Page 18 of Wrong Number, Right Grumpy Firefighter

Two blocks later, Dean pulls into the driveway of a two-story house with pillars and large windows, parking alongside a blue SUV.

“Do we know these people or something?” I ask.

He leans across the center console, cupping my cheek before he kisses me. “Come on.”

I follow him to the front porch, annoyed that he won’t tell me what this is about. But before I can press him again, the front door opens. A woman about my mom’s age in a pencil skirt and silk blouse answers the door.

“You made it,” she says, her smile radiant. “This must be the lucky woman.”

“Heather,” Dean says.

“I’m Jillian Reynolds.”

“Not to be rude, but is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“She’s our real estate agent.”

I snap my head to Dean. “Since when?”

“Since this house came on the market,” he explains, guiding me inside with his hand on my lower back.

“What’s so special about this house?”

“Should we just go upstairs now?” Jillian asks Dean.

He looks at me, as though deciding how long he wants to torture me. We’ve talked about buying a house someday. But that can’t be why we’re here. This house, though incredibly beautiful, is way out of any price range we could consider.

“Can someone please tell me what’s going on?” I insist.

“Let me show you the upstairs, and then I’ll explain everything,” Dean says.

“You better.”

With Dean at my back, I follow Jillian up the grandest staircase I’ve ever seen in a house, to a room at the back of the house. I gasp at the insane natural lighting and floor to ceiling windows on the back-facing wall. There’s a screened-in balcony that overlooks the backyard.

“That’s state protected land,” Jillian says of the trees at the far end of the property line. “That means, no one will ever build there.”

“I’m in love with this room,” I say, looking at Dean, but I don’t understand what’s happening.”

“How would you feel about making this your map making room?” Dean asks.

“Don’t tease me about that,” I say. We’ve had countless conversations about my dream room. One where I can draw maps on charcoal, print out digital maps to sell online, and bookshelves to show off all the books that contain maps I’ve drawn.

“I’ll have to add built-in’s,” Dean says. “And I could build you a design space right in the middle so you can take the commissions for those giant maps when you want to. The balcony’s even screened in so you can sit outside with Aries and not get eaten by bugs while you draw.”

My heart melts at how incredibly thoughtful this man is. I know now why it never worked out with anyone else. All my life, I was meant to be here, with Dean Walker. But that still doesn’t make this make any more sense.

“What’s the catch?”

Dean looks at Jillian, and she slips out of the room to take a call. Never mind that I didn’t hear her phone ring.

“It’s a little on the expensive end,” Dean admits. “But Nana actually offered us the down payment as a…wedding gift.”

“We’re getting married?” I laugh, because as much as we’ve talked about the future, Dean has never once mentioned getting married, much less asked me to marry him. Considering my last proposal ended up a man getting arrested, I haven’t been too concerned about marrying Dean. I know in my heart we’ll be together to the end, wedding or not.

But apparently Nana has other ideas.

“So you’re just going to marry me so you can give me my dream map studio?”