“Of course I’m serious,” he says, rolling onto his side to face me fully, propping his head up with his elbow. “I don’t give a shit about other women.”

“Oh.” I gulp, turning to look up at the starry sky. I can’t deny the relief that washes over me, even though we were never officially together—Dean had every right to date around and sleep with other people. We both did.

But we didn’t.

Dean continues, returning to his back and linking his hands behind his head. “I saw Reid today. He said he wanted to talk to me about something personal. Something he was afraid I’d get pissed about.”

I know exactly what Reid wanted to talk about, but I let him finish.

“He told me he started seeing Mandy back in May. Things got serious pretty fast and he’s thinking about proposing, but he wanted my blessing first.”

Oh, my God… proposing? I knew they were dating and that Mandy was over-the-moon happy, but I had no idea they were that serious. It’s only been six months—it took Dean fourteen years to propose to Mandy. They never even moved in together.

I can’t help but wonder if those were red flags. Maybe there was always some uncertainty there.

“I knew they were together,” I reply, taking a moment to process his words. “I had no idea Reid wanted to propose. That’s so exciting.”

“I know,” Dean says. “I’m happy as hell for him. For both of them. He honestly thought I’d punch his lights out—he said it goes against ‘bro code’ or some shit like that.”

“I think we’re all past codes at this point.”

He chuckles, catching my eyes. “Yeah. We are.”

We lie like that for a while, silent and comfortable, watching the stars twinkling above us as the wind picks up, sending the tree branches into a mesmerizing dance. Then we talk about the last eight months, swapping stories and laughs, somehow inching closer and closer to each other on the grass. At one point, my head makes its way to the crook of his arm, and I take solace in the feel of his voice vibrating through me as he speaks.

Before we know it, two hours have swept by and my legs are starting to freeze from the crisp air. We collect our bags and wrappers, discarding them in a nearby trash can, and Dean hands me a piece of nicotine gum as we make our way back to his car.

“You’re not smoking anymore?” I wonder, plucking the piece of gum from his fingers and studying it.

“I quit a few months back. Just doing the gum now.”

I pop it in my mouth. It tastes pleasant at first, but then my throat feels like I swallowed a beehive. “Ack, it burns. It’s awful.”

Dean laughs, holding open the passenger’s side door for me. “It’s a good burn. It’ll give you a little buzz,” he winks, then closes the door after I’m situated inside.