“I told you I would fix this,” he reminds me.

  “Here,” she says, laying my laptop with its cord on the coffee table. “Uhm, I don’t want to press my luck—”

  “Too late,” Connor growls. He’s reached the end of his patience with this and is about ready to take my laptop and walk right out the front door without another word to Diana Nichols.

  She flinches, and I lay a hand on Connor’s thigh. “What is it, Diana?”

  “Can you just tell me if they work it out?” she asks, but then she blinks and shakes her head. “No, wait. Don’t tell me. I want to be surprised.”

  I’m glad that someone cares this much about the characters who live in my head. “How about if I say that . . . romances always end in a happily ever after . . . eventually? Sometimes, the journey there is just really bumpy, sending the characters and readers through a bunch of ups and downs before they get to the final resolution.”

  “Like real life,” Diana says wisely.

  “Exactly,” I agree, shooting Connor a glance. I find him already looking at me with an inscrutable expression.

  “Okay.” Diana’s agreement takes me by surprise, even though it’s what I want. It’s almost . . . easy. Not that getting to this moment has been remotely simple. “Thank you.”

  Diana watches me as I take my laptop in trembling hands and open the lid, relief rushing through me when I see my screensaver pop up on the screen, a good sign. “Oh, my God! Nut! Juice!”

  “Excuse me?” Diana says.

  “Her dogs,” Connor explains for me. “Pomeranians.”

  “Your dogs are named Nut and Juice?” Diana asks, fighting a grin.

  “That’s what I said too,” Connor tells her, but I ignore the same old comment about my weird dog names. Mostly because I’m dancing around Diana’s apartment with my laptop as my partner.

  “Thank you,” I gush when I’m finished, coming around to shake her hand. I’d hug her, but my laptop’s in the way. “I can’t wait to get to work. I have so much to do!” Excitement and happiness are surging through me, creative energy swirling up in a tornado that I know will keep me up all night.

  Diana smiles. “I’m glad. I can’t wait to read it.”

  Giving it up, I close my laptop and hug her with one hand, bringing Diana into my impromptu dance party as I vow, “I promise I’ll make the Diana character as awesome as you are. Maybe she can rescue someone, rush them to the ER in her ambulance, and be the hero who saves the day!”

  Diana dances away from me, shaking her hands wildly before putting her fingertips in her ears. “No! La, la, la, la . . . no spoilers! Just work your Poppy magic and it’ll be perfect. But if I save someone tall, dark, and sexy, I promise I’ll still be surprised!”

  I’m in such a great mood, I almost dance with Connor too. But one stone-eyed look from him lets me know he’ll put up with a lot of my craziness, but not dancing to music that doesn’t exist except in my heart.

  I nod wildly. “We should go so I can get started.”

  Our eyes meet, the gold flecks in his fiery blues swirling even though his features are still stone cold. But it’s the eyes, and the unsaid things contained within, that have me frozen in place. I can see the words forming, words that can’t, or won’t, escape his lips.

  Our mission is accomplished. Or at least, we’ve got my laptop back. But is that all there is? I certainly don’t think so, but does he?

  Diana watches us but after a few seconds starts fanning herself. “Ooh, don’t mind me over here . . . watching everything. Every. Thing.”

  The moment of magic is broken. Connor blinks, and I clear my throat awkwardly.

  “You take care of her. She’s one of a kind, a treasure.”

  “You have no idea how right you are,” Connor says, his voice rumbling and sending shock waves of delight through my entire body. “Come on.”

  “Thank you again!” I say, heading for the front door. As Connor holds the door for me, I stop, turning around. “Oh, and warm your dinner in the oven on 350 for fifteen minutes. There are cookies in the bag too, my grandmother’s special recipe.”

  Diana grins, her hands going over her chest. “I love cookies!”

  Chapter 18

  Connor

  I put my truck in park, leaning back in the driver’s seat and feeling my strength leave me. “Guess I’ll leave you to it. I know you have a lot of work to do.”

  My arms feel like lead, my gut like stone. Watching her take over the conversation with Diana Nichols, I felt like I was watching a door close for me. She has what she needs, and obviously, my growl first, break bones next, and later, feel any sort of remorse tactics didn’t need to be used.

  Truthfully, I think she’s done with me now that she’s got the laptop back, and I want to preemptively give her an out before she awkwardly tells me to go. The laptop is what started this whole thing, and now that I’ve fixed that fuckup, I feel better about it, maybe less guilty.

  Besides, I should work on research for the new job for Mr. Big. I’m actually glad I have that as a distraction now so I can throw myself into work and tell myself that it’s for the best. At least, it’ll be the best for Poppy.

  “Like hell,” Poppy says on a laugh, looking over at me like I’ve suddenly sprouted antennae out of my head and started speaking nonsense. “I mean, I’ve got work, but I’d like for you to come inside.”

  “Inside?” I repeat dully, and she nods. “Why?”

  “Inspiration, of course. You are . . . my muse.” She waves her hands wide in a move reminiscent of a Price is Right model.

  “And what, exactly, is a muse supposed to do?” I ask, softening to her antics and only slightly affected by my own desire to stay with her, no matter how bad of a plan it is.

  Poppy grins, knowing she’s got me. “Pretty simple. Sit on the couch and look tough and grumpy and sexy as hell. Preferably naked, but that’s up for discussion. If it helps you decide, I’ll put a clean sheet down so there’s no Nut and Juice hairs on your taint.” She somehow makes that sound like a major concession.

  “That’s much appreciated,” I reply, still unsure. “You mind if I . . . read while I muse for you? Uhm, work stuff.”

  She pauses, only for the tiniest split second, but I feel the hesitation like a shot to my gut regardless. But she still agrees. “That’s fine. You can even use my now backup laptop,” Poppy offers as she hugs her original laptop tightly. She gets out, and I follow her inside, where she calls out to Nut and Juice. “Hello, my precious babies! Have you boys have been good?”

  A fusillade of yaps greets her, and she opens the door wider for them to run out and do their business. I have no idea how she trained them to just use her yard without much more than a short fence border they could easily scale, but they do, rolling around a minimal bit before trotting inside as if they own the place. She gives them each a treat and some loving pets and then kicks a ball down the hallway.

  “Go play for a bit. Mama’s got work to do,” she tells the two, who run off after the toy. She watches them, listening to the rumble of their playing, and then looks over at me. “Want a beer?”

  “Yeah,” I reply, going over to her couch and sitting down. I toe off my shoes and pull off my shirt, leaning back with my arms stretched wide along the back of the couch. When she comes back, her jaw drops open. “Feeling inspired?”

  “Great googly eyed mooglies . . . I’m feeling something, that’s for damn sure.” She lifts one of the bottles to her forehead, still watching me.

  I pat the couch next to me. “Want me to take off my jeans too?”

  “No, that’ll be fine,” she assures me, setting the beers on the coffee table. “You get naked, I’m gonna get distracted, we’ll have crazy sex all night, I won’t finish my book, Hilda will kill me, and then there will be the whole memorial mess to deal with, and I don’t have a black dress that fits to get buried in.”

  She surprises me at every turn, somehow going from sex to death to outfit selection in one sentence. I guess that’s why she’s the writer, not me.

  “As it is, I could write paragraphs about those nipples, that chest, and that cute little happy trail to Dicktopia.” She shakes her head, bringing herself out of whatever scene she’s writing in her head. “But I’m going to be a good girl for now.”

  Primly, she walks over to her work area, setting everything back up after plugging her laptop in. As she gets things where she wants them, I take a sip of beer and watch her quietly. “I understand,” I start slowly. “I know that with your laptop back, you’re going to be burning the candle at both ends.”

  “I’ll be burning the candle at both ends, the middle, and everywhere else,” Poppy confirms.

  “Well, I’m just saying . . . you don’t have to go to Caylee’s wedding,” I tell her. “I get it. It was only supposed to be a one-day fiancée thing to begin with, and you don’t owe me anything more. Especially now that you have what you wanted.” I lift my chin toward her laptop, which is booting up to show a picture of Nut and Juice sopping wet and looking quite rat-like. “I promise I’ll go, and I’ll make all the right excuses for you. They’ll totally understand why you ‘ditched’ me and the wedding is off.”

  “No way,” Poppy says, stopping her paper arranging to look up at me. “You’re going. I’m going. We are going.”

  Damn, she saw through my lie about going myself. She knows me too well and knows I’ll bail on my family. “I’m trying to protect them and let you off the hook.”

  “Protect them from what?” Poppy asks. “From you?”

  Poppy gets up and crosses the room to sit down beside me on the couch, but I can’t look her in the eyes. “Connor, I know I don’t know even a whisper of all the shit you’ve done and the drama between you and your family. But I’m not stupid, and the truth is easy to see. You’re not trying to protect them, you’re trying to protect yourself. And I get that, especially after meeting them and seeing them in action. They’re a fucking Bravo TV reality show in the flesh. But I think your mom is salvageable. Your aunt and cousin, maybe not. Your father? I have no idea. But that’s why we need to go. You can’t leave Caylee to the wolves with no one to have her back. That’s not who you are.”

  “She has Evan,” I point out, and Poppy scoffs. “What?”

  “Evan’s good, but he’s going to have his own stuff to deal with on his wedding day, even if his family is full of saints, which I sincerely doubt. Caylee needs her brother there. She needs you looking out for her, on her side against the rest of them.”

  I sigh and take another swig of beer. “I know.”

  I go quiet, remembering back when Caylee and I were close, before everything went to shit, especially with Dad. We used to be friends, playing together in the backyard. Our most common game was called ‘river rapids’. Caylee would line up rocks and pebbles into a winding lane while I would dig a hole at the end. Then we’d fill it up with water from the hose, creating a miniature river and pond for Caylee’s little pet shop animals to ‘swim’ in.

  We always had our favorite animals, Caylee liking this pink poodle one and me preferring the shark because I liked the logic of a water animal swimming, even if there was the whole fresh water versus saltwater issue.

  Even when we got older, both dealing with our shit in our own ways, I always looked out for Caylee. In middle school, long after things had become difficult in our house, she’d had a first boyfriend who was a miniature twelve-year-old version of an asshole. That’s probably common, but this one was especially terrible.

  When I heard Caylee crying over the stupid prick, over how he’d made her feel inadequate by flirting with another girl, I’d handled that. A visit to his soccer team practice, a short ‘conversation’, and that was that. They broke up, but he never said shit to her afterward. Caylee didn’t know about it then and doesn’t know about it now.

  Guilt for not truly checking out this Evan guy assails me, but even sharper is knowing the disconnect between Caylee and me is my fault. I’m the one who cut her out of my life. She didn’t need to get caught up in my rebellion, especially when it went from mere rebelling to outright criminality.

  “So, we’re going?” Poppy asks gently, having let me disappear into my memories for a long moment.

  “You don’t have to.” I’m still worried about Poppy, about this connection developing deeper and wider. And about her safety. “I will go.”

  “I want to,” Poppy says in that same soft, gentle voice. “You need some support too. Unless . . . you don’t want me to.”

  I can hear the unasked question, the pain at the thought of not going, of my pushing her away again. She’s kept coming back, forcing herself in again and again . . . but even someone as stubborn as Poppy has limits.

  Now that we’re at those limits, I know something else, too.

  I’ve been dead wrong to keep pushing her away.

  “I want you.” The words don’t come out the way I want, so I clear my throat and say them again, bolder and with more feeling. “I want you, Poppy.”

  Poppy’s smile is worth what’s going to come from those four words, and she claps happily. “Good. Then we’re going. But first, I write. Now . . . muse!”

  I muse my ass off.

  There’s nothing particularly special about the wedding venue. Riverside Methodist is about as beige a church as I can think of, politely unoffensive and one of those places where the football loving members can always count on getting home in time for the early kickoffs.

  I’m in my best black suit, the one I normally reserve for the best jobs, but Caylee deserves my best.

  “Have I mentioned that you look hot?” Poppy says with a twinkle in her eye as I come out of the men’s room.

  She looks pretty hot herself in a pale blue halter-style dress that leaves her shoulders and upper back bare. I wonder if she’s wearing one of those weird sticky bras or if her nipples are a scant few layers of chiffon away from my touch. I could find out with a bare brush of the fabric, but even the thought is enough to make my suit pants feel a bit tight. “Twirl for me.”

  That gets my attention away from her tits. “No.”

  “Twirl, Muse!”

  I cross my arms, trying to glower. “I do not twirl.”

  She lifts a brow expectantly, and with a heavy sigh, I spin. Not a twirl, nothing so dainty, but more of a four-quarter perimeter check even though it’s totally unnecessary. At least that’s what I tell myself.

  “Yay!” Poppy says, twirling herself easily. The skirt of her dress spins out, flashing her upper thighs to anyone who might happen by. I rush at her, helping the skirt down to possessively hide her legs from any eyes but mine. “Don’t smush my flower!”

  Poppy is looking at the satin belt around her waist where a silk flower with a button center sits off-center just above her left hip. “I made this myself with hot glue, tears, and a button from Nut and Juice’s dog bed. Don’t worry, I washed it first. The button, I mean. And the tears were because I burned the hell out of my fingers, but it was worth it in the end.” She fluffs the flower needlessly. “Or at least it was until that marriage ended in divorce, but hey . . . at least I get to wear the bridesmaid dress again. So, happy ending.” Poppy told me about her dress last night when she asked if it was acceptable for the wedding. Apparently, she was a bridesmaid at a cousin’s wedding a few years ago and loved the dress, just not the cousin who’d complained about Poppy’s red hair standing out in the photos like a sore thumb.

  “You look beautiful,” I tell Poppy again. “And thank you for coming.”

  She smiles up at me, cupping my face gently. Her blue eyes sparkle with happiness, and I’m still shocked every time that it has anything to do with me. “I wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else right now,” she says earnestly. But then she pats my cheeks a bit too hard. “Now, go find your sister while I get us seats. Fair warning, if I see any little old ladies with walkers, I’m gonna knock them down to get to the front row. Everyone knows that’s where the best mosh pits are.”

  “I don’t think there will be a mosh pit during the ceremony. It’s planned for the reception,” I answer dryly.

  “Hmm, I must’ve missed that memo,” Poppy says lightly. With a shrug, she adds, “Well, if one happens to spontaneously break out, it definitely won’t be my fault. Nope, not my fault at all.”

  With a kiss so quick I don’t even get to pucker, she’s off. Alone in the hallway, I take a steadying breath before going to find Caylee.

  I wander down a corridor until I find a closed door with a sign proclaiming Bride and then knock. Opening the door slowly, I call out, “Everyone decent?”

  Caylee answers, “Yes, come in.”

  The room is sparse, with some suitcases in the floor and two tables set up with makeup and hair stuff. But I don’t see anything other than Caylee, not entrance and exit points, alarms, or any of the other things I typically note automatically. It’s just my sister, all grown up.

  Caylee looks beautiful in her wedding gown, a white, slim-fitting dress with lace along the bodice and hips. Her hair is down in curls, and a beautiful tiara that makes her look like a princess sits on her head.

  “Connor!” she cries out, hugging me tightly as she realizes that I’m really sticking to my promise and have actually showed up tonight. “Thank you.”

  “You look stunning,” I compliment her. “Really, Caylee.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself, big brother.” She grins, so happy she’s nearly in tears. “I can’t believe you came.”

  I sigh, nodding. “I wish I could say there’s no way I would’ve missed it, but we both know that’d be a lie.”

  Caylee’s smile falters as a hint of sadness enters her eyes. But she doesn’t give me shit for being absent for so long. Instead, she says, “Poppy’s good for you.”