Mason stops loading the dishwasher. “Is that really how you see yourself?”
“It’s accurate.”
“It’s bullshit.”
“Mason—”
“No. You know what? Forget this.” He turns, genuinely angry. “You’ve been punishing yourself for six years. Six. Years.”
“I’m not—”
“Emily left. It sucked. But she left because she was selfish, not because you’re broken.”
Her name hits like cold water. “Don’t.”
“Someone has to. You act like caring about someone is this massive character flaw—”
“Caring about someone got me a failed engagement and a mortgage on a house meant for a family I don’t have.”
The words hang there—too honest, too much.
Ivy appears in the doorway, tea forgotten, steam curling around her fingers.
“Dean…”
“I’m fine.” The words come out sharper than I intend.
“You’re not,” Mason says quietly from behind her. “And that’s okay. But Poppy—”
“She’s temporary,” I cut in. “Here for the week. Then gone.”
Mason crosses his arms, leaning against the doorframe. “So?”
“So this conversation is pointless.” My voice sounds tired even to me.
“She makes you smile,” he says, stepping closer, “Maybe that means something. You’re different around her. Softer. Less… weaponized.”
I glare at him. “Weaponized?”
“Yeah. Most people get your courtroom version. She gets the off-duty one.”
I scoff and release a sharpy exhale. “Great assessment, Dr. Phil. Are you done now?”
Mason’s quiet for a moment, his eyes steady on mine. “She pulls you out of your head. You actually show up when she’s around. You’re not thinking ten steps ahead or judging everyone’s life choices. You’re just… there.”
My stomach tightens. “I’m always ‘there.’”
“Not like that. Not with anyone else.”
He’s smirking again, but there’s something softer underneath—concern. Genuine concern from my little brother, the one I’ve spent years trying to take care of.
“I’m not saying marry her,” he adds. “I’m saying maybe, just maybe, let yourself enjoy something for once.”
I grab a dish towel and wipe the counter, even though it doesn’t need it. “I enjoy plenty of things.”
“Name one.”
I keep wiping. The silence stretches until it starts to feel like pressure. “Arguing with you.”
