Rosaline pressed her fingers to the space between her brows and sighed. “It’s not that I’m not happy that you’re happy. Of course I am. But right now, your brains are swimming in a cocktail of dopamine and oxytocin and—why the rush?” Her eyes bulged and her gaze dropped to Lyric’s middle and Poppy’s jaw dropped. “Wait. You’re not—”
“No!” Lyric scoffed. “Jesus, Rosaline. I’m not pregnant.”
“Forgive me for asking the question that’s going to be on literally everyone’s lips. Get used to it.”
“Let them talk,” Lyric said. “See if I care.”
“Eventually we do want to start a family,” Cash said.
“We do. Not this second or anything, but we don’t want to wait to start our lives together. For one, we hate being apart.”
“Hate it,” he agreed. “I’m sick of long distance.”
“Sosick of it.”
“Then move in together,” Rosaline argued. “You don’t have to get married.”
“But we’re going to get married eventually,” Lyric said, the pitch of her voice rising. “Why wait?”
Rosaline threw her hands in the air and spun on her heel, stalking across the kitchen and glaring out the window into the backyard.
“I’m not asking for your permission, Rosaline. You know you’re not my mother, right.”
A muscle in her jaw flexed. “No, but you sure as hell are acting like a child right now.”
“Okay,” Poppy jumped in, trying to diffuse the tension before someone said something they were going to regret. Something that wouldn’t be easy to walk back. “Have you two talked about where you’re going to live or—”
“Of course we have.” Cash looked at her like she was the one acting crazy. “We’ll live in Portland from August to February, assuming we make it through the playoffs. We’ll head down to Los Angeles during the offseason.”
Lyric nodded. “There are studios here in town where I can record if I want.”
“Or we talked about renovating a guest room. Maybe building out the other side of the basement where the crawl space is,” Cash said. “Turning part of the house into a studio.”
Lyric gazed across the kitchen at Rosaline imploringly. “I know that from the outside looking in, this seems rash and impulsive, but it’s not. Everything you’re supposed to talk about before you get engaged? Kids and faith and our families and money and our careers? We’ve had these conversations. We’re on the same page. Rosaline, Ilovehim. We love each other.”
Cash pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “Look, I know you don’t like me very much—”
“I never said that I didn’t like you.” Rosaline turned away from the window. “I just want what’s best for Lyric.”
“You and I have that in common.” Cash rolled his shoulders back and stood taller. “I’m not ever going to claim to be what’s best for her. But no one is ever going to love her as much as I do or support her the way I will. I can promise you that.”
Lyric released a shuddering breath. “Can you just—be happy for us? Please?”
Cash looked at Poppy with so much hope on his face and—she wasn’t made of stone.
She lurched forward, rising on her toes, and threw her arms around him and Lyric both, wrapping them up in a bone-crushing hug. “Congratulations. Both of you.”
Was it fast? Yes. Too fast, maybe. But it was clear their minds were made up and nothing she or Rosaline said would convince them otherwise.
“Thanks, Pop-Tart,” Cash whispered against her temple. “Means a lot.”
All eyes turned to Rosaline, who was watching them with an indecipherable expression.
“Roz?” Lyric whispered.
“Iamhappy for you.” Rosaline shut her eyes and turned her face up to the ceiling. “I am. I’m just—” She cut herself off with a quick shake of her head. “Poppy and I are going upstairs. We’ve got work to do.”
Poppy perched on the edge of the bed, watching as Rosaline paced the length of the bedroom.
