Pucked Off (Pucked 5)

She’s also the reason I finally heeded Coach’s advice to talk to someone about my aggression. Because I never want to turn that on her. I never want to put on the person I love the most what someone else forced on me. So I’m dealing with the ghosts from my past so I can have a better future. One that includes Poppy.

This past summer I took her to Scotland to meet my extended family. And we took a side trip to see my father. I hadn’t seen him in a couple years, but Poppy made it manageable. I have some perspective now. We’re all products of our upbringing, but we get to choose who we bring into our lives. I choose Poppy. And I’m really fucking hopeful I’ll be her choice, too.

I’m waiting at the front door, checking the time. According to my messages, Poppy left the Buttersons’ place fifteen minutes ago. The girls got together to look at Miller and Sunny’s wedding pictures. Poppy was there that day, of course, as my plus one. I officiated, as seems to be the trend.

I wipe my palm on my pants and adjust the collar of my shirt, checking my reflection in the mirror one more time. I look fine. Nervous, because I am, but fine.

She should be here any minute. I check the time again.

Just as I mutter where the hell is she? Poppy’s car pulls up beside my Hummer. She’s right, her Mini does look like something my car shat out. I check my pocket and rush to the closet, leaving the door slightly ajar.

My palms are seriously sweaty. I wipe them on my pants, retrieve the small box from my pocket, and wait. And wait some more. I’m more nervous than I was the first time Poppy agreed to go out with me. The stakes are infinitely higher right now.

Finally I hear the beep of the code being punched in. This is it. I’ve been waiting months for this. I suck in a deep breath, prepping for the inevitable.

“Lance? I’m home!” Poppy calls.

I bite my tongue so I don’t answer.

After a few seconds of silence, she calls again. “Baby? You here?”

I’m a big fan of pet names. More than I thought I’d be.

She says something to herself about leaving lights on, and the door to the closet swings open. As soon as she sees me, she screams.

Which is not quite the response I was going for.

“Ahhh! What the heck?” She stumbles back, her hands pressed to her heart. Poppy isn’t much for swearing. It’s precious, just like her.

I grab her arm before she can get too far. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” I’m trying not to laugh at her horror.

“Then why are you hiding in the closet?” She buries her head against my chest. I love the way it feels when she’s close like this. I love it most when she’s near me and naked, which she will be soon enough, but first I have something important to do.

There’s a light in here. I had it installed last week. I hit the switch and pull her inside.

“What are you—”

Her words catch as I push the coats out of the way and drop to one knee.

She covers her mouth with a palm, eyes wide. “Lance?”

I take her hand in mine and bring it to my lips. “Hi, precious.” I pull out the tiny velvet box.

“Oh my God.” She’s shaking.

“Poppy Leigh O’Connor, you’re the most precious, perfect person in my world. Yer my sunrise and my sunset. Marry me so I can spend every day loving you for the rest of my life.”

I flip open the box, hoping she can see the ring in the semi-darkness. The coats are obstructing the light.

Because she is who she is, Poppy drops to her knees with me and takes my face in her hands. “You didn’t even phrase it as a question.”

“What?” All I know is it’s not a yes.

She giggles. The sound is pure and sweet. “You didn’t make it a yes or no question.”

“You’re really gonna gimme a hard time about this? Now?”

“Of course, I’ll marry you.”

“You’re sure? Is that your yes?”

She kisses me, once, twice, a third time. “Yes. Of course. There’s no one else I’d rather be loved by than you. Give me the ring.”

I laugh, and so does she while she kisses me. Our tongues twine and tangle. I keep going until she’s breathless; then I take her shaking hand in mine and slip the ring on her finger.

“It’s so beautiful.”

“I want you forever,” I whisper.

“I’m yours,” she whispers back. “I’ve been yours since you stole my first kiss.”

“I’m still not sorry.”

“Neither am I.”