Page 40 of Sunshine
She rolls her head to the side and grins. “Twelve months with no men, and I already had a six-month head start. We’re trying to detox from romantic entanglements and emotional risks. You know, toughen up before we put ourselves out there again?”
I want so badly to touch her. Stroke her cheek and hold her hand. She’s acting brave but I don’t think she’s aware of the undercurrent of vulnerability in her words.
“Is there a reason you need to toughen up?” I ask.
Her smile falters. “Not a very interesting one.”
I’m right. There’s more to her story, but it’ll take more than a question to coax it out of her, and I’m probably not the person she wants to confide in. My sister, on the other hand…
“And Daisy?” I ask. “She won’t tell us why she came home but I’m starting to get the impression there’s a dickhead out there who needs his ass kicked.”
“That’s not my secret to tell,” Poppy admits before she drags her bottom lip through her teeth. “But… there is no dickhead. Nobody treated her badly. You don’t have to worry about that.”
I scan Poppy’s features for signs that she’s lying, and when I can’t find any, I decide to let it go. For now.
“So, we’re on the same page?” I ask. “The kiss tonight was two people—two friends—giving in to a moment of weakness, but we agree there’s too much at stake for us to let it happen again. Right?”
“Agreed,” she replies. “Izzy comes first. Izzy and Daisy. We’ve both got baggage that makes this all too complicated, and what’s it all for? The temporary satisfaction of a kiss or a touch or…” Poppy’s eyes fall to my mouth, and she takes a single deep breath that seems to give her strength. “We’re too old to be controlled by sex.”
The wordsexhovers in the air between us until I reply, “Absolutely.”
“One kiss is all we get.”
“All we get,” I echo, moving toward her without meaning to.
Another inch and I could kiss her. Another inch and I could taste her all over again.
“One kiss is all we need,” she adds, like if she says it out loud that’ll somehow make it true.
“Yep,” I lie. “All we need.”
“We’rehuman,” she says with a forced laugh. “We crossed a line, but we won’t do it again.”
I hear the words but they’re not as important as the way her lips shape them. “Never again,” I murmur.
“Let’s just forget it ever happened and start fresh again tomorrow.”
It takes me a second to realize she’s opened her door and stepped out of my truck. I watch her walk away, hanging on the sway of her hips and the cherry scent of her mouth, wondering how long it’ll take before I screw this all up.
The answer? Less than a week.
twelve
Poppy
Izzy settles the lastof her stuffies on the dining room chairs, and I lift her onto one of the empty counter stools. I’ve set up a mirror in front of us, and the kitchen table is topped with a spray bottle of water, a couple of pairs of scissors, a selection of brushes and combs, an electric shaver, and a bucket filled with hair clips, ribbons, and ties.
“Welcome back to Poppy’s Princess Parlor,” I say, swirling a lemon-yellow towel around Izzy’s neck and securing it with a peg. She swings her feet happily, her new leather cowboy boots peeking out from underneath the towel, and watches herself in the mirror as I fluff around with her long dark curls.
I snap my gum nice and loud before blowing a big pink bubble. “What’s it going to be today, honey?”
“I start a new school tomorrow,” Izzy informs me, her serious stare holding my attention in our reflections. “I think I need something that makes me feel good about myself.”
“A new school, huh?” I grab the water bottle and spritz her hair. “That’s exciting.”
Izzy shrugs. “I suppose so.”
“No?”
