Eventually, though, reality has to intrude.
“I guess we should get up,” Poppy says, though I don’t think she sounds happy about it. “The carriage is coming to take us back this morning.”
“Yeah,” I say, but I keep holding her. I’m not sure I want this moment to end.
Finally, she pulls away, sitting up and immediately reaching for her glasses. Once they’re on, she looks down at me—still sprawled on the bed, blankets tangled around my legs—and her eyes widen slightly, like she’s only just now fully processing that we spent the night together, wrapped in each other.
“I should—I need to get dressed,” she says quickly, slipping from bed and practically fleeing to the washroom with her travel bag.
I sit up with a groan and push my hands through my messy hair, then yank it up into a knot on top of my head. My neck is sore from the angle I was sleeping at, and my arm is still half asleep from being Poppy’s pillow, but I don’t mind. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.
Hopefully I get the chance to do it again.
I get dressed and try to make the bed look somewhat presentable, smoothing out the blankets and fluffing the pillows. The couch still has my blankets piled on it, so I grab those and fold them up, then leave them on the cushions.
When Poppy emerges from the washroom, fully dressed with her hair pulled back, she won’t quite meet my eyes.
“Hey,” I say gently, crossing the room to her. “You okay?”
She nods, but she’s fidgeting with the strap of her bag, and her shoulders look tight.
“Poppy.” I wait until she looks up at me. “What’s wrong? You can talk to me.” After a beat, I add, “Are you... regretting last night?”
“No!” she says quickly, her eyes widening. “Not at all.” Then, quieter, she adds, “I just... I’ve never...” With ashake of her head, she lets out a long breath. “I’m just a bit nervous, I guess.”
“I get it. But you don’t have to be.” I reach out and tuck a stray wisp of hair behind her ear, where she didn’t quite get it pulled back into her braid. “And for what it’s worth...” I give her a lopsided smile. “I’ve done stuff before, but not with someone I care about this much.”
The tension in her shoulders eases, and her cheeks start to go pink. “Really?”
“Really.”
And it’s the truth. I’ve dated some amazing girls, but I never saw flashes of a future with them—not like I did yesterday, imagining a little cottage with Poppy, imagining what a life with her might look like. But I remind myself again that it’s way too early to be thinking like that. I don’t think we’re even officially dating yet. And if I told Poppy, she’d probably take off running.
“Don’t worry,” I say instead. “We’re good. Better than good.”
She finally smiles, small but genuine. “Okay.”
“Good. Now let’s get some breakfast. I’m starving.”
MRS. BLUEWREN SERVES US WARM oatmeal sprinkled with cinnamon, fresh fruit, and thick slices of toast. We eat in the inn’s dining room, which is mostly empty this early in the morning except for one elderly couple in the corner.
Poppy is quiet, stirring honey into her oatmeal without really eating it.
“What are you thinking about?” I ask.
She glances up and adjusts her glasses. “Oh, um... the dream I had. Before I woke you up.”
“The scary one?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you wanna tell me about it?”
She sets her spoon down and leans back in her chair. “Sometimes it’s hard to know what my dreams are trying to tell me. But... I feel like this one was telling me that if I let fear control me, I might ruin this.” Her face falls, and she worries at her bottom lip.
“You won’t—”
“But I could,” she interrupts, catching me off guard with the intensity in her voice. “I could mess this up.” She looks at me with those wide lavender eyes. “I don’t want to do that. But I don’t know how not to.”
