Page 31

DEAN

ONE YEAR LATER… ALMOST

The house smelled like garlic and rosemary and just a little bit like panic because I was absolutely winging it on the roast vegetables. But the table was set, there were fresh marigolden-girls in a vase in the middle, and the cake from Pascal’s was hidden in the fridge.

I stood back for a second, wiped my hands on the tea towel tucked into my jeans pocket, and grinned at the sight of it all.

Harry wandered into the kitchen behind me, barefoot, still in his work shirt with the sleeves rolled up, eyeing the spread like it might bite him.

“You’re making a hell of a fuss,” he said, eyebrow raised. “You sure we’re not hosting the mayor or something?”

I gave him my sweetest smile, leaned in, pecked him on the cheek. “Nope. Just a little family dinner.”

Harry shook his head, but I could see the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re up to something.”

I shrugged, doing my best innocent face.

Before he could press me, there was a knock at the door.

I wiped my hands again and practically skipped over to open it.

There they were—Dad and Madeline.

Madeline was beaming, looking gorgeous as ever in a soft green sundress, her arm linked through Dad’s. And Dad, hell he looked happier than I’d seen him in years. He had that dopey smile he got when he was over the moon about something, and he couldn’t stop glancing sideways at Madeline like he couldn’t believe his luck.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dad said, leaning in to give me one of his rough hugs. “Smells good in here. You sure this isn’t catered?”

I laughed and swatted at his arm. “Rude. Come on in.”

Madeline hugged me tight, kissed my cheek. “It looks beautiful, Dean.”

I ushered them both inside, Dad giving Harry a solid, heartfelt hug, no more of those back-clap, half-hug things they used to do.

I caught Harry’s eye across the kitchen. He smiled, soft and full of love, and my heart did that happy little somersault it still hadn’t gotten tired of doing.

Dinner was easy. Laughter, good food, the clink of glasses, stories shared between bites. The windows were open, letting in the soft evening breeze. Then—when everyone was full and the last of the plates were cleared—I slipped away into the kitchen and came back carrying the cake.

It was chocolate, rich and simple, with Happy Birthday Harry piped across the top.

Harry blinked, surprised. “Oh Dean!”

“Nobody ever remembers,” I said, setting the cake down in front of him, candles already lit and flickering. “But I’m not nobody.”

Harry’s lips twitched, his eyes shining.

Dad gave a loud, approving whistle. “Look at that, huh?”

“Make a wish,” I told Harry, nudging the cake in front of him.

He looked around the table, at me, at Dad and Madeline, at this messy, wonderful life we’d built together, then smiled at me with that soft, brown-eyed smile of his and said—

“I don’t have to. It already came true.”