Poppy froze, the question knocking her off-kilter. If she’d have known that all it would take to get her family interested in her personal life was having her name printed inPeople, she’d have—well, no. She wouldn’t done anything differently. “I’m—”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Andrew.” Mom’s laugh was like nails on a chalkboard. “Penelope knows better than to do something as stupid and frivolous as mix her work and her personal life.”
Poppy wilted in her seat and dragged her fork through her peas, sending them scattering across her plate.
Ten minutes later, she slipped from the room, grabbed her coat off the hook, and walked out the door. No one tried to stop her. From the way her phone didn’t ring even once on the drive home, they probably hadn’t even noticed she was gone.
Chapter Seventeen
Amusingly—and confusingly—there was a Pathfinder parked in the driveway when Poppy made it home, the driver absent.
After Rosaline had rightly pointed out that his security system was lacking, Cash had upgraded the whole thing, installing a state-of-the-art smart lock with a motorized dead bolt that had received stellar scores across the board, proving itself capable of withstanding kick-ins, drilling, and lock picking. Cash—and Poppy—could lock and unlock the door remotely and they could check the lock status remotely too. Between the new locks and improved security system, Poppy had never felt so safe, the house a fortress. Still, Poppy approached the front door with a small amount of trepidation.
“Hello?”
No one answered and Poppy, still hesitant, slipped out of her boots, leaving them by the front door.
She was halfway up the stairs when the muffled Christmas music reached her ears, drifting down the hall from the last door on the left. Her bedroom. Of course.
Poppy peeked inside the room and pressed a hand to her racing heart. “Jesus.” She let out a shaky laugh and slumped against the doorframe.
Rosaline was sprawled across Poppy’s bed, a damn sight to seelying on her stomach with her chin resting on the palm of her hand and her feet kicked up in the air, wearing a pair of the tightest dark blue jeans Poppy had ever seen, and a chunky, cream-colored cable-knit sweater.
“What are you doing here?” Poppy asked.
“It’s been a month since we saw each other.” Rosaline’s bottom lip jutted out in an exaggerated pout. Her socks were black and covered in turkeys wearing sunglasses. “You could at least pretend to be excited to see me.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were a murderer.” She padded her way over to the bed, slipping the strap of her purse over her head. “Excuse me for thinking for a second that I was about to get slaughtered while Michael Bublé told me to have myself a merry little Christmas.” She tossed her bag on the bed. “How’d you get in here, anyway?”
“I texted Curran. He was kind enough to unlock the door for me.” Rosaline rose onto her knees and reached out, reeling Poppy in by the belt tied at her waist. “Now, hush for a second and let me greet you properly.”
Poppy grinned and settled her hands on Rosaline’s jean-clad hips, tucking the tips of her fingers into Rosaline’s back pockets. “Properly, huh?”
“Mhmm.” Rosaline’s nose bumped hers. “Now shut up.”
Her lips pressed against Poppy’s, swallowing her laugh.
“Hi,” Poppy breathed when their lips parted.
“Hi yourself.” Rosaline’s cheeks were pink and her eyes fever bright. A slow grin tugged at the corners of her lips. “I wasn’t expecting you to be back so soon.”
“I wasn’t expecting you to be here at all.”
“Clearly, considering you thought I was a murderer,” she teased, reaching up and tucking Poppy’s hair behind her ear.
Poppy poked her in the side. She laughed and squirmed away. Wasn’t that something. Rosaline was ticklish. Poppy tucked that fact away for later.
“Hey, I saw a mysterious car in the driveway. I was exercising caution.”
“Exercising caution by calling outhello?” Rosaline draped her arms around Poppy’s waist, palms pressed to the small of her back. “That is such a horror movie cliché.”
“I know! Trust me, I was fully prepared to be the big-boobed, dumb blonde at the beginning of the movie who goes up the stairs to investigate and dies a horrible, gruesome death and no one watching even feels sorry that she died because it was such a stereotypically stupid move. Darwin Award–worthy.”
Rosaline tutted and shook her head, lips twitching. “The car’s hardly mysterious. It’s a rental. Did you not see the license plate frame? It has Enterprise Rent-A-Car written all over it.”
“Uh huh, and knife-wielding murderers only rent from Budget.” Poppy sighed. “No, I didn’t even look at the license plate. It’s been... a day.” She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes until she saw spots. “You never said what you were doing here.” She dropped her hands to her sides. “Not that I’m complaining.”
Rosaline frowned. “You stopped texting me. I was worried.”
