“So I’ve gathered.” Holland nods and then shoots me a grin. “She’s pretty great, isn’t she? Didn’t I tell you so?”
I grunt to acknowledge that yes, he did tell me Poppy is great. I focus on the streams of multi-colored watery paint running down my windshield as I wipe back and forth and try not to think about the other adjectives I would use to describe her…because they’re growing by the minute, and they go something like this:
Charming.
Adorable.
Brave.
Clever.
Sweet.
Kind.
Sexy as sin.
Holland paces in the parking lot next to my truck, scrolling through his phone, and I find myself in a mental war between honoring Poppy’s request for discretion and also making sure my brother realizes how lucky he is to have a woman like her waiting for him at home.
“You really like her?” I ask.
“What?” Holland is staring at his phone.
“Poppy. You really like her?”
He frowns. “Of course I like her. I asked her to move to my hometown.” He says that as if it explains everything.
I consider him for a minute as I stick the squeegee back in the hanging container of soapy water. “But that was for you. I’m asking if you like her, or if you like the idea of her.”
Holland whips his head up. “Where is this coming from?”
I hold up my hands. “As her friend, and your brother, I don’t want to see either of you get hurt.”
Holland’s phone vibrates three times in quick succession. He looks down at it, once again distracted. “I hardly think I need to take relationship advice from you, Mack. Leave Poppy to me.”
I grit my teeth to keep my mouth shut, hating everything about the thought of Poppy in anyone’s care but my own.
15
Weddings Are For Lovers
Poppy
EdandPiper’sweddingceremony was beautiful. They professed their vows in a quaint country church outside of Cashmere Cove, and the party moved into the restored granary that Mack pointed out to Rose and me our first week in town. It’s airy and bright, with high ceilings crisscrossed with rustic wood beams and the scent of fresh flowers permeating the air.
The food—I had the salmon and mashed potatoes—has been divine. The bride and groom could not be more gracious or charming. Everyone’s spirits are high.
Everyone’s but mine.
I should be feeling giddy from all the love in the air, right? That’s what weddings do. They get you high on the thought of happily ever after. They make you lean in closer to your partner and fall in love all over again. It’s a whole thing.
My phone vibrates in my clutch purse, and I reach for it like a lifeline. I’m against being glued to my cell when I’m in a public place where there are plenty of other things to occupy my time and attention, but I’m desperate for a distraction from the fact that, though I’m at a wedding—the most romantic of all occasions—I’m not feeling any flashes of affection for my boyfriend.
The same man I moved across the country for.
That realization makes me feel sick to my stomach.
Rose:How’s the wedding event of the Cove, Pops?
