Page 40 of Faking It With the Grumpy Single Dad

“Am I doing okay?” I ask, daring to lift my face to meet her gaze.

“You’re a natural.”

“Don’t lie.” I can’t help grinning, though.

It’s strange, how something so unfamiliar can also be so comfortable. It’s like I’m meant to be right here, keeping time with her.

She giggles at my sarcasm, and we fall into a natural rhythm. I can still sense Percy’s gaze every so often, like a very insistent gnat hovering around my head, but Poppy is determined to ignore him.

“So, you do this a lot, don’t you?” I ask, glancing around at the glamorous crowd. “This whole fancy scene?”

“Sometimes,” she admits. “More than I want to, if I’m being honest. I like getting dressed up, and I like having the opportunity to give so much to charity, but the social aspect of these events can be a little tiring. It’s part of my life, though, I guess. Or, itwas.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

She shrugs. When a couple swirls a little too close behind her, I tug her forward ever so slightly. The distance between us closes just a little bit more. Her eyelashes flutter as her gaze roams my face.

“Did you always want to be an architect?”

The question is so unexpected that I almost stumble. Her surprisingly firm grip on me keeps me from losing the rhythm, however.

“I think so, in one way or another.”

“Really?”

“Ever since I was little, I liked to build things. I was always very tactile, and when I was in school, I realized pretty early on that I learn better when I can use my hands. Flo—my mom—thought I might go on to be an engineer, but I liked the idea of working with houses,homes, specifically. So, I chose architecture.”

“Just like that?”

“Yep.”

“And you’ve stuck with it ever since.”

It’s not phrased like a question, but I nod. “I love it.”

She smiles. “That’s good.”

“What did you want to be when you were little?” I ask.

The music picks up in pace slightly, and we shift with it, keeping in time thanks to Poppy’s effortless musical ear.

She snorts at my question and rolls her eyes. “A princess.”

I chuckle. “You basically are. You’re rock-and-roll royalty.”

Another eye roll. “Not because of any merit of my own.”

“So, you never wanted to go into music, too?”

Poppy chews on her bottom lip for a moment. I wonder if I’ve asked the wrong question, pushed the wrong button. I learned early on how sensitive she can be about her father.

She doesn’t snap at me, though.

“I don’t know,” she replies with a heavy sigh. “I mean, obviously, when you’re little, you want to be just like your parents because they’re your idols. So, there was probably a few years where I wanted to be a rockstar just like him. But I don’t carry a tune very well, and even though I can technicallyplay four or five different instruments, I never felt as passionate about it as my dad does.Did, I mean.”

I try not to cringe at her past-tense correction.

“What about now as an adult? What do you want to do?”

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