“We voted,” Kya adds. “It was unanimous. Well, almost. Stone said it was stupid but Josie happened to be there and said it was sweet, so he changed his vote.”
I glance around and spot Dad near the kitchen area with Josie, both of them trying to look like they’re not standing particularly close together. Josie catches my eye and waves, and I can’t help but smile.
Bones wheels me further into the room and immediately we’re swarmed. Mercy appears with a plate of cookies shaped like snowflakes, Cash right behind her with a bottle of water for me.
“Pain meds and alcohol don’t mix,” Cash says, handing it over. “But you can have all the cookies you want.”
“These are amazing,” I say, taking one. “Did you make these, Mercy?”
“Hell no. Maggie did. I just decorated them.” She holds up her own cookie which is supposed to be a snowflake but looks more like a demented spider. “I’m not artistic.”
“It’s perfect,” I lie, and she laughs.
Ginger and Tank approach next, Ginger immediately crouching down to examine my surgical boot.
“Does it hurt?” she asks.
“Only when I blink.”
“I broke my ankle when I was sixteen,” Ginger says. “Worst three months of my life.”
“Three months?” My stomach drops. “The doctor said six weeks and I should be on my feet again.”
“Oh, honey.” Ginger pats my hand. “That’s optimistic. But maybe you’ll heal faster than I did. I was also incredibly stupid and kept trying to walk on it.”
“Don’t scare her,” Tank says, pulling Ginger up and away. “Sorry. She has no filter.”
“I have a filter! I’m just honest.”
They bicker their way across the room and I look up at Bones. “Six weeks is optimistic?”
“We’ll deal with whatever timeline you need,” he says firmly. “One day at a time.”
Before I can spiral too much, Poppy appears with a baby on her hip. I was supposed to meet baby Rose the last time I was here—and Poppy for that matter—but circumstances got in the way. So this is our first face-to-face.
Poppy’s got this easy, instant warmth, like she’s been waiting all afternoon just to meet me, but also the slight chaos of someone only loosely in control of their own body—her blonde hair is already escaping its clip and the baby’s sock is halfway off. She beams at me, brown eyes so wide and sincere it feels disarming.
“You must be Emma,” she says, shifting Rose higher on her hip.
“And you’re Poppy,” I say, sticking my hand out on autopilot. “I recognize you from . . .” I almost sayfrom the storiesbut catch myself. “From photos. Bones used to catch me up on all the Stoneheart goings-on whenever he’d come to New York.” I look to the wriggly baby on her hip. “And this must be Rose. Wriggly Rose, hey?” I reach up and give her a little tickle on her foot andshe gives one of those belly laughs that only babies can produce—pure joy.
Poppy laughs. “She’s not even being as wriggly as she gets. But you, oh my god, I’m so glad you’re OK. Well, not OK-OK, but you know. Here. Alive. Healing.”
“Thanks, Poppy.”
Rose reaches for me, making grabby hands, and Poppy laughs. “She’s obsessed with new people right now. Want to hold her?”
“Can I?” I look at Bones to see if he thinks it’s a good idea, and he immediately nods.
Poppy settles Rose in my lap, and the baby immediately starts exploring my face with her tiny hands. She’s got Poppy’s smile and when she grins at me, all gums and joy, something in my chest loosens.
“She likes you,” Poppy says. “That’s good. She screamed for twenty minutes after Duck held her yesterday.”
“That’s because Duck tried to give her a pickle,” Axel says, appearing behind Poppy. He’s got that exhausted-but-happy look all new parents have. “Who gives a ten-month-old a pickle?”
“Duck, apparently,” Poppy says. “He said babies need to build character.”
I laugh, and Rose laughs too, delighted by the sound. Her little hands grab at my hair and I let her, not caring that she’s probably going to destroy the braid Bones painstakingly did for me this morning. He’s been an amazing caregiver.
