“Yup. You found me.”
I shift in my seat, holding a tan square piece between my fingers, ready to place it on the castle. It falls to the table so I can give Poppy my attention, hands clasping in my lap beneath the table.
Her hip rests on the doorway for several moments before she enters the room, pulling out a chair across the table and taking a seat, eyes scanning my project.
Doing LEGOs calms my nerves.
Which is why I’m doing them now, despite the fact that my hands feel too big and my thoughts too loud.
Poppy’s quiet as she slides into the chair, her gaze skimming the castle spread across the table between us. Her eyes pause on the drawbridge I’ve rebuilt three times already, then flick up to me.
“Serious question,” she says, voice soft but teasing. “Does this castle have a guest suite or nah?”
I huff a laugh. “No moat, no guest suite. I’m working with a limited kit here.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
“You’re really good at this,” she murmurs, reaching for a few bricks. “I haven’t touched LEGOs since I was a kid.”
“Occupational hazard,” I mutter.
She tilts her head. “Of being a hockey player?”
“No,” I say, clearing my throat. “Of needing something to focus on.”Helps with the anxiety.
Her brows lift. She doesn’t press, which I appreciate.
Instead, she holds up a tiny flag. “Where does this go?”
Poppy toys with a minifig, turning it over in her hand. Her hair falls forward as she studies it, and I have the irrational urge to brush it back behind her ear.
“Do you want to talk about last night?” she asks suddenly.
My heart skips.
I glance up. “Do you?”
She shakes her head quickly. “Nope. Definitely not. Just… wondering if you did.”
I smile. “Then we won’t.”
Her shoulders relax slightly.
We fall into a comfortable silence. Her fingers fidget with the plastic bricks. My eyes keep flicking toward her lips.
“Do you want anything?” she finally asks. “Coffee or a snack? I was thinking about chips and guac.”
My head gives a small shake. “I’m good, but thanks.”
More silence.
She’s tapping a flat brick on the table now, gently, like she’s building up the courage to say something else. Her fingers are quick and capable—nails short and painted a soft pink.
Not that I’m staring.
I clear my throat and glance back down at the LEGO instructions like I suddenly forgot how a drawbridge works. “So, you said you work in IT?”
Her head lifts, eyes meeting mine. “Yeah.”
