And Poppy watches me with an amused look on her face.
“Glad you’re enjoying yourself,” I grunt. I pull the lever beneath the seat one last time and try—and fail—to jam the seat back any farther.
I ball my hands into fists and bite back a yell of frustration.
I’ve never been accused of being zen, but I haven’t felt an anger like this in years. Because it’s not just anger.
It’s futility.
Even if I didn’t have Granddad’s crushing disappointment to worry about, I’m the best man. Evan needs me. It doesn’t matter that I think he’s tried too hard to pretend the accident that ruined his life was actually a blessing in disguise. He loves Sloane. He’s my brother. And he’s counting on me to be there on the best day of his life.Me.What was he thinking?
“Hey,” Poppy says. And a moment later, her hand is on my upper arm. “I’m happy to drive.”
Her hand is warm through the sleeve of my hoodie, and for a second, that heat cuts through everything else—the frustration, the cramped space, the noise in my head. I nod. “That would probably be best.”
Poppy unbuckles. “You think?”
There’s no meanness to her teasing, which I have just enough presence of mind to appreciate.
We get out of the car and meet at the corner of the hood, both sidestepping in the same direction before she laughs and I gesture her past me. Her shoulder brushes my chest lightly, but it’s enough to cause a jolt.
Stupid static in the stupid dry air.
In the car, Poppy moves the seat all the way up, adjusts the mirrors, buckles, and plugs our destination into the GPS, smiling with each step.
“What are you so happy about?” I ask, clicking my own seat belt. My head’s still right at the roof, and my knees are hitting the dash, but it’s better than them hugging the steering wheel.
“People don’t need a reason to be happy.” She gives the rearview mirror one more nudge before putting the car into drive. “If anything, shouldn’t they need a reasonnotto be?”
“Yeah, well I haven’t seen you this happy yet.”
“Everyone’s allowed to be off now and again.” We get to the exit, and Poppy looks both ways before leaving the garage.“Besides, I flew out for a case in Georgia just to up and quit my job yesterday and then chop off all my hair, so I earned it.”
“Whoa,” I say, my eyes snapping from the GPS to her. A million questions flit to my mind, but I’m not the kind of guy who does follow-up questions or comments. Yet my mouth doesn’t seem to get the memo. “Your hair’s nice,” I hear myself saying.
YOUR HAIR’S NICE.
Those words came out of my mouth. To Poppy.
And now she’s smiling again.
Ugh.
The weather in Denver could be a lot worse. There’s some snow on the ground, but it’s not fresh. The mid-afternoon sky is dreary, though, with clouds hanging dull and heavy overhead, eclipsing the sun.
Poppy turns up the heater at the same time that the GPS dings, and the automated voice says,“Accident ahead on Interstate 76 East near Hudson. All lanes closed. Estimated delay: four hours.”
“Four hours?” I pull out my phone and look for another route. “Let’s take I-70.”
Poppy looks over her shoulder and changes lanes to get ahead of a semi-truck. “Everyone will take I-70. The bottleneck could add hours itself.”
I check my phone again. “You’re right.” I turn off her GPS. “Take the exit for E-470 South. We’ll cut down to … Highway 83, then pick up, uh, 86 East. We’ll meet I-70 once we’re past the worst of the traffic.”
Her smile grows.
“Seriously, what are you smiling at?”
She gives me a quick glance, her hazel eyes bright. “Adventure.”
