I swipe at my lips, heat flooding my face. “We were?—”
“Totally making out,” Mads supplies helpfully. “It’s fine. We’re thrilled. Asher, show them how thrilled we are.”
Asher pulls a chair from the corner, sits down with elaborate casualness, and produces—I kid you not—a bag of popcorn from his jacket pocket. “Oh, don’t mind us. Pretend we’re not here.”
He eats a piece of popcorn. Slowly. While maintaining direct eye contact with Dean.
“Are you serious right now?” Dean demands.
“Completely serious, Chief.” Asher grins. “This is the best thing that’s happened all month. I’m invested.”
“Asher—” I start.
“Mom, did you know Dean likes romantic comedies?” Mads interrupts, settling in beside Asher like they’re about to watch a show.
“I never said that,” Dean protests.
“Chief, remember that time you said you lovedThe Proposal?” Asher eats another piece of popcorn. “At the station?”
“That was about fire safety protocols in the movie,” Dean says, ears going red. “The sprinkler system was completely inadequate for a building that size.”
“Sure it was, Chief. Sure it was.”
I try very hard not to laugh. Fail completely. The sound bubbles out of me, and suddenly I’m doubled over, tears streaming down my face while Dean stares at me like I’ve betrayed him.
“You’re not helping,” he tells me.
“I’m sorry.” I’m absolutely not sorry. “But you have to admit this is ridiculous.”
“What’s ridiculous is that my employee is eating popcorn while interrogating me about my dating life.”
“Not interrogating,” Asher corrects. “Observing. There’s a difference.”
Mads pulls out her phone, angles it toward us. “Say cheese!”
“Madison Cooper—” I lunge for the phone, but she’s quicker, dancing out of reach.
“This is going in the family album! ‘The day Mom and Chief Beckett finally admitted they’re into each other.’”
“We’re not—” I start, then catch Dean’s eye. He raises an eyebrow, and suddenly I’m remembering the way his hands felt on my waist. The promise in his voice when he said Friday. The heat in his gaze that suggested he was thinking about clearing my counter and doing wildly inappropriate things.
“Okay, fine. We might be into each other.” I cross my arms, trying for dignity and probably achieving nothing close. “But that’s between us, not entertainment for you two.”
“Too late.” Asher eats more popcorn. “Mads, I give them two weeks before they’re officially together.”
“I give them three days,” Mads counters.
Both statements are clearly audible. Both directed at us like we’re not standing right here.
“I’m standing right here,” Dean says, voice strained.
“So am I!” I add.
They high-five.
Dean makes a sound of pure frustration, stalks to where Rex is still lying across my feet—completely unrepentant about his role in this disaster—and tries to pick him up.
Rex goes full dead weight. Seventy pounds of uncooperative dog who whines like Dean is the villain in a Dickens novel, separating star-crossed lovers against their will.
