And that’s how we finally get kicked out of the church.
Uncle Bill threatening to beat up my boyfriend.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
POPPY
The Oak & Ivy country club is exactly the kind of place I would have expected Oliver’s family to choose for a wedding reception. The elegant dark wood and crystal chandeliers I can see through the dramatic glass doors would make my simple navy wrap dress and ankle boots feel out of place any other time.
But not with Oliver’s arm around me, beaming as he escorts me up the stairs, like he couldn’t be prouder to be seen with me.
“You ready?”
I stop and look at him. “Is my makeup okay?”
He smirks and cups my face, brushing just below my lip with his thumb, like he’s wiping gloss. I had to freshen up after the crying. And the—ahem—kissing. Which we’ve done a lot of in the hour since we left my dad’s party.
“More than okay,” he says. “Though I wouldn’t mind tasting your lip gloss again.”
“Oliver Fletcher! Have some restraint!”
“Overrated.”
“Necessary,” I say as he gets the door for me.
The reception is in full swing, with a live band playing something jazzy and people clustered around high-top tables holding champagne flutes. It takes maybe three seconds for a tall, pretty woman to notice us.
Then she gasps, and everyone notices.
My default setting is to smile, but shrink, so I’m not in anyone’s way, so I’m not making the moment about me.
But Oliver must sense this, because he puts his hand on my back, pressing gently before I can hunch, making me stand as tall as I can.
The woman rushes over, and a man follows. He looks like an older, more worn down version of Oliver with a smile that’s rusty from disuse.
“Ollie! Is this her?” the woman who is obviously his mom asks. She looks thrilled but tentative, like someone learning to laugh after years of holding back.
“Mom, this is the woman I was telling you about. Poppy Grace Lewis. Poppy, these are Kathy and Rod Fletcher, my parents.”
“It’s so nice to meet the woman who put a smile on Ollie’s face!” Kathy says, grabbing my hands.
“He makes me smile, too,” I say. “Especially when he eats something spicy.”
Oliver chokes on a laugh while his parents look between us curiously.
“Oliver hates spice,” his dad says, shaking my hand. “I gave him black pepper sunflower seeds once when he was in Little League, and he coughed until he threw up.”
Oliver’s mom and I laugh, while Oliver pinches the bridge of his nose. “Be cool, Dad.”
His dad chuckles. “Good to meet you, Poppy. We’re so happy you’re here.” Then he looks at Oliver. “Your Granddad wasn’t able to make the reception. I hope you two have a great time.”
They excuse themselves with warm smiles, giving us space.
Oliver watches them walk away, his parents arm in arm, laughing about something. “My dad stood up to my granddad tonight. For me.”
“Wow,” I say, letting the simple power of his statement stand. “How did that feel?”
He laughs. “Good. Not as good as kissing you, but really good.”
