Page 27 of Poppy Kisses
Not a date. A bet I had to settle.
I got out just as Auggie ran out of the shop. “Hi, Poppy!”
“Hey, Auggie. Long time no see.” It’d been two days. I had stayed at Alder and Daisy’s a couple more nights so they could have their own night out. I’d gotten to know Daisy’s daughter, Laila, a lot better, especially since she was a little carbon copy of her mom.
I held my hand out for a fist bump.
He bumped knuckles. “Dad said I had to help you carry everything in.”
“Right on. I don’t have much.” All of my furniture was at my parents’ place in Billings. They joked that they would keep a portion of the garage empty to store their kids’ items when we moved. I wasn’t the first who had stashed belongings there.
Auggie grabbed my laptop bag. I hitched my duffel bag onto my back and extended the handle of my rolling suitcase. “Lead the way.”
He took me inside. I had been in the house when we’d had the gathering, but again, I was hit with the fresh-cut-wood-and-citrus scent of Jensen.
Home sweet home. For the next year and two months.
I followed him to a cove with three doors. There was the bathroom I first saw Jensen shirtless in and a bedroom on each side. He turned to the one with the open door. A nice queen-size bed greeted me. A small closet was tucked in the corner and two dressers lined the wall on either side of it. I’d get a nice view of the shop out the window.
I could stalk my future husband if I wanted to. Only I didn’t have to. I lived here now. Would I get used to referring to Jensen as my fiancé? My husband? I’d have to. I’d even changed my address at the post office. I’d get mail in Jensen’s mailbox. We were doing this.
It was for the house. For my job.
“Where do you want this?” Auggie asked, yanking me away from the mounting stress. I had the place to live. Now I could work on the steady and reliable employment.
“You can put it on the dresser to the left.”
He went to the one on the right.
“Your left is the other one,” I said gently.
He let out a frustrated noise. “I always get that mixed up.”
That was a pretty common challenge for dyslexics. “Has Debbie worked with you on ways to help?”
He shook his head and stuffed his toe into the floorboards. “My teacher always tells me to hold my thumb and finger out and whichever one makes anLis left.” He did it and squinted at his fingers. “Doesn’t help.”
Because he would be trying to figure out the way anLusually looked on top of determining right from left. “That’s because you know your right from your left, but you get them mixed up sometimes. There are some games we can play. Some people also wear a bracelet. I knew this one girl who has a little mole on her right hand, and she’d use that to help her.”
He studied his hands. “No moles.”
“Want me to ask Debbie?”
He ducked his head. “Yeah. I guess.”
The heavy resignation in his voice broke my heart. I lined my suitcase up by the wall and dropped my backpack on the bed. Then I perched on the edge. “Gets frustrating, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
“Nah. It’s better now. Debbie’s helped.”
“Good.” I stayed quiet. He’d talk if he wanted.
He glanced at the window. Jensen was walking across the drive, his long-legged swagger in his carpenter jeans enough to give me several fantasies.
“Kids used to ask why I can’t spell easy words,” Auggie said.
