She exhales, then leans in and presses a quick kiss to my cheek. It lands somewhere between friendly and something else entirely. Now that I’ve kissed her and shown her the buzz between us, the sexual tension is almost palpable.
“Wish me luck,” she says.
“Good luck,” I say, grabbing her arm and pulling her back to my chest. I kiss her lips, and she kisses me back, melting into me. We kiss until she pulls back breathless.
“Go show them how it’s done,” I murmur, and she smiles as she heads to the door, face red.
She leaves, and the apartment feels quieter without them.
That night after basketball practice, Poppy and I sit at the table while Owen gives the CPS worker a full tour of the apartment and his room, like he’s showing off a mansion on an old episode of MTV’sCribs.
I haven’t had a chance to ask Poppy a single real question yet, and it’s killing me.
When she came home earlier, she looked different. Lighter. Like she was floating a few inches off the floor and didn’t even realize it. Her hair was coming loose from its clip, her cheeks flushed, eyes bright in a way I haven’t seen in a long time. She was tired, yeah, but it was the good kind. The kind that comes from doing something that matters instead of surviving another day.
She grinned at me when she walked in, wide and unguarded, like she couldn’t quite hold it in. I caught the words tumbling out of her in pieces as she kicked off her shoes. Names. Stories. A laugh that bubbled up and surprised even her. And then Owen needed help with homework, and dinner happened, and time slipped away.
Now she sits across from me at the table, hands folded tight in her lap, that earlier glow dimmed by nerves. She meets my eyes for a second, and there’s so much there I want to ask.Did you love it? Did it feel right? Did they see how good you are?
I’ll hear all of it later. I have to. But for now, this matters more.
I watch Owen proudly point out his posters and his bedspread and the corner where he keeps his basketball, and I keep my attention where it needs to be. Still, I tuck that image of Poppy coming home happy into my chest like a promise.
This interview won’t last forever.
And when it’s over, I’m going to sit with her and hear every single detail.
He even opened the fridge and shows her all of the food that I bought today. And overbought if I’m being honest. Because I never want them to go without anything they want or need ever again.
“This is where my bed is,” he says proudly. “And that shelf is for my trophies. And Ollie helped me hang my posters.”He points to posters hung beside his bed.
The worker smiles and takes notes.“Do you like living here?” she asks, smiling at Owen’s enthusiasm.
“Yes,” Owen says immediately. “Our old house was okay, too. But I love my new room.”
Poppy’s hand clenches in mine under the table, and I squeeze back.
The interview is calm and straightforward. Owen answers honestly, and Poppy and I are quiet, just here to support him. He talks about school and basketball. He tells her that he loves going out to Jack and Cami’s and Walker and Violet’s. He tells her he loves Maggie, and she lets him come to the community bingo sometimes. And then she asks him if he feels safe, and he says, “I always feel safe with Poppy and Ollie. They’re my family.”
My heart squeezes when he says that.
When it’s over, the worker closes her folder and looks at us. “So, let me get this straight. You both have been essentially raising him since he was a baby after your mom passed away?”
We both nod.
“And you’re just now engaged and getting married?” she asks, looking confused.
I shrug. “Yeah.”
She nods, and what feels like a full minute passes as shelooks us over and nods. “Seems coincidental that you’re engaged and getting married when this complaint came up.”
“Honestly? I’ve had my heart set on Poppy for years,” I say, leaning back like I’m just going along with our little act. “I was planning to ask her a long time ago, just hadn’t found the right ring. But then I thought… if I wait for everything to be perfect, we could be waiting forever. So, here we are. All part of the plan, of course.” I glance at the CPS worker. “The complaint was a false allegation. And I wasn’t about to let someone else’s bitterness stop me from asking the love of my life to marry me.”
She looks at us for a moment and smiles. “I see no reason not to recommend you both as permanent guardians if you’re married. You’re both doing a fantastic job with Owen, and you should be so proud of yourselves. Really, strong and amazing young people here. Owen is fortunate to have you both.”
Poppy’s breath catches. I feel it, too. “Thank you,” she says quietly, her eyes shining.
“Just one thing,” she adds, “If you aren’t being honest in this process, it could reflect negatively. Just something to keep in mind.”
