Page 201 of The Grump Next Door
“Poppy—”
“CeCe, phone. Now.”
“I’m the maid of honor, not the—”
“Phone!”
She passes it over. I snap approximately thirty photos of Dean’s tear-stained face while he tries to look stern and fails completely.
“For the wedding album,” I explain.
“I’m going to get you for this,” he mutters.
“Promise?”
“Oh, I promise.”
Father Murphy tries again. “Now may we begin?”
“Yes,” we say together.
The ceremony’s a blur. Traditional vows because Dean insisted, though I may have added “even when you argue with goats” to the “for better or worse” part. Dean definitely added “in chaos and in calm” to his.
“The rings?” Father Murphy asks.
George, miraculously, still has them. Nate retrieves them with minimal drama, which is possibly the most shocking part of the day.
“Poppy,” Dean says, sliding the ring on my finger. “I promise to love you, protect you, and build a life with you that’s messier and louder and infinitely better than anything I imagined. You’re my chaos, my calm, my everything. Even when you reorganize my office. Especially then.”
I’m sobbing. Elegant? No. But who cares?
“Dean,” I manage. “I promise to love you, challenge you, and remind you every day that there’s more to life than billable hours. You’re my anchor, my adventure, my home. Even when you measure pasta water. Especially then.”
He laughs. Squeezes my hands.
“By the power vested in me,” Father Murphy says quickly, probably sensing we’re about to go off script again, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss—”
Dean doesn’t let him finish.
Pulls me against him like he’s been waiting his whole life for this moment. Kisses me like we’re alone, like the hundred and fifty guests don’t exist, like it’s just us and this promise and the rest of our lives.
Someone whoops. Probably Mason.
Someone bleats. Definitely George.
Someone sobs. Could be anyone, honestly. We’re all disasters here.
When we finally break apart, Dean’s grinning. “Hi, wife.”
“Hi, husband.”
“Ready for forever?”
I think about our life. The house that’s never quiet. The dog who needs CBD to make it through the day. The goat who’s basically a felon. The thriving business. The partnership he took and transformed, bringing humanity to divorce law. The babies we’re already talking about.
The beautiful, chaotic, perfect disaster we built together.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m ready.”
