“Just wanted to feel that laugh,” she says softly, earnestly. “I get the feeling you don’t do that often.”
She has no idea. I can’t remember the last time I really laughed. Polite chuckles? Sure. Fake laughs for JP to grease the skids in our relationship? Of course.
But real laughter? I can’t remember the last time I felt that sort of pure light feeling. But she pulled it out of me, and I think she could probably do it again if she wanted to. Hell, I might do it just because she asked me to.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about. I laugh all the time, a regular Chuckles the Clown,” I deadpan.
“Right,” she answers sarcastically, pinching my tie between her fingers and thumb and tugging me toward the dining room. “Then come on, Chuckles. Let’s go tell your sister you’re going to her wedding.”
“We’re not discussing that.”
She looks at me wryly. “You’re right. We’re not. You know you’re gonna go, I know you’re gonna go, so can we skip the whole ‘no, yes, no, yes’ deal and get on with the important shit? Your mom said there’s chocolate cake for dessert, and I haven’t had cake in sixteen days. Do not get between me and cake, mister. You hear me?”
“Sixteen days?”
“Out of everything I said, that’s what you heard?” she asks, then sighs. “A cupcake is my reward for benchmarks, and since I’ve had writer’s block, I haven’t been meeting them. No benchmark, no cupcake. But I’m making a special exception for your mom because nobody tells their fiancé’s mom no, especially not about cake. And cake is different from a cupcake, anyway.”
“No, it’s not.” Seriously. Flour, eggs, butter, chocolate, sugar. How is it different?
“Yes, it is,” she growls. “A cupcake is a sexy muffin with icing. Cake is . . . cake.”
“Cake by the ocean?”
“Now you’ve got jokes? About cake? Which is totally different from a cupcake.” She glares at me, daring me to disagree with her repeat declaration. “Besides, since it’s your fault I’m missing benchmarks now, I think it’s only fair that I get cake out of the deal.” She’s being sassy and playing up her anger. And maybe a part of her is mad, but right now, that’s not the emotion at the top of her roller coaster.
But the reminder of why she’s here with me is sour, stabbing sharper than I would’ve expected. The laptop. It all comes back to that damn thing and my spontaneous solution to a problem. That’s why I plan so much . . . so fuck-ups don’t happen. And Poppy doesn’t even know why I stole her laptop. What would she think if she knew? That I’m not some petty thief but that I stole The Black Rose?
She’s digging into a sore spot—my perfectionist tendencies and need to keep everyone at arm’s length. The irritation is growing, scratching just below the surface, looking for a way to lash out and inflict the most pain in return. And the hardest part of it all is . . . it’s an irritation that I’m starting to think I might like, which only pisses me off more.
“You’re really cute when you’re angry,” I say condescendingly, making it seem like I’m trying to irritate her right back. To add lighter fluid to the fire, I twirl a lock of her red hair around my finger, aiming for mindlessness but laser focused on her every reaction.
I knew pulling that grenade pin would cause an explosion, and it does. Her breath hitches, then goes jagged, her eyes widen and then narrow sharply, and she flicks her head, roughly yanking her hair from my grasp. With her head held high, she stomps right past me, intentionally bumping my arm with her shoulder.
I remind myself, It’s for her own good.
Mine too, I think. Because her hair felt good, and again, I’m back to full mast in my slacks. I turn around, squeezing my eyes shut as I slowly count to ten and recenter myself.
It works until from behind me, I hear Caylee ask, “Did he say yes?”
I grind my teeth painfully as I wait for Poppy’s answer, knowing I won. There’s no way she’s going to see me for anything other than exactly what I am and recognize that she needs to stay far, far—
“Yep, he’ll be there. We’ll be there. It’s just one more teeny-tiny day, a few hours, really, but it’s the most important one for you and Evan, and we wouldn’t dream of missing it.”
What the fuck?
But the damage is done. I hear Caylee’s squeal and fast footsteps. “Thank you, Poppy!” Caylee says in a high-pitched voice. Before I know it, Caylee is in the hallway with me, happiness pinging off her like neon disco lights. She throws herself at me, hugging me tight. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down, Connor. I don’t think I could walk down that aisle if you weren’t there.”