Page 60 of Make The Cut

“Maybe, but you don’t usually get mycardoor.” She frowns, a tiny furrow forming between her brows.

“Can’t I turn over a new leaf? Be more polite?”

Poppy buckles her seatbelt with a click, avoiding my gaze. “Why now?”

“I was trying to keep myself from being too polite so I could hide the fact that I’m hopelessly in love with you.”

“And how long have you been hopelessly in love with me?”

“That’s a story for another day.”

She studies the lasso she’s holding, weaving it through her fingers. “I’m hopelessly in love with you, too.”

“Well, who wouldn’t be?”

“You are making this romance thing impossible,” she says.

“I’m doing my best.” I tug at my skin tight Spiderman costume. Maybe this wasn’t the best costume idea. I already feel like I can’t breathe with her in the car, and we still have twenty minutes of driving to do.

“You don’t have to do all this,” Poppy blurts out. “I mean, you don’t have to get my door and all of that. I can do it myself.”

That tiny stubborn tilt of her chin and the set line of her jaw suggest that she’d be more than happy to pick up the tab or open the door by herself. But that’s what makes me want to do those things for her.

“I know you can. But I like doing it.” She never protested when we werejust friends. Why is it a big deal now?

“But you don’t have to,” she says. “I don’t care about that.”

“Why?” I don’t want to go back to being just friends with her now that I know how her lips feel against mine. I certainly don’t want to pretend that we’re just friends when I think we both want so much more from each other.

“I don’t know… It just makes me uncomfortable.” She shrugs, picking at her chipped nail.

“Don’t you think you deserve that, at least?” I prompt her as we speed onto Santa Monica Boulevard. “And much more?”

She’s silent. “I don’t know that I deserve anything, after what I’ve done.”

“That’s not true.” I clear my throat. “Poppy, you’ve made amends for what you’ve done. Can’t that be enough?”

“I don’t know.” She fidgets with the strap of her purse, weaving it through her fingers. “I don’t know thatI’llever be enough.”

You’re more than enough for me.The words don’t come. “How do you like working for Rose and me at the same time?”

“At least it’s not likeThe Devil Wears Prada.”

“You’re saying Rose McCartney isn’t the devil?”

“No, I’m saying she prefers Gucci.”

I bite back a laugh as we pull up outside the party. I get out and open her door for her. “Your carriage, milady.”

Her brilliant smile shines brighter than any of the flickering candles lining the walkway to the house. “Thank you, good sir.”

“Wow, Sasha really went all out for this party.” I stare at the elaborate decorations; it looks like we’re in a period-accurate depiction of the palace of Versailles. Inside, people dressed as various movie characters, inanimate objects, and even a few Founding Fathers are dancing, drinking, and laughing.

“She told me this was going to be, and I quote, a ‘small shindig,’” Poppy says, sounding dismayed.

“It’s better this way. No one will notice us.” I adjust my Spiderman mask. “Unless you want to re-enact the Spiderman kiss scene.”

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t.”

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