Fresh drama . . . maybe a kidnapping? Or what about a coma? Meh, a bit soap opera . . . but I’ll figure it out.

  “Thank you, you guys. Eloping is an awesome idea,” I tell them as I tap my forehead, storing that idea away for later consideration. Connor glares at me, and I assure him, “For a story. I’ll explain later.”

  Closing his eyes, he pinches the bridge of his nose for a long second before striding over to the bar. He pours a double shot of scotch and drinks it in one swallow without making a face despite the burn that must be searing his throat right now.

  I sit on the other couch and point at the chair next to Robert, telling Debra she should sit too. “This is about to get good.” Slowly, she does, but she’s tenser than a virgin asshole lubed in lemon juice.

  Connor turns around, leaning on the bar. When his eyes meet mine, I expect to see resolve, excitement, maybe even some gloating, considering he’s about to throw his family’s preconceived notions about him in the gutter and piss on them. But what I see is doubt, uncertainty, and an overwhelming amount of fear. We talked about this before asking for this dinner, and I know he’s worried that even the truth won’t be enough.

  But I believe in happily ever afters, and I have enough faith for the both of us. Hell, if I can forgive him and he can forgive me, surely, his parents will understand if given a little time and the whole story.

  “Connor,” I tell him, “hit ’em with the biggie first. I wanna see their faces when you tell them.”

  He grits his teeth, and before my eyes, I see him gather his courage. Slowly, so slowly I hope to not be noticed, I pull my phone out. But Connor, always aware of everything, sees. “No filming it, Poppy.”

  I want to argue, to explain that right now I’m more in awe of him than ever before, but that wouldn’t help Connor. So instead, I crack a grin. “Spoilsport. I think it’ll be funny . . . later. Much later.”

  He growls, and I shrug an apology, putting my phone down on the coffee table so it stays in plain sight before placing my hands on my crossed legs and smiling innocently.

  “I’ve been lying to you for a long time,” Connor starts.

  Robert interrupts with a snort. “Is this supposed to be news?”

  Debra places a staying hand on Robert’s arm, hissing his name.

  “What? Like that’s headline worthy?” He moves his arm away from Debra to swipe it through the air like he’s reading a newspaper headline. “Connor’s a liar. If you remember, I was the one who had to go bail him out when he got picked up. And this whole ‘consultant’ shit? Like you believe that either.”

  Debra pales, letting us all know that Robert’s telling the truth. Connor’s parents have assumed he’s been a crook this whole time.

  Caylee interrupts her parents’ arguing, hoping to save this disaster before Leonardo DiCaprio signs up to play the lead in the movie adaptation. “Connor, I’m hoping there’s more to this big announcement?”

  Anger swirls in the room, from Connor to his parents and back again. And I know that I need to help Caylee get this back on track.

  “Tell them the rest.,” I encourage Connor. “Just do it.”

  Connor snorts, much like his father just did. “They don’t even deserve to know.”

  “Maybe not,” I concede, “but you deserve to tell them. And besides, Caylee should know the truth, if nothing else.”

  Our conversation has at least shut Robert and Debra up as they look from Connor to me, realizing that there might actually be something they don’t know. Connor inhales deeply and looks at his sister, then me, and continues on.

  “You’re right. Okay, here it is. I’ve been lying to you for a long time, and no, I’m not a consultant. I work for the FBI, mainly undercover. Or well, I was until last week when I essentially retired.”

  The room goes so still and quiet that we could be filming one of those mannequin challenge videos. No one breathes or moves a muscle. Suddenly, Robert starts laughing. Debra tries to smile, not sure if this is some elaborate joke we’re playing.

  Robert looks to me, his eyes bleary with disbelief and scotch. “Girl, you’d best get away from that one. He’s no good. Worse than I thought if that’s the line he’s telling you.”

  That’s when I crack, and I’m on my feet, angrily snatching the tumbler away from Robert. I only mean to take it, but the momentum of the movement and the slick crystal make it slip through my fingers, and I accidentally throw it across the room to shatter against the stone fireplace. “Oops!” But however unintentional, the dramatics work, getting all eyes on me. I decide to act like I totally meant to do that and hiss at Robert, “He’s telling the truth, and you’re too much of an asshole to believe him. Just because you decided a long time ago to write him off doesn’t mean everyone else should.”

  “Poppy!” Caylee protests, but I keep going.

  I point at Connor. “I loved him when I thought he was a petty thief. I loved him when I thought he was an art thief, and I love him now that I know the truth . . . that he works undercover for the feds. What a pity that his own flesh and blood can’t love him the same as someone he met only a few weeks ago.” My voice has gotten louder with each ugly accusation until I’m yelling at them all and standing in front of Connor protectively, ready to fight for his honor.

  Debra’s eyes are wide, likely not used to anyone talking to her like this. Or maybe it’s that she’s not accustomed to having a screaming banshee in her living room? She stands up, not moving toward us but not able to stay in her seat either.

  “Wait, what? I’m lost . . . petty theft, art, FBI? What do you mean you only met a few weeks ago?”

  Connor sighs behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist. His voice is flat and hard as he tells his mom, “That’s what you got out of what Poppy told you?”

  Debra blinks rapidly, still stunned. “Well, give me a minute. This is a lot to take in.”

  Robert huffs. “You’re not actually believing this, are you?”

  But when Debra looks from her husband to her son, something happens. She sees the truth, that Robert is a shell of his former self, the good man Connor has told me he once was, and that her son is standing in front of her with all his walls down, simply asking his mother for love.

  “I do, Robert,” she says quietly, turning away from her husband one last time to focus on her son. “Please tell me, Connor. I think I need to know. And Poppy’s right, I think you need to tell us.”

  She gestures to the couch with an open hand and pleading eyes.

  I can feel Connor trying to decide, his heart pounding against my back. I won’t make this decision for him or even encourage him one way or the other. It’s his call.

  He can keep throwing grenades, precisely aimed to do the most damage, or he can begin to truly explain, with softer words and truth.

  But when he moves toward the couch, taking my hand to bring me with him, I’m relieved. I think he’s got a chance at repairing things with his mom. His dad is an entirely different issue, but if he can get his mom to listen, I think it’ll help them both.

  Sitting down, Connor takes a steadying breath.

  “It started in high school. I was doing stupid shit, shoplifting and pickpocketing. The reasons . . . don’t matter now. Some of the stuff you know, and some you don’t. That’s when I got busted and you bailed me out. After that, I was hurt, really hurt, so I moved on to bigger and better jobs—stealing art.”

  “Art?” Evan asks, and Connor nods. “Like The Thomas Crown Affair?”

  “Something like that, I guess, but a lot less sexy,” Connor answers, which I disagree with, but I’ll keep that to myself for now. Connor looks back at his mother. “I got good. Really good.”

  Debra is listening intently, and though he’s not looking at Connor, Robert is paying close attention too.

  “I worked my way up, starting with pieces worth thousands of dollars, then hundreds of thousands of dollars, and worked for some really shady people.”

  Caylee pales, her chin trembling. “That sounds dangerous, Connor.”

  He nods. “It was. A few times, I figured I’d had it.”

  Debra lets out a soft cry at that and takes Robert’s hand.

  “About ten years ago or so, I was on a job, and an agent found me. He could’ve arrested me right then and there, but he saw an opportunity for both of us. I’m not bragging, but I’m good at stealing. I feel like Granddad’s watching over me every time.”

  That gets Robert’s eyes to focus on Connor. “Dad?”

  Connor nods, addressing his father for the first time. “You remember, he taught me all those magic tricks as a kid? Those skills, they’re like the foundation. This is a way I can honor that, feel close to him.”

  “By stealing?” Robert says harshly, offended. “How dare you.”

  “At first, you’re right. But later, by using what he taught me for the good guys. By being one of the good guys. The agent I work with? We’ve taken down businessmen who think the rules don’t apply to them, black-market masterminds who use their funds to bankroll terrorist groups, and caught scammers who steal thousands of dollars in fake auctions and insurance claims each year. So yeah, I think Granddad would be proud of what I do with what he taught me.”

  “An undercover FBI agent that steals art?” Robert asks, and I can tell he’s starting to believe Connor too.

  “Not quite, I never went to Quantico to become a special agent . . . and I’m retired,” Connor points out, “but basically, yeah.” He takes my hand, much like his mother took his father’s, and holds it tightly. “As for us, I met Poppy on a job recently, and she changed everything.”

  Debra still looks confused. “What about Scarlett?”

  Connor shrugs one shoulder, not ashamed and simply admitting the truth. “Another lie. I don’t date, Mom. Relationships are impossible when I can’t exactly explain why I’m gone or what I’m doing. My work is all-consuming, but I didn’t want you to worry.”

  Debra smiles sadly. “I . . . I’m sorry.”

  “Look, I know this is a lot, and you’re not going to understand everything all at once. You’re going to have questions, but I wanted you to know that I’m not still the black sheep of the family you’ve made me out to be. Once upon a time, yeah, that was true. But not anymore. And now that things are changing, I want to fix this.” He moves a hand from his chest to his parents and then to Caylee and Evan. “If you want to.”

  Debra speaks for her and Robert, saying. “Of course, we do.”

  Robert is still holding Debra’s hand, though, and also nods, so he seems on board too. “It’ll take some time.”

  Connor presses his lips together, looking stern and stronger than ever, but I think . . . is he fighting off a smile? “I know it will. But we can do it. Poppy’s taught me that anything is possible.” His lips do tilt up slightly at that, and I can see how pleased and relieved he is at his parents’ reactions.

  He looks at me with love in his eyes. I might’ve pushed him to talk to his parents, and he wasn’t sure it was such a good idea, but now, I can feel that he’s glad I made him. They have a chance at a relationship again. A happily ever after for their family.

  Debra gets up and approaches Connor slowly. He stands too, and when Debra wraps her arms around his middle, hugging him like he’s the baby boy she’s known and loved all along, he relaxes into her. He’s a foot taller than Debra, but make no mistake, in this moment, he’s a boy getting hugged by his mom, something he needed more than he would’ve ever admitted to.

  When they’re done, she turns to hug me. She whispers in my ear, “Thank you for bringing him back to us. I didn’t know how much we’d lost him and how much of it was our own doing.”

  Robert, who needs a little more time to unleash the tears, it seems, still searches for a good step forward. Clearing his throat, he says, “How about we eat some dinner? Debra made a roast chicken and vegetables that have smelled good all day.”

  The compliment from him is unexpected, and Debra smiles at her husband in appreciation. Caylee and Connor lock eyes, their brows raised as they silently question, ‘What just happened?’

  “Sounds good . . . Dad.”

  Robert clears his throat at the term of affection, and we make our way into the dining room. Debra brings in the serving platters from the kitchen, setting them on the table, as Evan opens the wine for us all.

  We’re just about to raise a glass in toast when the phone rings. Debra pauses to look at it, a plate of dinner rolls in her hands. But instead of answering, she rolls her eyes and says, “It’s Audrey. I’m not letting her interrupt our family dinner with her narcissistic bullshit.”

  As Debra rearranges a few plates to make room for the rolls, Robert, Caylee, and Connor all look at each other in shock.

  “Uh, Mom?” Caylee asks as she sets down her wine glass, “Where did you learn about narcissism?”

  Debra blushes slightly. “Well, things have been rough lately. Like you said, the wedding was a lot of stress, and there’s been . . ." She trails off, looking at Robert and Connor before the words rush out in one breath, “I started going to therapy. It’s only been a couple of sessions, but I’m learning a lot.”

  Caylee smiles widely, seeming bowled over. “Wow, Mom. That’s great.”

  “You think so?” Debra asks hesitantly. “You don’t think it’s stupid?”

  “Welcome to the new generation, Mom. Everyone goes to therapy now,” Caylee says. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I had a few sessions when I needed help in college, stressing out. And Evan and I did premarital therapy to help us define boundaries and learn to communicate better. Therapy is a good thing.”

  Debra straightens as she sits down next to Robert. “Oh, well . . . yeah. I think it’s a good thing too.”

  We eat, honestly complimenting Debra on the delicious meal, and somehow, conversation turns to Connor’s grandfather. Robert seems particularly interested to hear how his dad’s old magic tricks, which were apparently not that great to begin with, could’ve possibly helped Connor steal a well-protected piece of art.

  “He taught me that sometimes, you have to roll with it. I can’t tell you how many quarters he dropped before he’d pull one from behind my ear. And he’d sell it as my ears being so full that he couldn’t even catch them all. But later, he could do it easily. I learned to practice from him too. The theories he taught me are sound, regardless of a few dropped quarters.”

  The memory is a good one, bringing a smile to Connor’s face and even a small one to Robert’s.

  “He used to do card tricks when I was a kid, basically play three-card monte with me,” Robert recalls a little wistfully. “This was when he was younger, and his skills . . . well, he could frustrate me all day if he wanted. But eventually, he’d let me win the pot. I’d eat all the candy I won but save the strawberry candies for him because they were his favorites.”

  Caylee perks up, smiling. “I remember that. He always had strawberry candy in his pocket.” She pats her chest, right over her heart, and I get a mental image of a miniature Caylee digging in her Granddad’s pocket for sweets every time she saw him.

  Connor told me that Robert wasn’t the same after his dad died, and I wonder if a part of that is because nobody talked about him anymore. He’s been living with all this sadness and grief inside and no one to talk to about it. Hopefully, today will be a new beginning for us all, one with open lines of communication.

  Over dessert, Connor places his napkin on the table and says, “There is one more thing.”

  I look at him in surprise, and wary concern steals the smile Debra’s been sporting all through dinner.

  “Uh, what are you talking about? That’s everything.” Connor raises a brow questioningly, and I pale. “Isn’t it? Oh, shit, is there something else I don’t know? It’d better be something good because I’m all out of patience and understanding right now. I’ve got zero fucks left to give, Connor, so choose your next big reveal carefully.”

  He smiles, not the least bit scared by my threat, and stands. “Poppy, I met you a few weeks ago and could’ve never predicted what your running into me at that dinner would do to my heart. Or my foot. Those heels of yours left a bruise for days.”

  I interrupt, grinning. “You deserved it.” I look to Caylee, Evan, Debra, and Robert, pleading my case. “He did!”

  Connor chuckles and drops to one knee. “Are you seriously going to show them the bruise?” I ask. “It’s healed. I know it is because I saw you walking around naked, swinging your dick like a helicopter this morning. And there was no bruise on your foot.”

  Connor cocks an eye at me in mock anger. “If my dick is out and you’re looking at my feet, we have a problem.”

  I shrug, ignoring the occasional shocked gasp from Debra. “Fair point. But what are you doing down there?”

  Caylee gasps, getting it before anyone else does. “Connor, didn’t you already do this?”

  “Do what?” I ask, still confused.

  Connor smiles and looks around the room. “About that . . . Poppy voluntold me that she was coming to that dinner with me. She was only supposed to be a one-day fiancée. But I want a whole lot more than that. I want her to be my wife forever.”

  It hits me, and my cheeks puff up from how big I’m smiling, and my eyes burn from unshed tears of happiness.

  “Is that a question?” I ask him, knowing that he never asks things. He’s getting better, but he’s still grumpy and statement based. Questions are like gold coins for him.

  But this time, he nods and in a rough voice filled with emotion, he asks, “Poppy Woodstock, will you be my wife?”

  I launch myself at him, tackling him to the floor. Thankfully, the rug is soft and breaks our landing as I smother him with kisses. Mwah–mwah–mwah.

  He laughs, the vibration in his chest making my own happiness bubble up too, and our teeth clack together as I kiss him once more, not letting a little thing like laughter get in my way.

  “I’m taking that as a yes.”