Page 125 of Deal Breaker
Poppy adores Stella, trails her everywhere like a shadow, but the older dog has always been mine. This puppy is hers. Landyn thought it was spoiling her, that six years old was too young for the responsibility of a pet, but Poppy’s my girl. If she wanted a black-and-white spotted puppy, she was going to have one.
So, here’s Pancake—ears too big for his head, clumsy paws tripping across the grass—already learning to curl up in Poppy’s lap like he was made for her. Stella pretends she’s above it all, huffing when the puppy steals her toys or tumbles over her bed, but she’s softening. They’re working out their differences.
And when Poppy buries her giggles in Pancake’s fur, cheeks pink from the chill and joy, I know I’d do it a hundred times over just to see her like this.
“Okay, you two. Fun is over. I need hands in the kitchen.”
My brothers and Landyn’s parents are coming over tonight. These dinners have become a regular thing; every Sunday, without fail, the house fills up with noise and food and way too many opinions. That’s Landyn’s doing. Shewants Poppy growing up surrounded by family, with the kind of traditions she still remembers, the kind I never had.
“You heard Mom. Let’s get Pancake into his bed.”
“Right this minute?” Poppy asks, clutching her dog to her chest and looking up at me with pleading eyes. “But, Dad, Pancake wants to play.”
The word still hits me as hard as it did the first time she said it—Dad. The night after she and Landyn moved in with me it slipped it out so naturally, I almost missed it. We were brushing our teeth side by side, her little face smeared with toothpaste, and when she asked me for a towel, it wasn’t Ford, it was Dad. Just like she’d been saving it, waiting until she was sure it fit.
Now, I crouch down and smooth her hair away from her face. “Pancake can wait, kiddo. Your mom needs us.”
She nods, a little begrudgingly, and hands me the pup before slipping her hand into mine. Stella trots ahead, nails clicking on the deck. We follow Landyn inside, the three of us trailing her like gravity’s got a hold on us, like we belong nowhere else but right here.
Half an hour later, Landyn’s mom and dad are perched at the kitchen island, a spread of appetizers in front of them, while the smell of roasted garlic and herbs fills the air. Her mom’s laughing around a bite of bruschetta, cheeks rosy and bright, healthier than I’ve seen her in a long time. She looks like herself again, steady and strong.
The front door swings open and Noah walks in with a bouquet of flowers, Wes behind him carrying a bottle of wine. Not long after, Jesse appears, late as usual, scrolling on his phone and muttering something under his breath about “Financing breathing down my neck.”
I catch the way his mouth tilts, noticing it’s not his usualcarefree, cocky smirk. He looks a little rattled, like someone just tossed him a challenge.
“You good?” I ask, one eyebrow raised, handing him a glass of wine.
He takes the glass from my hand with a smirk, which only makes me more suspicious.
Noah’s already got him pegged. “What’s with the face?”
Jesse waves his phone at me like it’s incriminating evidence. “You brought someone in to ‘assist’ me on the marketing launch.” He actually does air quotes. “Apparently I need supervision?”
I grin. “And?”
“And,” he says, dragging it out, “this woman is intolerable. Bossy. Been there for a couple of days and already thinks she knows my job better than I do.”
Noah laughs. “So… she’s better at your job and it’s pissing you off.”
“That’s not what I said,” Jesse snaps, though his sheepish grin betrays him. “She’s a firecracker with a clipboard. And she’s always in my space. She sits and makes notes—actual handwritten notes—about my campaigns. Like we’re in the ‘90s.”
“Sounds like you’ve met your match,” Noah says.
“She’s not my match. She’s a temporary headache,” Jesse insists, then mutters under his breath, “A beautiful, infuriating headache.”
I raise my eyebrows. I’m pretty sure the look on his face is the exact look I had when Landyn walked back into my life. Speaking of…she steps into the entry way, dress swaying around her legs, hair catching in the light. My girl. My fiancée.
A few weeks ago, I asked Landyn to marry me.
I knew I didn’t want to take her somewhere fancy.That’s not us. I wanted it here, in the place I want us to build our life. I roped Poppy in, and she had plenty of ideas as to how I should do it. She wanted hundreds of fairy lights, so we strung them in the trees and wrapped them around the deck posts until the whole backyard looked like something out of a dream. She picked daisies from the market, more than we could carry, and insisted we put them everywhere. They lined the deck, we scattered them across the table, petals leading a path from the kitchen door to the yard.
She even made a little sign, which we propped beside the swing set: “Will You Marry Us?”
I can still see Landyn’s face when she walked into the yard that night. Her hands flew to her mouth, eyes shining with tears before she even saw the ring. I told her the truth—that I couldn’t imagine another day of my life without her in it, without the two of them in it. Then I dropped to one knee while Poppy giggled beside me, holding the velvet box.
She said yes before I could even get the words out.
Now we have a wedding on the horizon. New Year’s Eve. Landyn wanted a night that felt like fresh starts and second chances, and I wanted to give her the kind of celebration she deserved. There’ll be fairy lights strung in the trees again, champagne flowing, and Poppy tossing white petals down the aisle before her mom walks to meet me. I can already picture the countdown to midnight, and the kiss that seals forever.
