Page 41 of Faking It With the Grumpy Single Dad

It’s probably a stupid question. She’s Poppy Minton. She doesn’t need todoanything. She doesn’t need a career.

“Honestly? I loved investing in real estate back in SoCal. It was fun. I mean, I know that becoming a landlord isn’t exactly the most ethical or humanitarian path to take, but it wasn’t ever really about that. I think it’s maybe a lot like what you said about architecture. I like the idea of finding homes for people. Finding places that are beautiful but maybe need a little bit of work, restoring and redecorating them, and then finding families that will make them their safe spaces. I get excited about a good property, you know?”

I nod. “Like the cottage.”

“Exactly.” She smiles up at me, her eyes bright. “I’ve loved every part of that renovation so far. Especially the demolition part. I’ve never done a project this big, and I was afraid it might be horribly stressful, but I’m having the time of my life.”

“Well, you’re not the one who had to deal with that load-bearing wall the other day,” I joke.

She laughs. “True. But, still. It’s a rewarding process. Maybe I’ll start a vacation rental company here. An affordable one. You know, for people who aren’t wealthy, but who still deserve to experience paradise.”

She sounds almost surprised by her own words, like she’s only just now allowing herself to say them out loud. There’s something special about realizing that I’m one of the people she trusts enough to reveal something like that. How did that happen between us? Where did this connection come from, when we really shouldn’t feel like anything more than strangers?

“That sounds like a great idea,” I tell her, meaning every word. “You’d be amazing at it, really. I have to admit that some of your ideas about the cottage have been difficult to conceptualize, but it’s a rewarding challenge to meet. Honestly, you’re a visionary, Poppy.”

She blushes lightly, two rosebuds blossoming on her cheeks.

“Thanks, Joe. And who knows? Maybe if I actually make it a reality, we could be long-term business partners.”

The thought doesn’t annoy me as much as it should.

“Maybe we could.”

Her smile sparkles like the chandeliers overhead.

We continue dancing, moving to the soft rhythm of the music as our conversation settles into a comfortable rhythm of its own. I catch her glancing over my shoulder once or twice, and I don’t need to look to know she’s checking to see if Percy’s still watching. I lean in a little, keeping her attention on me.

“You know, I misjudged you.”

Poppy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh?”

“I thought you were one of those people who is always worried about what other people think of them. But you’re not.”

“I am, though.”

I shake my head. “You moved across the country because it’s what you wanted to do. You buy an outdated cottage because, even though it’s hardly glamorous, it seems like a fun project.Andyou actively choose to attend a gala with a random local who is totally cramping your style.”

Poppy bursts out laughing. “Are you serious? Do you have any idea how handsome you look right now, Joe? If anyone is passing any sort of judgment, it’s that they probably think you’re way out of my league.”

I snort, feeling bold enough to twirl her in a little circle. She lets out a breathless laugh as she spins away from me and then slips back into my arms.

“Thank you, Poppy,” I reply.

“For what?”

“For being yourself.”

“You can’t thank me for that. I don’t even know I’m doing it. Actually, for most of my life, I haven’t even been sure whomyselfreally is.”

There’s a silence between us as she lets that confession hang in the air, and I realize that Poppy is just as lost as everyone else. It’s easy to think that people who live in a world of privilege have it all figured out, but that’s obviously not the case.

“You’re the only person who gets to decide who you are,” I murmur.

Her expression softens. “I think you’re the first person who’s ever said something like that to me.”

“Well, it’s true.”

She pauses, glancing away for a moment and swallowing hard.

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