Page 182 of The Grump Next Door
Home. The word lands soft and warm in my chest.
“Yeah,” I say. “Let’s go home.”
And maybe that’s the whole thing—the answer to what we are and what we’re doing. We’re just two people who can’t imagine being anywhere else.
“Ready to face the goat?”
“Together.” The word comes out more serious than I intend.
“Together,” I agree.
He helps me up but doesn’t let go of my hand.
We find a taxi, and by the time we reach the villa, the sun has disappeared. The goat’s gone, but it has left devastation in its wake.
“Poor roses,” I mourn, surveying the carnage.
“They died for a good cause.” He’s already pulling me toward the door.
“Which is?”
“Getting us out of bed.” He drops the bags and pulls me against him. “Although now that we’re back…”
“You’re predictable.” But I’m already melting into him.
“You’re beautiful.” His hands slide up my back.
He laughs, kisses me, and walks me backward toward the door.
“Inside,” he says against my mouth. “Now.”
I love this side of him, this bossy side. Maybe I shouldn’t, but God help me, I really do.
Tomorrow we’ll have to talk. About what this is, where we go, and what happens when real life crashes back in.
But tonight?
Tonight, I’m his.
Dean wraps himself around me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear. One arm is under my pillow, the other is tight across my waist. Even almost unconscious, the man doesn’t do anything halfway.
“Your brain’s too loud,” he mumbles into my hair.
“Sorry.” I try to still my racing thoughts.
“Don’t apologize. Just talk to me.” His thumb traces circles on my hip.
I turn in his arms and study his face in the dark. “Tell me about Emily.”
His whole body goes rigid, every muscle tensing. “What?”
“That’s not really a 2 a.m. conversation.” His voice has gone careful and guarded.
“When is it a conversation?” I keep my tone gentle, not pushing.
“Never.”
“Dean—” I start, but he cuts me off.
