“Landon,” Charlene calls to me in frustration, snapping me out of my memories and reminding me that I’m still on the phone and have a bar full of people annoyed at how long it’s taking to get their drinks.
“I’m grateful for your help. I’ll see you soon.” I say goodbye to Poppy, and with a big backlog of orders, I’m straight into making more cocktails.
It feels like the two hours have passed before I can even blink, and as I secure the night’s takings into the safe in my office, it dawns on me that I haven’t even checked my phone. Resting my ass on the side of my desk, I see there is only one message, which is from Poppy.
Opening it, I find her firefighter’s photo ID that she promised. My eyes skim over the details.
Lieutenant Poppy Bertrum
37 Locus St.
Rochester 14620
D.O.B 23 December 1995
That makes her twenty-nine and turning thirty in a couple weeks. But that’s not what holds my attention.
It’s her eyes.
Round, blue as the ocean, eyes I could easily get lost in.
All I can think is, who is the woman behind those eyes, and why do I have the urge to know her story?
It makes no sense, but what part of my life ever does.
Chapter Two
LANDON
Pulling into the garage, I try to be as quiet as I can when closing the door on my Cadillac Escalade so I don’t wake Poppy or the boys.
Thankfully I didn’t have any more phone calls for the rest of the night, so the boys must have slept through all the drama.
Not looking my best after a long night, I walk in from the garage and kick my shoes off at the door. I run my hands through my hair, grateful to have made it home without any more problems arising. I’m so fucking tired that I just want to get to bed before the boys wake up in four or five hours and want breakfast.
As often as I explain to them that Christmas is still thirteen days away (well, it’s now technically the morning, so make that twelve days), they are worried that they will miss it if they don’t wake up nice and early every morning. This was always Lucinda’s thing. The celebrations and decorations that she loved to make a big deal of, and the damn early-morning wake-ups after I had crawled into bed at two am. I can still hear her voicewhen she would kiss me on the cheek and say,“Sleep, I’ve got them. Love you.”Then she would slip from our bed, and I would fall back into a deep, peaceful slumber. But those days are now just a distant memory.
I place my keys and phone on the hall stand as I walk into the living room, unsure whether Poppy will be awake or if she has been sleeping while she waited for me. Not seeing her, I peek over the top of the three-seater couch, and there she is asleep on her back. Her hands are clasped on her stomach, and her phone sits on her chest. Her blonde, shoulder-length hair lies messily on the cushion under her head, and her legs are crossed at her ankles. Her socks are striped red and white like candy canes, and it looks as though she has just thrown on some comfy clothes to get over here quickly. Her zip-up jacket has ridden up slightly in her sleep, and my eyes stay stuck on the slither of skin around her waist. Peeking from the bottom of her jacket is what looks like a Christmas pajama top, green with Santa heads all over it.
Ughhh, she is one of those people who think it’s “the most wonderful time of the year.”I should’ve guessed, because Mrs. B has been full of Christmas cheer for weeks. If it weren’t for the boys, I wouldn’t even bother decorating my house, but I know Lucinda would strike me down with lightning if I didn’t give them a proper Christmas experience.
I look down at Poppy, wishing she was awake so it would make this easier. I’m tired and just want to say thank you, then send her home so I can shower and crawl into bed.
But now I’m faced with the dilemma of how to wake her so that she doesn’t jump or scream with fright. The last thing I want is for the boys to wake up. Looming over her is probably not the best idea, but I don’t want to touch her either. I don’t want her telling her mother that I’m some creepy old man. Even though I’m only thirty-eight, I feel like the last few years have aged me, and I actually do feel like an old man.
I take a couple steps back to give her some space and then whisper her name.
“Poppy.” I speak so quietly that even I struggle to hear my own voice, and she doesn’t even flinch.
“Poppy,” I whisper, a little harsher and louder now.
Her body moves at lightning speed, and she sits up, staring at me with those big blue eyes as she quickly tries to work out where she is and what the hell is going on.
“Shit, Landon, sorry. I must have nodded off.” She raises her arms above her head and stretches as she yawns. I doubt she realizes how much of her stomach she is exposing right now, but it’s enough skin that I need to avert my eyes and look down at my hands until her stretching is done. Thankfully she is too tired to notice.
“Yeah, sorry to startle you, but I’m glad you could get some sleep. I already feel terrible for dragging you out so late at night. I’m sure you just want to head straight home to bed.” I sit on the coffee table in the middle of the room with my back to the fireplace, putting some more distance between us.
“It was no trouble at all. Plus, it just saved us from one of Mom’s long-winded introductions when she gets home tomorrow. Because I’m pretty sure she would’ve been dragging me over here to meet you the moment she pulled into the driveway.” She rolls her eyes at me.
