I spot the Little Dipper when the back door of the adjoining duplex groans open.
“So then she tells me that I’ve got great hips for childbearing.”
It’s Poppy. I wince, though her tone is more amused than offended. I wasn’t privy to her conversation with my mother, but that sounds like something my mom would say. The woman means well—at least that’s what I keep telling myself. But she has about as much of a filter as a colander under a full sink—by which I mean none.
There’s a burst of laughter, and I can picture Poppy settling in on their side of the deck. I sigh. So much for my quiet moment of solitude.
“She seems nice, though. She wants you to come to Sunday dinner next week,” Poppy says.
“Great. I can’t wait to hear what she says about my figure.”
This is a new voice, one that I assume belongs to Poppy’s sister Rose. It’s lower and more dry-sounding that Poppy’s constant chipper tone.
“Stop. You’re gorgeous,” Poppy says, defensive. In spite of myself, I smile. The Kasper sisters seem to be close. It’s nice.
“Maybe, but I have zero hips to speak of,” Rose says. “I guess it’s a good thing I’m not dating one of the Bradley brothers.”
“There’s always Mack.”
Heat instantly floods my cheeks, and I feel all sorts of guilty for listening in on their private conversation.
“Not my type,” Rose says without a second’s thought.
Rude.
Poppy chuckles. “Strong, silent, surly men aren’t your type, eh? Noted.”
Poppy thinks I’m surly? I frown but then shrug. I guess I deserve that.
“Although, that’s probably a good thing in Mack’s case. Darla mentioned an ex-girlfriend. Tricia or something. Sounds like it was a messy break-up.”
I stand up so fast the chair rattles against the deck.
I freeze, the only sound my own breathing.
“Big?” Poppy says my nickname like a question.
I grunt. I can hardly ignore the fact that I’m out here now. Leave it to Tricia to continue to put me in impossible situations…after all these years. “Uh, yeah,” I say.
“What are you doing?” Poppy asks.
“Sitting outside.”
She’s silent, and I can imagine the conversation she and Rose are having with their eyes.
“Well, come over here. I want to introduce you to my sister.”
I heave a sigh and stride around the dividing wall between our two decks.
Poppy is sitting with her back against the exterior siding of the duplex. Her face has been scrubbed clean of its makeup and she’s changed into shorts and a white V-neck t-shirt. The woman next to her has raven-black hair chopped to chin length. She’s wearing leggings and a tank top and eyeing me with blatant scrutiny.
“Big, this is Rose, my younger sister. Rosie, this is our landlord and Holland’s brother, Mack Bradley.”
Rose is twiddling with her necklace with one hand, but she holds up her opposite hand to wave. I nod my head.
Poppy is staring at me, and when I lift an eyebrow, she grins. “Or as I learned this evening, MacArthur Bradley.”
“No.”
