Page 47 of Faking It With the Grumpy Single Dad

Chapter Fifteen: Poppy

When I wake up, the first light of dawn is filtering through the window, casting a soft glow over the room. I sit up slowly, pulling the blanket around me, and realize Joe is gone. There’s a second blanket draped over my legs, though, as if he couldn’t stand to slip away without first making sure that I was comfortable.

I sit there for a moment, holding the blanket close, a feeling of bittersweet longing settling over me. I know I shouldn’t indulge it, but it’s as certain as the tides.

I’m falling for Joe.

I’m startled by the buzzing of my phone, the screen glowing with an incoming call from London. I squint, barely able to make out the caller ID in the early morning light.

It’s Amelia Keller, of all people. I haven’t seen her in ages. Technically, we grew up together. She’s only a couple years older than me, and her uncle was Schism’s drummer, so whenever Randall’s sister would bring Amelia to a show or event, we were thick as thieves.

We lost touch after the plane crash, but found our way back together when we happened to run into each other at a nightclub in downtown LA the night of my twenty-first birthday. She still lives in England full time, but we do our best to keep touch as often as possible. It’s easier said than done, not only because of the time difference, but also because Amelia has made quite a big name for herself as a designer in the fashion industry.

Even though I would consider Amelia one of my more genuine friends, the sight of her name makes my stomach twist. The fact that she’s calling me out of the blue, rather than just sending a text, can only mean one thing: drama.

“Amelia?” I mumble as I swipe to answer. “What’s going on?”

She doesn’t waste a second. “Poppy Minton, what on earth have you been up to?”

I pull the phone away from my face to stare at it, blinking away sleep even as I question whether I’m still dreaming. Her tone isn’t angry, exactly—more incredulous. As if the entire rest of the world, including her, is in on a secret that I haven’t yet been clued into.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, stifling a yawn. “I haven’t been up to anything at all, really.”

“Oh, haven’t you? Then maybe I should tell you about the photos of you currently circulating all over the internet.”

My heart sinks. I try to keep my voice steady, but the dread creeps in.

“Photos? What photos?”

“Well, let’s see,” she says with a loud sigh. “There’s one of you and Percy together in some quaint little town on Cape Cod, of all places. And then there’s another one of you cozying up with a completely different man at a gala—who looks absolutely scrumptious, by the way, but that’s beside the point. Twitter is on fire, Poppy, and everyone’s trying to figure out how someone with such a clean record could be involved in such a scandal.”

“Scandal?”

“Poppy, are you cheating on Percy?”

My heart lodges in my throat. I feel a rush of panic, my stomach twisting as Amelia’s words sink in. Photos. Percy. Joe. Scandal.

I never saw any photographers when we went to dinner with Percy. Mermaid Shores is supposed to be a safe haven from all of that stuff, too, so I don’t understand how anyone would’ve gotten a picture clear enough to sell to a media outlet. It’s not like I’ve been frolicking about with Percy. Really, I’ve been avoiding him whenever and however possible.

And, yes, there were photographers at the gala, but I deftly maneuvered Joe right past them. Or so I thought.

“Amelia, Percy and I aren’t together,” I reply. “We haven’t been together for ages. I thought you knew that.”

“Well, okay, Poppy, but then why are you hanging out with him? Please tell me there’s a good reason for all this, because people are saying some pretty insane things. You know how people love to fill in the blanks. And I figured since it’s midday here and still early in America, I might be one of the first people to warn you. It’s not good.”

I rub my forehead, feeling a headache coming on. “Of course I’m not dating both of them. I’m not even dating either one of them! That dinner wasn’t—look, Amelia, this is all ridiculous. Why do people care so much?”

“Um. Because you’re Poppy Minton.”

I groan quietly. “What do I do?”

“Honey, people are calling you everything from a ‘selfish brat’ to a ‘polyamorous party girl.’ I mean, it’s absurd, but you know how tabloids are—they don’t care about the truth as long as they have a good story. You’ve clearly given them a good one.”

I close my eyes, praying for a heartbeat that I can just go back to sleep and then wake up from this nightmare.

“Right. Well… thanks for the warning, Amelia. I’ll deal with this. I just… I can’t believe someone would follow me to Mermaid Shores just to get a photo.”

“That’s the price of fame, love,” she says, a hint of sympathy in her voice. “But I think you and I both know that someone didn’t just happen to follow you.”

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