Not enough sunshine.
“I knew she looked familiar.” I lift the baseball cap I’m wearing, dragging my fingers through my hair. “Are you... okay?”
“Okay?” Poppy repeats, an odd note in her voice. “Sure, I love that the guy I was dating for months took less than a minute to move on to a gorgeous, talented woman who won Best Actress at the Academy Awards last year and just launched her own cosmetics line. Thank yousomuch for the update, Hartman.”
I wince.
“Want me to go to LA and kick his ass?” Kiara says, nudging her shoulder against Poppy’s.
Poppy laughs humorlessly. “It’s fine.”
“It doesn’t have to be fine,” says Kiara. She drags Poppy’s phone away, closing Instagram. “You thought he wanted tomarryyou.”
“Because I’m an idiot.” Poppy’s blue eyes look watery. She presses the heel of her hand against her nose.
“Hey, no—”
“Let me take you home,” I interrupt quickly.
“Why’d you even rush over to tell me this?” Her voice sharpens. “Did you think oh, perfect, that’s just the thing to ruin Poppy’s evening?”
“Fuck no. I just thought...” There’s no way in hell I’m telling her that her father sent the post to me first. Or that his first thought was that she might do something reckless in response. Something public, is what he really meant. Another thing for people to gossip about, another chance for her to be an internet laughingstock. “I know it sucks.”
Her lip wobbles. “It fucking sucks.”
“Come on.” I gesture to the door. “Let’s go. Scream out the car windows or something.”
“If you put on Slipknot, I’m throwing myself out of the car.” But she hugs Kiara goodbye and slings her tote bag over her shoulder.
In the Jeep, I ignore her rambling directions to her apartment, and head for the restaurant instead. “Hungry?”
“No.”
I glance at her. She’s hunched over, peering at her phone. I snatch it out of her hands and toss it into the backseat.
“Hey!” she protests, head whipping around. She tries to reach for her phone. I lay my hand over the seat buckle so she can’t take it off and dive into the backseat—although not for lack of trying. She finally sits back, arms crossed, glowering at me. “Ugh, you’re so annoying.”
“Stop looking at his stories.”
“You better not have made me accidentally like something.”
“You can like stories?”
“Duh.”
“But they disappear.”
“You still want engagement on your stories. Replies are better.” She works on unwinding her braid, tongue poking out between her lips. “I’m working on a branded set of story templates that’ll match Fable’s website. You’re welcome.”
I clear my throat, forcing my eyes to stay on the road. “Going to pitch pink again?”
Poppy doesn’t even crack a smile. “Until you say yes.” Her cheeks are still flushed, hopefully from the wine instead of impending tears. Ryan sure as hell isn’t worth them.
And I don’t like seeing her cry.
As we pull up to the restaurant, Poppy says, “Seriously, I’m not hungry.”
“Then consider it a cooking lesson.”
