Page 52 of Keeper
She nuzzles into me, probably because she’s cold. But I can’t stop myself from thinking how right this feels. How natural and normal. Safe and comfortable. I like having her with me again. I don’t want to think about her leaving.
“The big wedding day will be here soon,” she says, a sad tone to her voice.
I nod. “Yep.”
“Are you excited?” she asks, her voice curious.
“Of course,” I state noncommittally, pursing my lips off to the side, deep in thought. Truthfully, I’m really not excited. I’m happy for Tanner and Belle, but this whole having to bring a date thing is starting to bother me a lot more than I realised. I don’t even know who Poppy’s bringing. I can’t bring myself to ask. And she’s not asking me, so there’s a big elephant in the room that neither of us is discussing.
I hate it.
I hate not knowing things about Poppy. It never bothered me when we were younger. I had girlfriends. She probably had some boyfriends. We never talked about it and it never got to me.
Now, things are different. Somehow, we’ve changed. Poppy is my oldest and dearest friend in the world, yet this is something I can’t talk to her about. And I’m terrified of what that means.
THERE ARE CERTAIN PEOPLE THATcross your path in life whom you will change your entire direction to follow. That was Poppy when I met her at seven years old, and that is Poppy this evening as she strides toward me on the night of my brother’s wedding.
She’s dressed in a short, bronze, sequin gown with long sleeves that reminds me of sparkling chocolate. My eyes drink in her curves beneath the fabric that looks like it’s been painted on. The wide neckline shows off her delicate collarbone, courtesy of her short blonde hair that’s swooped smoothly off to one side. A shimmering gold dust illuminates her skin, complimenting her thickly-lashed emerald eyes.
She’s complete and total elegance.
I blink and my mind flashes back to the day I met her in that muddy yellow dress out in the park. She was a mess but still so confident. The history we’ve shared together makes this moment even more special. What she meant to me in my past is just as important as what she means to me in my present. These past few days we’ve spent together since we danced by the food truck have reminded me how wonderful our friendship can be. How easy and effortless. But it’s her inner beauty I see through all the sparkles that makes me desperate to know what our future holds and how I can continue to be a part of her life…forever.
She looks me up and down, a soft smile tugging on the edges of her lips. “You look rather fetching.” Her tone light and jovial—a far contrast to the intense feelings soaring through me at this second.
I clear my throat and adjust my thin black tie while staring at her glossy lips. “You’re as pretty as always, Poppy.”
My words are small and childish, but they feel like everything I never said as a boy or as a man. She’s always been stunning. I just never allowed myself to really look.
Her smile falls as I step into her space. She looks up at me, still a few inches shorter, even in her wedge heels. Desperate to feel her, I reach out and cup her cheek. Her eyes close and I stroke my thumb along her soft, pale skin.
I caress her and she feels like mine. She feels like she fits. Like she should be with me, on my arm, going to this wedding by my side. Not with someone else. An urgency overcomes me as a crippling fear descends. What if she falls for this man? What if she kisses this man? What if she stops spending time with me because of this man? Can I really sit back and watch her leave tonight with someone else?
“Booker,” she whispers. Her voice is thick with emotion, but she isn’t opening her eyes. “What are you doing?”
The air feels heavy. The pressure of these feelings push my head down like an uphill ascent on a rollercoaster. Truthfully, I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m touching her because I need to. I have to. It’s not a conscious choice. My mind knows that this is wrong. That touching her leads to other things. Things that don’t have a guarantee. Things that could make her leave me.
“I—” I’m interrupted by a sudden knock on the door.
Poppy’s eyes crack open and she turns her head, pulling her face out of my hand. “That’ll be Andrew.”
I blink rapidly as my hand drops and I step away from her. The silkiness of her cheek still tingles my palm. “Andrew from the gym?” I ask, my fists clenching at my sides.
She nods and turns, her wedges thumping as she walks over to the door. I’m paralysed. Glued to my spot on the floor. My head aches as I listen to her greet him. He says something stupid in his thick Scottish accent I can barely understand. She laughs that familiar husky laugh and then they fall silent.
I force myself to look toward the door. Poppy is gazing over her shoulder at me nervously. Her hand clenched tightly on the knob, as if she’s wisely shielding my view of the man on the other side. “Is your…erm…date coming here to meet you?”
I tug on my earlobe and reply, “I’m going to go pick her up.”
She nods. “I’ll see you at Tower Park then?”
I half smile and it hurts. The simple lift of the corner of my mouth pains me as I watch her wave and slip out the door without another look back.
“If Booker Harris doesnae fall for ye after tonight, I’m turning straight and dating ye myself, Poppet. Ye look pure, dead brilliant. A proper bonny lass.”
I smile politely as Andrew ushers me into his little yellow sports car. Glancing up before he closes the door, I say, “Can we maybe …not talk about Booker? Or my plan? Or my past? I’m feeling completely ridiculous about it all.”
Andrew frowns and nods politely, shutting me in the car and walking around to his door. He slides in and the space practically expands with the scent of his cologne. He puts his hand on my balled-up fist. “Let’s have some fun, shall we?”
