four days. It’s only been four days, and she’s more beautiful than memory served.
I clear my throat.
She turns.
And the look on her face—shock morphing to something else, something raw—nearly drops me.
“Dean?” Her voice breaks on my name. Just cracks right down the middle.
“Hi.”
Smooth. Real smooth. Fly four thousand miles to say ‘hi.’
She blinks. Once. Twice. Her hand grips the terrace railing like she needs the anchor. Like I might disappear if she lets go.
“What are you—how did you—”
I hold up the earring. My hand’s not quite steady. “You left this.”
The words hang between us. Stupid. Inadequate. The Mediterranean breeze picks up, sending her hair across her face. She doesn’t move to fix it.
Her face changes. Something shutters behind her eyes, and when she looks at me again, it’s pure steel.
“You’re joking.”
“I thought you might want—”
Her expression changes. “Don’t.”
She’s across the terrace in three steps, sandaled feet slapping against stone. Her sundress whips around her legs. Fury radiates off her in waves, but there’s something else too. Something raw underneath the anger.
“Don’t you dare. You flew to Italy to return an earring?”
“Poppy—”
“No.” She’s right in my space now.
Close enough that I can see the sun freckles across her nose. Smell the lemons from her shampoo mixed with wine and salt air. Her chest rises and falls too fast.
“You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to show up here and pretend—”
“I’m not pretending—”
“Bullshit.” Her voice cracks. Her hands ball into fists at her sides. “You’re not here for the earring. Don’t lie to me.”
The words hit like a slap. Physical. Deserved.
She’s right. Of course she’s right. My throat closes up.
“I—”
“What, Dean? What possible reason—”
She stops. Laughs, but it’s sharp and not at all amused. Tears gather in her eyes but don’t fall. Not yet. I always knew how strong she was, but this cements it for me.
“You told me to be careful. Remember? Your big goodbye. ‘Be careful.’ Like I was some… some stranger you were sending into traffic.”
“That’s not—”
“Then you let me leave.” Her voice drops to almost nothing. “Let me walk away thinking I imagined everything. The way you looked at me. The way we—”
She breaks off. Inhales a shaky breath. Wraps her arms around herself like she’s cold despite the summer heat.
“And now you’re here? With an earring? Like that makes sense?”
I shift, knowing how badly I’ve messed this up. “Nothing about this makes sense.”
“Next you’re going to tell me you came because Muffin misses me.”
My mouth twitches. “She does, but that’s beside the—”
“Then why—”
“Because I’m an idiot.”
That stops her. Her mouth opens. Closes. A tear finally escapes, tracking down her cheek.
“What?”
“I’m an idiot.”
The words pour out now. I can’t stop them. My hands shake as I shove them in my pockets.
“A coward. A disaster who’s spent years convinced I was too smart to need what everyone else wants. Too evolved. And too… broken, maybe.”
She’s still. Watching. Another tear falls. She doesn’t wipe it away.
“I sat in that house after you left, and it was exactly what I wanted, right?”
I laugh, but it sounds wrong. Hollow.
“Peace. Quiet. No chaos. No goats. No woman reorganizing my life and making me feel things I specifically decided not to feel.”
“Dean—”
“And it was hell.” The words scrape out. “Complete hell. Because it turns out I don’t want quiet. I want you arguing with me about tent placement. I want you covered in goat… muck. I want you on my couch eating sandwiches and making everything complicated.”
“You said—”
“I know what I said. I lied.” I step closer. She doesn’t back away. “To you. To myself. To everyone. Because it was easier than admitting the truth.”
“Which is?” Her gaze is on mine.
“That you wrecked me.” My voice drops. “In one week, Poppy. You were in my life for just over a week, and you wrecked everything I thought I knew about myself.”
Her breath catches.
“My friend has a baby,” I continue because apparently, I’m doing this.
“Showed me eight thousand photos. Of his daughter. His wife. Their life. This whole messy, chaotic, beautiful disaster of a life. And all I could think was how I used to mock him for wanting that. For choosing that. For being brave enough to admit he needed someone.”
“Dean—”
“I can’t.” The admission burns coming out.
It’s the brutal, awful, messy truth, and I can’t hold it in any longer.
The idea of Poppy as my wife—mine forever, pregnant with my baby—should scare the ever-loving hell out of me.
But it doesn’t. In fact, warmth spreads through me at the thought of it.
I take a breath and continue, “I can’t go back.
To the quiet. To the empty house. To pretending this”—I gesture between us—”isn’t everything. ”
She makes a sound. Small. Wounded.
“So yeah. I flew to Italy. With your earring. Because I needed an excuse. Because even now, even after everything, I’m still the guy who needs a prop to say what should be simple.”
“What should be simple?” Her voice is small, uncertain.
I meet her eyes. Endless blue pools of worry. No more running.
“You—” I pull a breath into my lungs, trying to compose myself. “I want this… a shot with you. If, uh, that’s something you want too.”
She wipes her face. Glares. “Right now, I mostly want to push you off this terrace.”
“Poppy—” I smirk.
“I’m not done.” She jabs a finger at my chest. “You don’t get to just show up and declare feelings and fix everything. You hurt me.”
“I know.”
“You let me leave.” The pain behind her eyes is evident, and I hate that I’m the one who put it there.
“I know.”
“You—”
I kiss her.
I probably shouldn’t. She’s still mid-rant. But something inside me snaps. Built-up want, plus days of regret. My declaration still hanging between us.
She makes a noise against my mouth. Fury or need or both. Then her hands are in my hair, and she’s kissing me back like it’s war. Like she’s still mad but also desperate. Like maybe she’s been as wrecked as me.
“This doesn’t fix it,” she gasps when we break apart.
“I know.”
“I’m still angry.” Her eyes flash on mine.
“Good.”
“Good?”
I frame her face with my hands. “Be angry. Be furious. Push me off the terrace if you want. But do it tomorrow. Just—” My voice breaks. “Just don’t make me leave right now.”
She studies me. Long enough that I think maybe—
“You’re really bad at this.”
“The worst,” I agree.
“The earring thing was stupid.”
“Incredibly.” I chuckle.
“And you’re going to have to work for this.”
“Whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?” Something shifts in her eyes. “Dangerous offer.”
“I’m done being safe.”
She kisses me again. Different this time. Slower. Deeper. Like she’s trying to tell me something words can’t reach.
When she pulls back, we’re both breathing hard.
“For the record,” she says, her voice soft but steady, “I kept trying to hate you. That whole week. Tried to convince myself you were just some grumpy control freak who happened to look good in a suit.”
She thinks I look good in a suit. The thought catches me off guard, warmth spreading through my chest.
“And?” I manage, trying to sound casual when I’m anything but.
Her eyes search mine, vulnerable and honest in a way that makes my heart stutter. “And then I’d remember how you looked at George.” A small smile tugs at her lips. “The way your whole face changed when that ridiculous goat followed you around. Like you were trying so hard not to care, but you did.”
I want to protest, but she’s not done.
“How you brought me dinner that night when I was drowning in spreadsheets. You didn’t have to. I brought nothing but chaos, but you fed me. Who does that for someone they claim to barely tolerate?”
“Poppy—”
“How you quietly fixed things. How you quietly fixed things… the tent, the salmon, the guitar… How you smiled when you thought I wasn’t watching.” Her thumb traces my jaw, leaving a trail of fire. “You thought I didn’t notice, but I noticed everything.”
My throat feels tight. “I didn’t—”
Her eyes are bright with unshed tears. “A real smile. Not your polite lawyer smile or your ‘handling difficult clients’ smile. But actual joy. Like maybe I wasn’t driving you completely insane.”
“You were,” I admit. “Just not in the way I expected.”
She laughs, soft and sweet. “I’d remember how you made me feel like maybe I wasn’t too much. Like maybe all my chaos was exactly right if it made you look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I was something wonderful.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “Like I was worth changing for.”
“Poppy—” My voice breaks on her name.
“I’m still mad.” She says it firmly, but her hands haven’t left my face.
“Okay.” I’ll take mad. I’ll take anything as long as she’s here.
“Really mad.”
“I deserve it.”
“But also…” She presses closer, her body fitting against mine like it was made to be there. “I missed you so much I couldn’t breathe. Coming here alone was awful; it was like losing something I never really had.”
Something in me breaks. The last wall. The final defense. Three years of carefully constructed armor just crumbles under the weight of her confession.
“Tonight, you’re mine.” The words come out raw. Possessive. Everything I’ve been holding back.
She shivers against me. “Yours.” The single word is a promise, a surrender, a claim of her own.
“And tomorrow, we figure everything else out.”
“Everything,” she agrees.
“But tonight—”
She shuts me up with another kiss. This one’s different again. Hungry. Certain. Like we’re done talking. Done pretending. Done being apart. It’s my new favorite kiss, erasing the memory of every careful, hesitant touch we’ve shared before.
My hands find her waist, spanning the warmth of her through the thin fabric.
“Dean.” My name on her lips undoes me completely.
“Yeah?” My voice is rough, unrecognizable.
“The earring thing really was incredibly stupid.”
I laugh against her throat, feeling her pulse jump under my lips. “You mentioned that.”
“Monumentally stupid.”
“Noted.”
“But also…” She pulls back, frames my face with her hands. Meets my eyes with that direct gaze that’s always seen too much. “Thank you. For being brave. Finally.”
“Only took a complete emotional collapse and a Reddit thread.”
Her eyes widen with delight. “Reddit?” She’s practically vibrating with glee. “Don’t tell me you asked Reddit again?”
“Mistakes were made.”
“Oh my God. What was your username? GrumpyLawyer69?”
“I’m not telling you that.”
“ControlFreakCottageOwner?”
“Poppy.”
“Oh, I’m going to need details.” Her hands slide under my shirt, finding skin, and my brain short-circuits. “Every. Single. Detail.”
“Later,” I manage.
“Later?” She’s doing something with her fingernails that should be illegal.
“Much later.” She’s walking backward, pulling me with her, and I follow helplessly.
“Because right now I need you to show me exactly how sorry you are.”
“So sorry,” I agree immediately.
“How much you missed me.”
“Every second.”
“How you’re never letting me walk away again.”
“Never,” I agree, following her inside. The word feels like a vow.
“Good.” She stops in the doorway, framed by the fading light, looking like every dream I’ve tried not to have. “But Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“If you ever tell me to ‘be careful’ again instead of how you actually feel, I’m getting a restraining order.”
“Fair.”
“And moving George into your living room.”
“Absolutely not.” The words are automatic.
She raises an eyebrow, and I see my future flash before my eyes. A future that definitely involves a goat in my living room.
“Fine. For a supervised visit,” I concede, since I’m pretty sure I’d agree to just about anything right now. World peace. Skydiving.
“Deal.” She pulls me inside, her smile turning wicked. “Now stop negotiating and kiss me like you mean it.”
So I do.
And for the first time in my extremely careful life, I mean every reckless second of it.