“Poppy—”
“I should really go change now.”
“Right.”
“Right.”
She backs toward the door, still clutching the towel. “I’ll, um, make sure the contractors stay clear of the sprinklers.”
“Good plan.”
“And I’ll keep the noise down.” Her voice is softer now.
“Appreciated.”
“And Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe put on a shirt? It’s very… distracting. For the, um, contractors.”
I stand there, dripping on my own floor, processing everything. My parents. The dogs. Poppy in a see-through shirt defending her qualifications while shaking inside.
She slips out before I can respond, leaving me standing in my foyer, soaked and somehow more confused than when I woke up.
The way she looked at me when I told my mother to stand down.
“Damn it,” I mutter to the empty room.
Because I think I might be in trouble here. The kind of trouble that doesn’t wash off with cold water.
Muffin chooses that moment to waddle in from wherever she’s been hiding.
“Thanks for the backup,” I tell her.
She snorts and heads for her food bowl.
My phone buzzes. Three texts from Mason.
MASON:Mom just called.
MASON:WTF did you say to them???
MASON:Also, why did Mom mention you were half-naked with my wedding planner?
I stare at the texts.
Then I pour myself some coffee.
It’s going to be a very long couple of days.
Chapter Thirteen
Risotto and Revelations
Poppy
Mason’s text hits while I’m untangling myself from a vendor call about linens. Something about the wrong shade of ivory, which apparently matters more than world peace.
