First on her list titledWays to make The Downer less of a downer: fresh paint.
“Can you tell me which one I should pick?” I ask.
“You don’t see the difference? This one”—she steps forward and points to the paint splotch on the left—“is blue gray. And this one”—she hooks her thumb to the right—“is greige.”
“Greige? That’s a made-up color.”
“It’s a thing, I promise. Gray plus beige equals greige.”
“Then why don’t you call the other one gra-lue. Gray plus blue equals gra-lue.”
“Doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, does it?”
I fight back a smile, crossing my arms and turning to the wall. “I don’t care.”
She throws up her hands. “This is way harder than Joanna Gaines makes it seem.”
“I guarantee Chip doesn’t care what paint colors she picks for their projects.”
“Maybe not, but he loves her enough to play along.”
My chest compresses at that thought.
Love?
“Fine. I like the greige,” I say, trying to mask the slight wobble in my tone with another eye roll over the made-up color.
She claps her hands. “Greige, it is. I think all your future tenants will appreciate your selection. You can tell them you picked out the wall color yourself.”
“Or you could stay, and then I wouldn’t need to hunt down a future tenant.”
“You can’t afford to keep me.”
I snort. “Probably true.”
We’ve fallen into a rhythm of this sort of banter all week.
I keep finding ways to tell her that she should stay.
Exhibit A: “What will you do without Inez’s coffee?”I asked her yesterday when I showed up with her favorite iced latte in tow before she headed into the office.
“Die a slow, miserable, uncaffeinated death,” she quipped in return. “It’s my cross to bear.”
Of course, Poppy thinks we’re joking around. But I am very much not. I don’t want her to go.
I’ve never experienced being around another person like Poppy. With her, it’s like I’m who I’m supposed to be.
Corny, maybe. But it’s true. She’s seen me at my least glamorous. I don’t have anything to hide from her. Not anymore. Telling her about Tricia was so freeing. Waking up to her in my arms was enough to bring me to my knees. I want to wake up like that every day for the rest of my life.
Which can’t happen if she doesn’t stay.
We’ve spent quite a bit of time together since she showed up at my job site last week, but there hasn’t been another opportunity to try to pick up where we left off with that near-kiss.
Poppy has been working like a madwoman to get the Party in the Park arrangements made, on top of all the rest of the P&R day-to-day work she’s doing.
She still usually beats me home, and by the time I get showered, eat a quick dinner, and wander outside, she’s out there, most often with Rose.
The three of us end up sitting for an hour or two, talking or not talking, about everything and nothing.
