Page 50 of The Grump Next Door

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“There it is,” CeCe says triumphantly.

I groan and flop backward against a pile of burlap that smells like dirt and possibility. “This is such bad timing. I’m trying to run the biggest wedding of my career. I’m supposed to be focused. Professional.”

“Who says you can’t be professional and attracted to someone?”

“Me. Because I get weird when I like someone. Remember Jake?”

CeCe winces. “We don’t talk about Jake.”

“I reorganized his entire apartment on the second date.” I pause, remembering back.

“To be fair, his apartment probably needed reorganizing.”

“I color-coded his spice rack, CeCe.”

“…Okay, that was a lot.”

Gloria laughs, low and knowing. “Honey, some men like a woman who takes charge.”

“And some men run screaming.”

“The ones who run aren’t worth keeping anyway.”

I sit up, brushing burlap fibers off my dress. “Besides, it doesn’t matter. After this weekend, I’m going to Italy. A week of pasta and wine and absolutely zero responsibility for other people’s happiness.”

“Italy,” CeCe muses.

Only because it’s already paid for. Before I can slide into doom and destruction, my phone buzzes. All three of us freeze.

“Check it,” CeCe whispers.

“What if it’s just work?”

“What if it’s not?”

I grab the phone with shaking hands.

DEAN:Muffin broke into my house again. She’s holding my office hostage.

The attached photo shows Muffin sprawled across Dean’s desk, belly up, looking absolutely blissful.

“Oh my gosh,” CeCe squeals. “He sent you a dog photo.”

“That’s…” Gloria studies the screen. “That’s his office, isn’t it? He’s at work, and he stopped to take a picture of the dog and send it to you.”

My stomach does something fluttery and inconvenient.

“It’s just about Muffin.”

“Honey,” CeCe says gently, “men don’t send unsolicited dog photos unless they’re flirting.”

I stare at the picture. Muffin looks ridiculously content, like she owns the place. And in the background, I can see the edge of Dean’s laptop, some scattered papers, and a coffee mug that looks expensive.

It’s intimate. Weirdly domestic.

I type back:She knows a good office when she sees one.

Three dots appear immediately.