Page 32 of When in December

“Then, what can I help you with?” Poppy asked, reaching up with the back of her hand to brush a strand of strawberry-blonde hair away from her face.

A streak of green ran across her forehead.

I bit my bottom lip.

“What?” she said, a little more agitated.

Oh, now, she was getting angry with me.

I shook my head. “Nothing.”

“Okay.”

“Actually, that’s not true,” I corrected.

“Of course it isn’t,” she muttered, so low that I was sure she didn’t expect me to hear.

Most of the time, after having gunfire in my ears most days for the past few years and being stupid enough not to wear ear protection from the start of firearms training, I wouldn’t have heard anything that wasn’t directed right at me, but my attention was focused on her now.

I couldn’t pry my attention away from the tiny line that burrowed between her eyebrows, which were a shade redder than the rest of her hair.

“What was that?” I asked anyway, leaning in closer.

She shut her eyes. When she opened them again, a false sense of composure was plastered across her soft features. “What can I do to make this experience better for you?”

When I didn’t answer, however, the homemaker shook her head with a sigh, setting her brush to the side, along with her gaze, as if she couldn’t stand to look at me anymore.

“I know what you’ve been doing, you know,” she said.

To be honest, if she did, I was impressed. I hated to admit it, but for the past few days, it had been hard not to be impressed with Poppy Owens once I finally stopped my rampage of messing up her project whenever I saw the opportunity.

There was little doubt that the homemaker was determined.

And a little ambitious if she still thought she’d manage to pull off whatever designer cabin dream my sister likely wanted her to make a reality in the house that had once been all of one room and not much else until my grandparents built on.

“And what’s that?” I asked.

“You’ve been messing with my project and plans for this cabin,” she said. “I’m not stupid. I figure you’re just waiting for the right time when I’m almost ready to give up again so that you can rub it in my face for some entertainment.”

“Am I that predictable?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

I opened my mouth to reply that I had no idea what she was talking about even though she’d truly hit the nail on the head. She beat me to it, leaving me with my mouth hanging wide open.

“I get that you’re in a rough spot here?—”

“I’m not in a rough spot.” Even though I kind of was. I was pretty sure living in your grandmother’s old house with no job and no one to complain about it to, no matter if it had been rewired and had central heat now, was considered being in a rough spot.

Some might even say rock bottom.

But at least up until today, since Poppy had arrived, the place was somewhat warm.

“Look, you don’t have to deny it. I understand.”

“You understand?” I shifted on my feet. “Please then, enlighten me.”

“I understand that you lost your friend and you’re having a hard time this time of year?—”

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