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“No,” He shakes his head,“I know that, but you’re looking at it like a mirror.”
“What?”
“A reflection of the past you don’t want to see. That’s why you slept in the car.”
Maybe he did hit oil. Was it that clear on my face?
My breath leaves my lungs faster than a naughty child can stab a balloon with a fork. Pop!
Julian is good with details. Too good.
He begins to shake his head.“I get it. Theo said the house belonged to Peter Corazón. I figured—we all figured—it was just a made-up name.”
“Stop.”
“Peter, as in Poppy’s Peter,” He continues.“Corazón. That’s Spanish for heart.”
Yeah, and you just made mine feel like it was stabbed.
Julian falls silent, his words evaporating into the crisp air. The only sounds filling the void are the carefree chirping of birds, oblivious to the turmoil below, and the agonizing crack of my heart shattering into fragments.
“Does Poppy know?” Julian asks gently.
"Does my best friend know I loved her brother?" The words escape me, heavier than I intended, as I lean heavily against the car, every muscle in my body aching with a mix of physical soreness and emotional exhaustion.
"No." The admission hangs in the air, mingling with the quiet hush of the street around us—a street so serene and untouched, it seems almost mocking in its tranquility, oblivious to the storm raging inside me.
“She wouldn’t judge you.” He offers his words like a lifeline he wants me to grasp.
You're Poppy's savior, not mine, buddy.
“I know. But she would judge herself.”
His silence tells me he understands now. If I told Poppy I loved her brother, the brother she blames herself for killing, she’d only hate herself more. If Poppy knew I loved Peter enough to purchase the house he loved using his name and the meaning of heart because Peter will always have my heart, well, that would devastate her.
So I bury it all in secrets and pretty lies.
It’s worked so far.
As I lean back against the car, the cold metal is a sharp contrast to my fevered thoughts. I can't help but tilt my head skyward.There’s a faint scent of smoke in the air, mixing with the morning blossoms, causing something sinister to stir in my belly. I heard firetrucks through the night and police cars in the far distance. Thankfully, they didn’t wake Poppy.
"You're surprisingly easy to talk to," I let slip, a bit of warmth breaking through my usual armor.
Julian's response is a slow, knowing smile, "Came here precisely for that." And then, as if opening Pandora's box, Julian lays it all out. And boy, does he lay it on me. Julian spills the beans on Theo’s antics, for whom Theo’s been pulling strings. Who wanted to plan Poppy’s new life? If I weren't leaning against the car, gravity would have pulled me down.
I can't believe it.
"You're awfully quiet," Julian comments, a hint of wariness creeping into his voice as he eyes me leaning casually against the car, arms crossed.
"I'm processing," I snap back, the shock of his story. "You've dumped a whole soap opera on me."
"And Poppy?" he probes, concern etching deeper into his features, "How's she going to deal with this?"
My gaze shifts to the grocery bag sitting innocently on the car roof. "Depends on what emergency rations you’ve got there. I don’t see any 'I'm sorry' bouquets."
"Pumpkin coffee and pastries," he says, hopeful, maybe a bit too eager.
I can't help but smirk. "Well, that's practically a love letter for her."
