“Let’s go then.”
“Wait, really?”
“Girl, he called you type-A on the internet. That’s basically a declaration of war.”
I love her so much.
We march across the lawn like we’re storming the beaches of Normandy. I don’t knock. Just bang through the front door, because apparently we don’t do boundaries anymore.
“DEAN!”
He appears from the kitchen, dish towel over his shoulder because of course. “Poppy? What’s—”
“Reddit? REDDIT?!” My voice bounces off his vaulted ceilings.
He freezes like I’ve caught him red-handed, which—fair. The color drains from his face in a way that would be satisfying if I wasn’t so furious.
“I can explain.” He takes a tentative step back, and I match it with a step forward.
“Oh, you can explain why you told the entire internet I’m annoying?” I cross my arms, nails digging into my biceps.
“I didn’t say annoying—” His jaw tightens, and there’s that clench again. Even now, even when I want to murder him, some traitorous part of my brain notices.
“Type-A? Constantly smiling? IN YOUR BRAIN?” Each accusation comes out louder than the last.
CeCe helpfully holds up her phone. “You got 500 comments, bro.”
“It was anonymous,” he says weakly.
“IT WAS ABOUT GEORGE. How many wedding planners have GOATS, Dean?”
“I was… venting.”
“To Reddit!”
“You vent to CeCe!”
“That’s different!”
“How?”
“She’s not a million strangers on the internet!”
“It was only 500!”
“OH, WELL THEN.”
We’re standing too close now. Both breathing hard. He’s got flour on his shirt and his hair’s a mess and I want to shake him and also possibly climb him like a tree.
“I didn’t mean—” he starts.
“What? Didn’t mean to publicly humiliate me?”
“You’re not humiliated. No one knows it’s you.”
“I know it’s me!”
“Poppy—”
