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Promises were flimsy foundations when you didn’t really know what your future looked like. Or what hers looked like either. Years ago, it felt simple enough to say that because one look was nothing. Years ago, it was impossible to believe that she’d still look at me like I was something, someone, vital to her.
“Cameron,” Poppy snapped. “Knock it off.”
His eyes dropped to the floor, his arms tightening as he crossed them over his chest.
“Tell them to come back inside,” Poppy called out to Ian’s retreating back.
I blinked.
So did Cameron.
Poppy took a deep breath. “There’s no reason for them to stop working. We can go outside and talk,” she told me.
With a tight jaw and a racing heart, I nodded. How different this was from the last time I was close to her—sleep-rumpled in my kitchen while she gave me the sweetest, softest fucking kiss on my cheek. Even after she left, I caught whiffs of her shampoo.
I didn’t count our brief exchange in her empty office. I’d been so locked down, refusing to show even the slightest flicker of how fucking unhinged I felt being in her presence again. If I’d looked at her too long or said more than her name, I would’ve lost it. As it was, that one tiny moment—a polite hello and those questions in her eyes—had my hands shaking from the desire to shove her against the wall and have her just one more time before I left, something, anything to prolong that one night into something neither of us would forget while I was gone.
And look at that. I’d succeeded without realizing it. Because there was definitely no forgetting it now. Just thinking it had my chest feeling tight, a giant invisible screw straight through my sternum.
There was a back entrance to the store, so I held my arm out and gestured for Poppy to precede me.
The heat from Cameron’s gaze bored into my back as I followed Poppy outside. Of course, I’d have to talk to him eventually. Hopefully, he wouldn’t go for any sharp-edged tools like his sister. Knowing him, he’d just need one good punch, and we’d be fine.
I rubbed at my chest, praying we’d be fine.
As Poppy walked in front of me, I couldn’t help but stare. From the back, you couldn’t tell anything was different. Her waist still nipped in at the sides, and there was no change in her hips or backside.
Not yet, at least.
The door was held open with a wedge, and behind the building were piles of dirt from the initial dig. A small picnic table and some camping chairs sat in the shadow of the roofline, where the crew normally had lunch.
Neither of us sat.
My hands were in tight fists, my arms crossed over my chest as I watched Poppy turn in a slow circle before finally meeting my eyes.
“I tried to text you while you were gone,” she said. “I didn’t … I didn’t realize you’d be away for months when you left.”
I slicked my tongue over my teeth and tried to pick out one, just one, single rational thought. It was impossible, though.
Poppy Wilder stood in front of me, her eyes full of apology and worry, pregnant with my fucking child. God, what a mess.
“Your text didn’t come through until I landed last night. I keep an international phone just for emergencies. Your brother has the number, but…” I answered.
“He didn’t know,” she finished quietly, her hands wringing nervously in front of her.
“You told me we’d be okay,” I said, and the words cameout harsher than I intended. Her brow furrowed at my tone. Already fucking this up. I clenched my teeth together, willing down the strongest of my emotions until I could speak again. “What happened?”
Poppy sucked in a quick breath through her nose. “I was sick the week before I saw you, and I … I didn’t know antibiotics messed with my pills. It lessens the effectiveness.”
I swiped a hand over my mouth and managed a tight nod.
A child.
A child with Poppy.
“Are you okay?” I asked, studying her face, noting the slight dark circles under her eyes. “Like, do you feel all right?”
At first, Poppy just stared. Then her chin quivered.
