Page 183 of The Grump Next Door
“Poppy. Please. I’m here with you, and she’s the last person I want to be thinking about. She doesn’t deserve any more of my headspace.” There’s pain in his voice, old and deep.
The “please” gets me. Dean doesn’t say please. I don’t know what to say, so I just hold him tighter, pressing my face into his chest.
“Tell me something else,” I say eventually.
“Like?” He’s relaxing slightly, the tension bleeding out.
“What were you like as a kid?”
He groans and rubs the back of his neck like he wants to dodge it. “Pass.”
“Tell me, or I’m putting my cold feet on you.” I wiggle my toes threateningly.
“Terrorist.” But he’s smiling—a small, reluctant smile that I love. “Fine. I was exactly what you’d expect. Quiet. Serious. Reading constantly.”
“What’d you read?” I prop myself up on an elbow, intrigued now.
“John Grisham. All of them. Multiple times.”
“Nerd.” I poke his chest affectionately.
“I conducted mock trials.”
I sit up completely. “What?”
“I had a whole courtroom setup, with stuffed animals as the jury. This teddy bear—Mr. Bear, real original—was always the defendant.” He’s now talking to the ceiling, avoiding my gaze.
“Why?” I’m trying not to laugh.
“He had shifty eyes.”
I’m laughing so hard the bed shakes. “You prosecuted a teddy bear?”
“Multiple times. He was clearly guilty.” His defensiveness makes it even funnier.
“Of what?”
“Various crimes. Mostly theft. Sometimes fraud.” He says it with such seriousness.
“Oh my God, you were adorable.” I collapse back onto his chest, still giggling.
“I was weird.” I can hear the old self-consciousness in his voice.
“Adorably weird.” I settle back against him, kissing his shoulder.
I laugh into his shoulder. I can picture it: a serious, dark-haired little boy lining up his stuffed animals just so, presiding over them…He reminds me a lot of the Dean I first met when I arrived at the estate—full of control, order, and iron-clad boundaries.
Then I think about the Dean who’s currently naked in bed after flying to Italy on a whim, and I smile.
He pulls me closer, his arms tightening around me. “What about you? Ever been in love?”
Ugh. Fair’s fair, I guess.
“I thought I was, in college. Jake.” The name still tastes bitter.
“Jake.” He spits it out as if it personally offended him. “Tell me Jake died tragically.”
“He teaches kindergarten in Portland.” I can’t help but laugh at Dean’s tone.
