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He holds his arm out, inviting her to slip her hand to his elbow. But Poppy doesn’t move an inch. “No.”
Her answer is just as flat and dismissive as mine was. His smile flips completely upside down into a frown. “Excuse me?”
“It’s pretty simple,” Poppy says. “You asked me a question. A question is, by its very nature, allowing for choice and options in answer. And my choice is to say no. Unless you only asked rhetorically and you’re saying that I don’t have the choice in who I want to dance with?”
Ian flounders at her logic, or maybe it’s the big words like ‘rhetorically’, and out of the corner of my eye, I see that Caylee’s paying attention, grinning. She’s on Team Poppy, or Team Connor, or whatever we are.
Ian flushes. “No.”
“Exactly,” Poppy says. “No. That’s my answer, Ian. Now run along back to Mommy and tell her that her scheming is transparent and mean-spirited.”
Ian starts to turn, but Poppy calls him back. “Ian? You can tell her no too.”
Ian laughs like that’s ridiculous and scurries off the dance floor before any more attention can come his way. Poppy watches him, then turns back to me, shrugging. “Can’t save them all.”
I laugh softly, pulling her back into my arms to continue our dance and looking into her sparkling eyes. “You’re amazing.”
“Thank you.”
I almost stop there. Maybe I should. But before I can stop it, I give her a little pebble of my soul too. One even more important than the one I gave Caylee. “I think you’re saving me.”
Poppy’s smile falters for a moment before she lifts onto her tiptoes to give me a soft, tender kiss. It feels different this time, deeper and more meaningful. And more dangerous, but her lips’ accepting mine so openly washes away my concerns, letting hope get a foothold.
After, she giggles and whispers, “I flipped off Audrey while I was kissing you. I know it’s juvenile, but it makes me feel better.”
I blink and look over to see Ian trying to appease Audrey, who is fuming visibly but too concerned about appearances to actually do anything about it other than shoot us a sneer of distaste.
I flip her off too, giving her a bonus wink. “You’re right. That does feel better.”
We go back to our seats, enjoying the festivities and the food until it’s time for toasts. Caylee, perhaps wisely, doesn’t ask me to toast them, but when it’s time to throw the flowers, Poppy goes out there on the dance floor with the rest of the single women, ready to play wide receiver. The women are good-naturedly volleying for position, and though I can’t hear them, I think there’s a fair amount of smack talk going on out there.
Caylee looks over her shoulder one last time, smiling at her guests, and then takes three practice swings. Three . . . two . . . one. The bouquet arcs high into the air, nearly catching on a chandelier, and everyone dives for it at the same time, bouncing into and off each other. It seems Poppy was right about the mosh pit, after all. And there she is, right in the middle of it.
The flowers bounce along the grasping hands to tumble to the dance floor, where the women scramble for it like football players going after a greased fumble. Caylee hikes up her dress and scoots back from the incoming wave of women with a shout encouraging them to ‘get it!’
It’s a heap of tulle, lace, and pretty dresses, but Poppy squirms over and around them, dodging and weaving before popping up with the slightly crushed flowers in her hands. “Boo-yah!” She holds it up high in triumph, and the other women laugh, instantly realizing that they were going ham over a dozen roses they could buy at the grocery store.
But it’s about the symbolism and tradition.
Caylee's clapping, and when she catches my eye, she mouths to me, “I like her. Don’t fuck up.”
Poppy returns to the table holding the bouquet like a trophy. “I caught it!”
I pull her down, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “Well, you grabbed it off the floor.”
“Same difference. It’s mine, and you know what that means,” she sing-songs happily.
For a moment, the whole thing feels . . . real. Like she’s really mine, like we’re really engaged, like we’re actually going to get married.
It’s a great gift from Caylee to me, even if she doesn’t know she’s giving it.
Chapter 19
Connor
“Tonight was amazing,” Poppy says as we climb in my truck to leave the reception.
Across the console, I take her hand and trace her fingers with my own. I need to touch her, want to keep this feeling of a fairy tale come to life alive inside me for as long as I can.
We’re about halfway home when Poppy turns to me. “Connor, pull over.”
