Page 53 of When in December

“We can glue you up to make sure it stays closed. Then, all you’ll need to do is keep it clean. You’ll be right back to finishing up any projects. Renovations are always stressful for new homeowners, especially with the holidays right around the corner. Hopefully, this is the only hiccup you two have.”

“Oh, no,” Poppy quickly corrected the doctor, waving her injured hand before catching herself. “We’re not together.”

“Oh. I apologize.”

Yet she continued, “I’m working on his home. He drove me here. I told him that it was fine.”

“It’s not fine,” I muttered.

The doctor looked between us, making a few more notes. I was pretty sureobsessive protestingwas going to be marked somewhere in that chart.

“I’ll get someone in here to finish up with you, and then you two can head out. Have a good night.”

“Thank you,” called Poppy. Peeking back up at me, she took a deep breath as if preparing herself for whatever came next.

I resisted saying,See?You’re going to be fine, again.

Relief stretched from the center of my chest that it wasn’t as serious as I’d thought. A flesh wound. It was good that was all it was. But I was sure to her ears, any more encouragement would sound likeI told you so.

After her hand was sealed with what looked like a thick coating of superglue and gauze, we drove back to the house in near silence. There was a low hum of country music over the radio—holiday country once Poppy got her hands on the settings.

I hadn’t even known that was a thing.

I pushed the car into the park. Most of the lights were still on inside the cabin from our hasty exit.

Home sweet home.

For now anyway.

I made my way out of the car and to Poppy’s door before she could reach it.

Holding on to the sleeve of her coat, I helped her down the big step from the truck to the ground. She made a little surprised noise when her feet hit the slush of snow that was still slowly coming down in a flurry.

I wasn’t sure if the snow around here was ever going to stop, though I couldn’t say that I minded. It had been a while since I’d been home for snow, and this year might’ve broken records for it already.

“Thank you.” She shrugged out of my hand. “I appreciate you driving me there and making sure that I was all right.”

“It’s fine.” I started to walk toward the door, waiting to listen to the crunch of footsteps behind me to know that she was following.

“I guess I should really head home now.”

I stopped in my tracks. She headed to her car, covered in a thick layer of snow.

She had to be kidding me. Again.

Poppy Owens was really turning into a pain in my side.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“I should probably go home.”

I nearly barked a laugh. “You’re not going home. You just got your hand hot-glued back together, and it’s snowing out,” I reminded her. “You’re staying here.”

“Here?” She looked behind me at the cabin, as if I were suddenly living in a run-down motel. Sure, the accommodations these days weren’t much better, but at least she could pretend to be proud of her work.

“Yes, here.”

People would probably blame me if something happened to the pitiful thing at this point, and to be honest, I didn’t need my blood pressure to get any higher in the name of Poppy Owens.

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