Page 42 of Never Have I Ever

“Is it?” Oh shit. I suck at hiding my true thoughts.

I’m met with silence, and then she starts in on the celery, the crunch distracting. I’ve waited years for a second chance, so I can’t lose this opportunity.

I clear my throat of the nerves that have been gathering and then say, “I was thinking—”

“What if I—” We speak at the same time. She smiles, making me believe there’s still a chance. “You go first.”

“It’s fine. I can wait.” I became an expert the day she didn’t show up.

“Well, I was thinking . . .” She sets the knife down and wipes her hand on a kitchen towel. “Since I’m already here, bought groceries, and the car might take a few days, how would you feel about me hanging around for part of the week?” Rushing her hands out, she adds, “You mentioned it earlier, but I know plans can change. I’ll work for my dinner, and dinner will be amazing, but no pressure.”

Sitting back, I rest my ankle over my knee and take her in—hair hanging over her shoulders with a soft wave from being tied back, the right side tucked behind her ear, exposing the bridge of her nose with the slightest of bumps in it. She’s not wearing much makeup, but she doesn’t need any. The woman is naturally stunning.

Sometimes it’s hard to look at her and know I can’t pull her into my arms. I can’t hold her or kiss the top of her head. I can’t be with her how I know in my heart we should.

Poppy’s right in front of me, and I still miss her.

So fucking much.

At least I get to bathe in her pretty smile and enjoy her sense of humor and food quips. I want to know everything about her, but it will take patience, like the articles warned.

I’m willing to wait as long as it takes for her to remember what we had or for her to fall for me all over again. Whichever comes first that has us ending up together.

I reply, “Stay the week as planned or as long as you like. We have food and can get more. But I don’t want you to stay as an employee.”

“No?”

“Stay as my guest, Poppy.”

A small smile tilts her lips as she leans against the kitchen cabinet. “Be careful what you wish for.”

“When it comes to you, I’m willing to take the risk.” I start toward her, for her, wishing we were together and I didn’t have to be careful.

“You drive a hard bargain. You know, all you had to do was ask.” Please don’t. As if she hears my silent plea, she looks around the family room. “Can I think about it?”

I slide onto a barstool, figuring I shouldn’t crowd her space. It’s not mine to claim anymore. Though kissing her is the only thing I can imagine doing, she’s not mine to claim anymore either.

Tapping the counter, I force myself to look away, spotting an errant hairband I think she left lying there on purpose. She watches as I slide it off the counter, but I’d steal it like the kleptomaniac she’s turned me into if she wasn't. I’d be a thief willing to steal anything to be closer, even her heart if she’s not careful.

“Take your time, but . . .” I walk around and hand it to her. “The offer stands. I’d like you to stay as my guest, Poppy.” When she pauses too long, I start to worry about rejection. “I can still pay for your time.” I hate how the talk of money ruins our exchange. Desperation does that before you know it’s happening.

Picking up the knife again, she grabs an apple and starts slicing. “No, money is not the issue.” Her tone doesn’t give her thoughts away, and I find myself wanting to pry them open and put them on display to read more easily.

The stretching silence is more telling than her words ever could be. The knife is set down with intention, and she finally says, “You shouldn’t have to pay people to spend time with you.”

That, right there. She may not remember, but I knew Poppy saw me. Two years of hell was worth this moment. But there’s always an answer. There are good people in my life, but that circle is small. “The only people I know who come free of charge are the ones who made it big with me.” As I walk to the door, I run my hand through my hair, tugging at the ends.

I’ve shown her who I am. I can’t stand around hoping she accepts the offer. She needs time, so I slip on each boot, not bothering to tie them, and grab my coat from a hook. “I’m a different person. Pain alters people that way.”

Leaving might not be the best solution, but it will give us room to think. “I’m going to check on the generator.”

Opening the door, I’m outside before I have a chance to change my mind. It’s for the best. Don’t force it, and be patient. Not showing up because she was in an accident is one thing. It’s another when she chooses not to be with me. That’s what will happen if I keep on the gas with her. I’ll drive her away instead of into my arms.

Wasn’t the purpose of this trip to clear my head? I should probably start working on it. That, and the new song I was strumming last night. I have seven days until I walk into the studio. I plan to get at least one track on the album. It would be even better if I could add multiple.

I walk around to the side of the house and then trek to the storage barn where my parents house the generator. Unlocking the door, I let myself in and snoop around through the stuff we’ve collected. Floats that haven’t been used in years and two paddleboards that probably couldn’t fight off the water anymore. A smaller ATV I used to explore the woods in when I was younger. It’s filled with a lot of history and even more junk.

The generator has done a good job, but when I dust it off, it’s showing its age as a teenager. I bend down to check the gauges, even tapping one that seems to have stopped.

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