“Liar.” Her voice follows me.
“I’m going home. To sleep. Like a normal person.” I grab my keys from the valet.
“Mhmm.” She pats my cheek like I’m five. “She’s probably checking on the tent, in case you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Of course not, dear.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m pulling into my driveway, definitely not looking for Poppy. The headlights sweep across the property as I park.
The property is quiet. The tent is secure despite today’s earlier drama. There are no lights on in the guest house—just darkness and silence.
I should go inside, leave her alone, and respect the boundary she clearly set.
Thunder rumbles in the distance.
Damn it.
Not again.
I grab a flashlight and head out because I’m apparently incapable of making good decisions when it comes to her.
The rain starts soft—a drizzle at first. But the thunder is getting closer, and I know what that means—the kind of storm that sends Nadine’s neurotic dog into hysterics.
Muffin.
She’ll be losing her mind right about now. Thunder sends her into full panic mode, and Nadine mentioned she was at some wine tasting tonight.
I head for the guest house, hoping Muffin hasn’t destroyed anything, my flashlight beam cutting through the drizzle.
The door is ajar.
“Poppy?”
No answer. But I can hear something—soft voices, almost crooning, off-key humming.
I push the door open.
And my heart does this weird stuttering thing.
Poppy’s on the floor with Muffin, who’s shaking like a leaf. The thunder vest is on, but it’s not helping. Poppy has her wrapped in what looks like every blanket in the place, holding her close and murmuring nonsense. Her dress is rumpled, her makeup smudged, but she’s completely focused on the terrified dog.
“Shh, baby. It’s okay. Just noise. Can’t hurt you.” Her voice is soft, soothing.
Muffin whimpers and presses closer, burrowing into Poppy’s chest.
“I know. Scary noise. But you’re safe. So safe.” She rocks slightly, like soothing a child.
I must make a sound because Poppy looks up. Her makeup is smudged, mascara tracking down her cheeks—from tears or rain, I can’t tell. Her hair is a mess. Still in that green dress, now wrinkled and damp.
Still devastatingly beautiful.
“She was scratching at the door,” she says softly, not quite meeting my eyes. “I couldn’t leave her out there.”
“Yeah—” I clear my throat, something lodged there. “Thanks.”
Thunder crashes. Muffin yelps and tries to burrow into Poppy’s chest.
