“Yeah, if you don’t mind me being there, I’d love to come to Florida with you,” I say, like I’m totally cool beneath the surface.
“I’d love that,” she says, still resting against my chest.
“And then we’ll fly to South Carolina together. You saw those program director job listings I sent you for those re-entry organizations, right?”
I’m hoping for a yes, but instead, she ducks her head. A moment later, I hear a sniff.
What did I do??
“Hey,” I say, panic flooding my lungs. “I’m sorry if I’m pushing?—”
“It’s not that,” she says with a wet chuckle. She looks up at me, and unshed tears glisten in her eyes. “You can’t know how good it feels that you care.”
I almost slump in relief, but instead, I tighten my arm around Poppy and kiss her temple. “I have a pretty good idea.”
“Why are we renting a car?” Poppy asks three hours later, bouncing on her toes at the rental car counter.
“Wait and see,” I tell her as the agent gives me the keys to the biggest SUV they have.
“Why are we heading toward Parker-slash-Franktown?” she asks twenty minutes later, watching the road sign as we take the exit.
“Adventure,” I tell her.
“Uh, Oliver, why are we going east toward Kiowa?” she asks once we’re further down the road, suspicion in her voice. “As much as I love you, I don’t need to pull a Pat and Terry and drive this whole road again.”
I laugh. Hard. “No, I love you too much for that,” I tell her. “Just wait.”
I take an exit toward a familiar small town, and I hear her gasp. “Oliver?”
“Be patient,” I say, the SUV purring as we turn toward the Evergreen Junction Café, home of the worst chicken fried steak in the world.
I park in front of the diner, but when we step into the cold, I take Poppy’s shoulders and turn her to a building across the street.
Strings of white lights outline the roofline of the old train station, and a hand-painted sign reads “Mistletoe Express.”
Poppy’s eyes get so big and round, they could fit my heart in them.
“Merry Christmas,” I say, taking her gloved hand and leading her across the quiet street. Our boots crunch on the salt-treated pavement, and I can feel her practically vibrating with excitement beside me.
“I can’t believe you got me tickets on the Mistletoe Express,” she keeps repeating. When we get to the platform, we join a throng of excited families and couples. I wrap my arms around her. “I can’t believe you remembered,” she says.
“I’m gonna need you to stop thinkinganythingabout you is forgettable,” I say, holding her tight. I lean down to kiss her when my phone buzzes.
“You should get that,” Poppy murmurs into my mouth.
“Why is everyone so obsessed with us?”
I feel her smile against my lips. Then she leans back, pulls my phone out of my coat pocket, and hands it to me.
“It’s Scottie. Get it.”
I hit answer.
“Fletch, we have a bit of a problem.”
“Okay, is this something Poppy can know about?”
“What? I don’t care. Yes. Hi Poppy,” she says.“Remember how Jake likes to pretend I’m his girlfriend when we’re in public so he doesn’t have to fight off the Baseball Annies with a stick?”
