Page 122 of When in December

I might’ve even enjoyed it.

I was supposed to go back to the military. I was supposed to leave the past behind and start fresh somehow even if I wasn’t sure how. But what if there was no such thing as leaving things behind or starting fresh? That wasn’t life. It wasn’t possible.

Who was I to make that decision for both of us, even if Poppy hadn’t gotten her promotion?

None of it made a difference.

I only wanted it to. Could that be enough. A sign, maybe?

I glanced back up at the gray sky.

“Stay here.” I jumped away from Oz and Sarah, casting her in a spray of snow.

“Hey!” She brushed herself off, a crease forming between her brows in confusion.

“Stay. Just for a minute. I’ll be right back. I’m going to need a ride.”

I paced away from her and back into the house, where the realtor was pointing up at the painted bookshelves. Poppy’s bookshelves were still filled with my and my grandmother’s books.

“Excuse me.”

They acted like I wasn’t even there.

“Excuse me,” I snapped a little louder.

Then, people wondered why I felt the need to be rude.

The couple and realtor turned toward me.

“Oh, Mr. Hayes?—”

“I need you to reschedule,” I told the realtor.

She blinked at me. “Pardon?—”

“I need to go, and I’m not leaving you all here with your terrible interior design choices,” I said, yet no one moved. “Did you not hear me? I need you to get out of my house.Now.”

thirty

. . .

Poppy

Michelle toldme to dig deep? I was going to dig myself into the biggest pile of work I could and block everything else out. This was what I loved, right? Home design for Home Haven, even if I wasn’t going to be promoted.

Yet.

Ever.

Who knew really at this rate?

“Do I need to drag you out of here, or can I trust you to leave at a reasonable hour?” Hannah packed up her things for the evening after finishing her last call, which was a doozy—the caller had needed a last-minute gift but did not appreciate any of Hannah’s usual suggestions.

Wrapping up her headset, she gently set it alongside her computer. She looked tired with her hair twisted up in a bun and circles under her eyes from the long hours.

“Or are you still moping?” she asked.

“I’m not moping. I’m working.”

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