Wasim actually flinched as if reliving trauma and Jessika patted his back in a sign of solidarity.
“That won’t be necessary,” a voice from her long ago past said and Poppy’s heart literally stopped dead in her chest. Her palms began to sweat and she felt sick.
It couldn’t be.
But it was. Standing at the opposite end of the table was a man she never wanted to see again.
Television producer and the man who ruined her ability to trust.
Poppy opened her mouth to speak but all that came out was a rush of painful air that burned her lungs and throat. Turned out she didn’t need to speak at all, her right-hand woman did all the talking.
“What the fuck is he doing here?” Kiki demanded to know, and Poppy almost handed back her switchblade.
Jack seemed genuinely taken aback by the hostile edge in Kiki’s voice. His eyes flickered to Poppy and to what she assumed was a look of abject horror that she was wearing.
“Am I missing something?” Jack asked.
“Only that Shitface Steve is smelling up the room with his crowdedness and abandoning ways.”
“Are you okay?” Decker whispered for her ears only.
She met his gaze and while she wanted to say yes she shook her head.
His hand slowly came to rest on her thigh. “Who is he?”
“My dad,” she whispered and left the room.
DIARY ROOM:
Poppy: I think most warm-blooded women would say that Decker was attractive in his swimsuit. He’s a good-looking guy.
Producer: Would you count yourself in that category?
Poppy: When it comes to men my blood runs cold.
7
Without so much as a goodbye, Poppy left the table read, high-tailed it through the yard, and made a beeline for her car. She’d just reached the door when she realized Steve was behind her.
“Sweet Pea,” Steve said, his voice full of guilt and concern.
She spun around. “You lost the right to call me that the day you walked out on me and Mom.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “You’re right. It won’t happen again.”
It almost hurt to look at Steve—not Dad, never again would she think of him as Dad. He’d forever be Steve. She opened her mouth, but her words fell flat. The speech she’d memorized and delivered so many times in the past turned to dust in her mouth.
She wasn’t sure if it was shock from his sudden appearance or that he didn’t look the same. His face was thinner, the angles more pronounced. There were more wrinkles around his eyes and mouth—laugh lines. Lines that were a result of better times that she hadn’t been privy to. Memories she hadn’t been a part of.
“What are you doing here?” she finally managed to get out.
“My production company is bankrolling the project.”
Those words hit like a jackhammer on a concrete slab. “Did you know I’d be a part of the production?”
He took a step closer, and she stood behind her opened car door, using it like a shield. His voice was full of deep emotion when he spoke. “I wasn’t sure.”
“It’s Opal’s house. How could you not be sure?”
