Page 80 of The Grump Next Door
“Is that bad?”
I should say yes. Should pull back. Should remember how temporary she is.
Instead, I shake my head. “No.”
Her hand comes up, fingers tracing my collar—featherlight, curious. “You’re always so put together.”
“Occupational hazard.”
“Even at midnight?”
“Especially at midnight.”
She tugs lightly at my shirt. “Must be exhausting.”
“You have no idea.”
She’s close enough now that her breath grazes my jaw. The world feels quieter, narrower. Just her, me, and a thousand things I shouldn’t want.
“I should go,” she says softly.
“Probably.”
“Early morning.”
“Right.”
Neither of us moves.
“Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“Whatever happens with this wedding… thanks. For catching me. On the ladder. And… in other ways.”
The words land somewhere behind my ribs.
“Just didn’t want a lawsuit,” I mumble, my voice low.
“Liar.” Her fingers linger one beat longer. “You care.”
“Don’t let it get around.”
“Your secret’s safe.” She steps back, small but decisive. “Along with mine.”
“What secret?”
“The one where I’m not as put together as I pretend to be.”
Before I can respond, she’s gone—back across the lawn to the guest house.
Through the window, her light flicks on. Stays on.
She’s keeping something from me. Something that doesn’t fit the version of her everyone else sees.
And I’m going to find out what.
Because Poppy Monroe doesn’t string lights at midnight unless she’s running from something.
