POPPY:Sometimes I think about starting over—maybe opening a gift shop or a restaurant.
ME:Really?
POPPY:Food brings people together. Weddings just show them where to sit.
ME:That’s… actually profound.
POPPY:I have my moments.
ME:Why don’t you?
Three dots appear, disappear, then appear again.
POPPY:Same reason you babysat your risotto.
POPPY:Easier to control outcomes when you follow the recipe.
Damn. Called out via text at 11:17 p.m. Brutal.
ME:I should let you sleep.
POPPY:You should.
ME:Early vendor meetings?
POPPY:6 a.m. flower delivery.
ME:Inhumane.
POPPY:Necessary. Your lawn needs beauty.
ME:My lawn needs hazard pay.
POPPY:Drama queen.
ME:Chaos agent.
POPPY:Good night, Dean.
ME:Night, Poppy.
I set the phone down. The light in the guest house stays on.
So does mine.
We’re twenty feet and a lifetime apart, both working through the night because it’s easier than admitting we’re not built for normal.
But for the first time in six years, maybe that’s okay.
Maybe broken recognizes broken.
Maybe that’s enough.
For now.
Chapter Fifteen
Dress Disaster
