Now it’s my turn to risk everything for her.
Not as someone who’s got it all figured out or who knows how it’s going to work out. Just as the idiot who didn’t realize four days ago that he was sitting next to his soulmate on an airplane.
I push the door open.
Heat rushes out to meet me, thick and warm after the brutal cold outside. My fingers tingle as they start to thaw. The music swells, louder now that I’m inside. There’s laughter too, and the clack of plastic cups. Nearly all of the guests are men—tattooed and weathered, with the kind of eyes that have seen too much.But here, they’re laughing and eating cake and telling stories about someone they lost. I can make out a rough voice chuckling, “—and that’s when the guard said?—”
But one of the men nudges the guy before he can finish the story, and both their heads swivel toward me, followed by more and more. Soon, a dozen men are staring me down.
And that’s when Poppy notices me. Her eyes widen. Her mouth falls. And the paper plate in her hand trembles.
A heavily tattooed man gives me a nod. “Who are you?”
I stare at the woman I love and stride forward. “I’m the idiot who needs to talk to Poppy.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
POPPY
The door to the fellowship hall opens out of the corner of my eye. Aunt Marla is slowly taking memorabilia out to her car—we’ve long overstayed our reservation, but the pastor insisted he was happy to let us stay until we’re done.
Bless his heart.
The streamers flutter from the opening and closing of the door, and then I spot Miguel and Mike turning.
“Looks like it’s another lost wedding guest,” Miguel mutters.
I follow his eyes to the door.
And I drop my Solo cup.
It crashes to the ground, splashing hot cider all over my legs that I hardly notice.
Because that’s not Darren Freaking Murphy standing in the doorway.
It’s Oliver Freaking Fletcher.
His eyes find me—and they instantly light up like a Christmas tree. But how did he find me? And why? Is he so dissatisfied with every other way he’s rejected me, now he has to come here and make sure to do it again in person?
Again?
His eyes are wide and his brow tugged high as he strides toward me with too much energy, too much purpose.
Too muchhope.
No.
I can’t think that way. I can’t let myself believe it’s hope.
Because hope is contagious.
“Who are you?” Mike asks.
Oliver’s eyes are burning as he looks at me. “I’m the idiot who needs to talk to Poppy.”
But before he can reach me, Joey steps in front of me, cutting him off.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Joey asks.
