Page 54 of When in December

“You’re staying here for the night. The weather is awful, and you’re down a hand. You want to go out and get into another accident today?”

She laughed lowly. Twisting on her heel, she took another step toward her car. “You’re being ridiculous.”

I watched she climbed into the car and then attempted to buckle herself in with one hand. I also watched as her tires spun in the snow. Hands on my hips, I didn’t move to help her. More heavy flakes were coming down. We were no longer in flurry territory. No way was she going to make it back into the city with those bare, bald tires. It was a wonder the little homemaker had even made it here when the roads weren’t completely plowed earlier in the day.

Or maybe she almost hadn’t.

When she walked in the house earlier today, she was a little shaken up and red-cheeked, and neither thing could’ve been just because of Oz testing her out.

She didn’t give up though. She never did. Until finally, she closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the steering wheel.

Defeated.

Who knew that was a look the unconquerable Poppy Owens had?

Taking my cue, I wandered over to knock on the window. “Turn off the car and come back inside. You’re not going anywhere.”

She hesitated for another minute. Then, the car shut off. She stepped out.

I waited patiently before reaching to help her towards the house.

“Just don’t touch me,” she stammered with something akin to a whine, yanking out of my hand as if she was going to make a run for it. She gasped as she stepped on a slippery patch.

I reached for her right before she steadied herself.

“Grab my arm before you fall,” I ordered.

She needed to stop whatever this was she was doing right now.

“I’m fine. Let me hold on to an ounce of my dignity for one day,” she insisted.

Was that what this was? “Let me help you.”

“I’m not going to fall!” She took a step away from me, looking much steadier on her feet than she had before. “See?”

I rolled my eyes as I watched her head to the house.

And listened to the sharp, momentary squeak, followed by the crunch of snow.

I pressed my lips together, swallowing and ending up coughing instead.

God, if there was ever a time to not laugh.

If there was ever a timetolaugh.

Poppy was still on the ground, and no longer choking on my tongue, I cleared my throat.

“You making a snow angel, or are you ready to head inside now?”

Clenching her jaw, the homemaker looked to be one second away from at last cursing me out. “Slippery.”

“Wow, imagine if someone had told you that.” I reached out a hand. “I’d be laughing hard as hell right now, but I don’t know if you’re hurt.”

“I’m fine,” she mumbled.

Of course she was. Poppy Owens, Home Haven designer extraordinaire, was always fine.

I was beginning to see that, even though now, I was less sure if it was true.

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