“Ladies.” He stops just close enough that I can smell his cologne. It’s crisp and perfect and way too distracting. “Gloria, beautiful work on the flowers.”
“I know.” She doesn’t do false modesty. “Though Poppy deserves the credit. She has exquisite taste.”
They both look at me. I suddenly need to be anywhere else.
“I should check on—”
“Everything’s perfect.” Dean’s voice is soft. Different. I love it way more than is possibly healthy. “Stop working.”
“I’m not working. I’m… observing.” But the lie sounds weak even to me.
“You’re hiding.” He says it gently, but it still lands like an accusation.
Heat crawls up my neck. “I’m not—”
“Poppy.” He steps closer. “Take the compliment. You did it. Look around.”
So I do.
Really look.
The tent glows with the fairy lights I fought to hang at midnight. The centerpieces Gloria and I designed catch the light just right. The dance floor is packed. People are laughing. Ivy’s mom is teaching Dean’s mom some TikTok dance, which should be horrifying but is actually hilarious.
It’s… perfect.
“Oh,” I breathe.
“Yeah.” Dean’s voice is right by my ear. When did he get that close? “Oh.”
Gloria clears her throat. “I’m gonna go dance with that silver fox at the bar. You two… continue whatever this is.”
She floats away, leaving us standing too close while the world happens around us.
“You played guitar,” I say, because apparently I can’t let it go.
“You noticed.” His tone is careful, guarded.
“Dean.” I turn to face him fully, forcing him to look at me.
He meets my eyes for a beat, then looks away. “What?”
“You know what.” My voice drops, softer now.
He sighs. Runs a hand through his hair, messing it up further. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
“Ivy told me about Emily.”
He goes still. That scary kind of still that means he’s processing seventeen emotions at once.
“Ivy talks too much.” The words come out tight, clipped.
“She said you haven’t played since—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“Poppy.” He turns to face me fully, jaw set. “Do we have to do this now?”
“When else? I leave tomorrow.” The reminder sits heavy between us.
Something flickers across his face—pain, maybe, or resignation. “Right. Italy.”
