“But…” She loops her arms around my neck. “I want option two.”
The world stops.
“You—what?”
“Option two. All in. The whole disaster.” She’s full-on crying now, but also smiling so bright it hurts to look at. “Is that crazy?”
“Completely.” I kiss her, tasting salt and coffee and future. “Let’s be crazy together.”
She laughs against my mouth. “My mother’s going to freak.”
“She’s going to love me.”
“Dean!”
“What?” I lift her onto the counter. “Call her later. I’ll talk to her if you want.”
She gives me a look. “Yeah? And say what?”
I shrug. “I’ll tell her that I found someone who makes me want things.”
“Things?” She blinks.
“Noise. Chaos. A life that’s more than billable hours.”
“Stop saying perfect things.” She wraps her legs around me. “I’m already saying yes.”
“Say it again.”
“Yes.”
“Again.”
“Yes, you controlling—”
I kiss her quiet. Then not quiet. Then we’re definitely going to scandalize this kitchen again.
“Wait,” she gasps. “We need to talk logistics. When do we—”
“Later.”
“But—”
“Poppy.” I pull back to look at her. “We just decided to blow up both our lives and see what happens. Logistics can wait an hour.”
She studies me. This woman who crashed into my life with her lists and her chaos and her ability to see right through me.
“An hour?”
“Maybe two.”
“Dean Whitaker.” She grins. “Are you suggesting we celebrate our completely insane decision with more sex?”
“I’m suggesting we seal the deal. Legally binding and all that.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You love it.”
