DEAN:She’s drooling on my case files.
POPPY:That’s her way of improving them.
DEAN:My client might disagree.
POPPY:Your client clearly has no appreciation for artistic collaboration.
DEAN:Is that what we’re calling it?
I bite my lip, suddenly hyperaware of CeCe and Gloria watching over my shoulder.
POPPY:I’m calling it Muffin being Muffin.
DEAN:Fair point. How’s the wedding prep?
POPPY:Controlled chaos. Your favorite kind.
DEAN:I don’t have a favorite kind of chaos.
POPPY:Sure you don’t.
The dots appear and disappear. They appear again.
Finally, he replies.
DEAN:See you tonight.
I stare at the screen.
“What does that mean?” I ask out loud.
“It means,” CeCe says, “that he’s thinking about you too.”
“Or it means he lives there and will inevitably see me when he gets home.”
“Or,” Gloria interrupts, “it means he’s looking forward to it.”
I lock my phone and set it face down on the counter. “You guys are delusional.”
“We’re optimistic,” CeCe corrects. “There’s a difference.”
“A small one.”
“Speaking of which,” CeCe says, suddenly standing and brushing off her jeans, “I brought supplies.”
She walks over to her oversized tote bag and starts pulling out items like a magician’s assistant: champagne, fancy face masks, a bag of gummy bears, and—
“Is that glitter?” I ask.
“Emergency glitter,” she confirms. “In case your lawyer needs some joy forced into his life.”
“Please don’t glitter bomb Dean.” Something tells me he wouldnotappreciate it.
“I make no promises.”
Gloria claps her hands together. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
I look between them—CeCe with her mischievous grin, Gloria with her knowing eyes—and realize I’m either about to have the best week of my life or the most embarrassing.
