I cross my arms, heart hammering. “You think I did?”
We stand there, glaring, the lawn between us muddy and ruined, George the Goat standing perfectly still like he’s awaiting judgment.
Dean shakes his head slowly. “This wedding is a circus.”
His words sting because he’s right. I’ve always prided myself on my work, but this is not my best. And I hate that.
“I’ll get rid of George,” I say, my voice small.
“Please do,” he snaps, finally releasing the collar and wiping his hand across the front of his dress pants with disgust.
And with that, he stomps up to the house.
Chapter Eight
This Week is Going to Kill Me
Dean
I should be working.
There’s a brief due at midnight, an entire section of a case I need to rewrite, and an email from Gideon marked URGENT in all caps that I haven’t opened yet because I value my blood pressure.
Instead, I’m sitting at the dining room table in a clean T-shirt and sweatpants, freshly showered, staring blankly at my laptop screen while the cursor blinks as if it’s mocking me.
No matter how hard I try to concentrate, my brain keeps circling back to—
Goats.
Mud.
And Poppy Monroe.
Poppy Monroe, who laughed so hard she doubled over while I was being dragged across my own lawn like a cartoon character.
I scrub a hand through my hair.
She’s infuriating.
All sunlight and chaos, big ideas, and thatdamnclipboard she waves around as if she’s so important. And now she’s got Muffin choosing her side. Again. Considering the little beast is nowhere to be found.
I open a document, stare at the screen, type two words, and delete them both.
A softthumpoutside the window draws my attention. I glance up.
Muffin.
Trotting across the lawn like she owns the place.
A moment later, there’s a light scratch at the door.
I don’t move.
Another scratch.
I sigh, push back my chair, and open the door.
She barrels past me without even pretending to wait for an invitation, waddles over to her designated spot on the rug, and flops down with a grunt.
