If Dean grips his glass any tighter, it's going to crack in his hand.

Normally, I'd find the whole flexing forearm thing sexy. And if I'm being honest, I still kind of do. But in this case the death grip he's working is because he's agitated. I'm not sure I've ever seen him this way.

He sets down his ice water, stealing a glance over my shoulder at the door behind me. As per usual, he insisted on this seating arrangement when we arrived at the restaurant. When I asked why, awhile ago, he gave me some vague answer about not feeling at ease the other way around. When I pressed, he said it was a "guy thing."

And men say women don't make sense.

"It's not too late to back out," he says. "I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to."

Shifting in my chair, I adjust my yellow cardigan for the zillionth time. Normally, I wouldn't worry about meeting new people, even a boyfriend's parents, but his nervous energy is rubbing off on me.

"I thought we were past this, Hollis. Do you not want me to meet your parents?" After all, that's why we're sitting at this stuffy upscale restaurant that neither of us would pick in a million years, even for date night. This is the kind of place where they iron the napkins. The portions better not be microscopic like they are at some of these gourmet places. I haven't eaten since lunch, Dean and I had a quickie before we left, and I'm starving.

"Do I want you to meet my parents in the broader, taking the next step sense? Yes. Do I want you to meet my parents, the individuals?" Dean groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Not really."

"Seems a little lopsided when you've known mine for so long," I point out. We were just at their place for dinner again the other night. Dean fits right into my family. I hope I can fit into his.

He leans over the table and takes my hand in his, his expression softening. "It's nothing against you, Lululemon. You're great. But they can be a bit prickly."

"So that's where you get it from."

He smirks, but he doesn't argue.

A moment later, his parents appear at the hostess stand and our server leads them to our table. Obviously, I recognize his father from the media. His mother is rail thin, gorgeous, and impeccably dressed. She looks like she walked straight of the Chanel boutique, which I suppose explains Dean's immaculate sense of style.

They're a little more intimidating than I expected, but I can win them over. I hope.

We do a quick round of introductions and they both insist I call them by their first names, which is easier said than done with a Senator. That's how I think of him in my head—as Senator Hollis. And then I proceed to call him that by mistake multiple times while Dean squeezes my hand reassuringly underneath the table.

Guess I'm more nervous than I thought. It feels vaguely like I'm on a job interview, and one that I'm not sure I'm qualified for.

I'm relieved when his parents both order alcohol, because it gives me the green light to do the same. Halfway into my glass of wine, I start to chill out, and everything goes smoothly over drinks and appetizers until Joshua comes up in conversation. It's an obvious sore spot for all three of them. Dean immediately changes the subject, and his mother launches into a tale about a fundraiser for the children's hospital that went wrong because of 'incompetent volunteers.' Seems a little harsh when they're offering up their labor for free, but I bite my tongue and nod.

"So, Brooke." Dean's mother, Caroline, primly sets down her fork. I'm nearly finished my entire plate of pasta, while she's eaten approximately two croutons and three sunflower seeds out of her salad. She has, however, already finished an an entire martini. "Dean tells me you're a gym teacher?" I might be mistaken, but I detect a slight hint of disdain in her tone.

"Group fitness instructor," he corrects her.

"Oh." Her brows lift. "Like Pilates, then."

"Sort of," I say. "But with weights and running. Interval training, basically."

Surprise crosses her face. "But you have such a lovely figure. Don't the weights make you bulky?"

"That's a myth," I say neutrally. More specifically, it's an outdated way of thinking. I know better than to say that out loud, though. "Weight training is important to help preserve bone and muscle mass."

Dean's father, Grant, gestures to us with his fork. "That's how you two met, isn't it? You work for Dean?"

While Dean is part owner of the studio, Jay is the one I answer to on the day to day, and I don't really think of him as my boss. I suppose technically, he is. I'm surprised he doesn't hold that over my head more often, actually.

"I like to think of it more as we work together," Dean says, surprising even me. "But Brooke is Brendan's sister, remember?"

Neither of them appears to, and I feel a little bad for Dean since this is obviously something he's told them before. If anything, more than being overtly unpleasant, his parents seem a little detatched. A little out of touch with reality in general, in the way that the highly privileged often tend to be.

The rest of the meal goes in kind, filled with polite, albeit slightly stiff, conversation and heavy dose of political talk that goes completely over my head. Dean relaxes more as time goes on and by the end, he's back to his regular self. He's also letting his hand creep dangerously high on my thigh beneath the tablecloth.

With how little Dean's mother ate, dessert is obviously out of the question, which is somewhat disappointing because the creme brulee I spotted at another table on my way to the bathroom looks like it's to die for. Then again, I'm not sure I want prolong this meal any longer than necessary, either.

*

The first thing Dean and I do after we leave the restaurant is hit up the dessert bar, Sugar Overdose, down the street for some takeout to bring back to his place. I order a slutty brownie—which is a sinful concoction containing chocolate chips, graham crackers, a cheesecake layer, and chocolate ganache—while Dean smirks at the name like the smartass that he is. In fact, he usually orders for me, and he specifically goes out of his way not to.

Then, we head home and change into comfortable clothes, cuddling up on his couch with our desserts and my legs sprawled across his lap. It's pure, domestic bliss.

We're interrupted when my phone starts ringing on the coffee table beside Dean. He glances over his shoulder with a frown. "It's Brendan."

As irrational as it is, ever since the accident, I get nervous when Brendan calls me unexpectedly, so I take the phone from Dean and answer it. It isn't urgent, but he tells me he forwarded me an email offer from Jade's lawyer and he wants to know my thoughts.

We set aside our desserts, and Dean prints out two copies for us to look over. Going back and forth, we weigh he pros and cons. Brendan also included his own notes in the body of the email.

"What do you think?" Dean asks carefully, half an hour later.

An unsettled feeling overtakes me. I have mixed feelings. She's offering me the apology I wanted...in exchange for significantly less money than I'm rightfully owed. But like Brendan already explained, a settlement might be my only shot at getting any money. Tying something like this up in court could take years, and get costly. Even if Brendan wanted to cut me a break, the firm would require him to charge legal fees at some point.

"I think I'm going to take it," I finally say. "I want to put this behind me. And hopefully, her issuing a public statement setting the record straight would help repair my reputation."

Though at this point, I've been neglecting my online presence in a big way. With a reliable source of income from teaching at the the studio, social media isn't as much of a priority. And now that I'm not constantly obsessing over how to get more likes and comments, I'm happier for it.

Much as I used to get a rush from the attention, maybe I'm better suited to a life outside of the social media spotlight.

"Make sense. I think I would, too. But I'll support you with whatever you decide." He pauses. "If I'm being honest, I still wish there was some way Travis would get what was coming to him."

I snort. "Dare to dream. That guy's like Teflon. Nothing ever seems to stick, even when it should." Glancing down, I stare at the papers in my hand for a few more seconds. In addition to being as dry as dirt, it only dredges up unpleasant memories. The idea of never looking at these again his highly appealing. "I'll sleep on it and talk with Bren in the morning. He said we can meet near his office for lunch."

"Let me know if you want me to join," Dean says, taking a bite of his tres leches cake. "On another note, my parents liked you. Even my mom."

"Of course she did. I'm perfectly charming." Though she was more than a little dismayed to learn that I didn't belong to the local Junior League. I don't even know what that is.

His lips tug. "That you are. But it's still big deal. She doesn't like anyone. I'm not even sure she likes me."

"If you want the honest truth, I think she's just relieved you settled down."

"That, too." Dean sets his empty plate aside, propping his feet up on the black leather ottoman. He takes my foot in his hands, massaging it, and I suppress a groan. I've been at the gym almost every day this week, and my feet are feeling it. "She's been on me about grandchildren for a while."

"Grand...children?" I cram the final bite of brownie into my mouth, hints of panic creeping in. I'm not even remotely in that phase of life yet. That's not to say I'm opposed to having kids later. But for now, I'm content to play the cool aunt with Brendan's.

"Relax, Lululemon. I'm not trying to knock you up any time soon." He winks at me, trailing his fingers up my arm. "Maybe someday. If you let me."

That sounds more manageable. I could get on board with the idea of having children down the road. Maybe after traveling some more first. Greece is at the top of my list, and Santorini doesn't strike me as child-friendly.

"You want kids?" I have to clarify this because on some level, I'm still surprised. I seem to recall Dean emphatically saying he'd never get married, and I assumed that ruled out babies, too.

Dean's quiet for a beat. "Yeah, I think I do. Don't you?"

"Later, sure. But whatever happened to Dean Hollis, Perma Bachelor?"

His expression sobers. "You happened."

Last chapter and epilogue coming up soon. Brendan's wedding, too.