He rumbles a warning sound and I tuck him close, but with his back to me so he doesn’t take a swipe at me.
“I know, buddy. I’d be mad, too, but we don’t want you to get eaten.”
He yowls his protest, and the girls scuttle after me.
“Daddy, can I hold him? He’d like it if I do it.”
Poppy’s certainty makes me smile as I fiddle with my keys to find the rental’s.
“No, Pops. He’s upset right now. His prison break was foiled, and you can hear he’s agitated.” He’s gone limp for now, but I don’t trust that he’s not seconds away from lashing out. Finn took a claw to the cheek when we were kids, and he had a scar for years. I’ve got my fair share of scars, but I’m not particularly interested in adding to the collection today.
“Aw, but we won’t know until we try, right?”
Lily isn’t on my side with this one. “Yeah, Dad. Let us try.”
I ignore their pleas and march up the steps to Sam’s apartment, which is, alarmingly, unlocked. I’ll have to mention it to her—she should be keeping everything locked.
Opening the door, I let Mr. Bingley go at the same time he shoves off me with his giant back feet and propels himself across thefloor.
Before the girls can elbow their little selves in, I turn and shut the door with Mr. Bingley inside.
“Hey, I wanted to see!”
I hear the edge now. We’re on a ticking clock before Poppy’s day comes crashing down on her. It’s been a long week, and we were stopping home to get a snack and have a few minutes of downtime before we head to my folks’ house for dinner. Most often, we go straight there, but I got off early enough to get Lil from school and Poppy earlier than usual.
“Let’s head home and relax. I’ll let Miss Sam know we got Mr. Bingley taken care of, and you two can watch a show before we go to Gram and Gramps’s house.” I’m hoping the mention of my parents will quell her disappointment at not getting to cuddle the cat.
Lily trots down the stairs with focus. She’s ready for the break. Poppy’s entire being has become a flashing sign indicating she’s sad. Downtrodden, even. She’s dragging one hand along the banister, and her head is drooping so far down, her chin is on her chest. Her legs are heavy and if I could see her face, I’d see a frown to say the least.
“Oh, no. She’s lost all her stuffing.” I bend and haul her up into my arms. She flails in protest not unlike Mr. Bingley, then droops over, arms flopping over my wrist where I’ve got her upper body. Her little legs dangle. One boot falls off when I turn to close the garage entrance.
Eventually, I get Poppy inside and pour her a bowl of goldfish and a cup of milk. It’s the snack of champions, and I see the evidence of victory when she slowly reinflates as an episode ofBlueyplays on the TV and her body regains some calories and therefore, the will to live.
I drop to a crouch and brush her hair out of her face. “You feeling a little better?”
She nods, chewing a giant handful of her snack. “Yes. But I think I could have held him.”
I chuckle and drop a kiss to her head. “We’ll find a time for you to give him some pets soon, okay? If Sam’s there tonight, maybe we can even plan for this weekend.”
Her gaze shifts from cheery to pleading with puppy eyes. It’s stunning how quickly she can turn it on. Meanwhile, Lily’s in her own world, blissed out onBlueyand her own snack.
I leave them to couch rot for a few minutes while I change clothes, happy to have a chance to get out of my uniform before we do dinner.
Admitting exactly why isn’t an option. I can’t be acknowledging that I want to feel good about how I look on the off chance I see Sam, because not even a full three weeks ago, we ascertained there’s nothing between us. Or that, at least for now, it’s not going to happen.
She needs to feel good about who she is and what she wants. She needs to be able to trust herself.
I want those things for her.
I also still very much wanther.
Unfortunately, I don’t see that changing.
So, most likely, I’m doomed to have stupid flutters in my chest whenever I anticipate seeing her. I’m fated to overthink our interactions and battle the twin instincts to avoid her and therefore avoid the pang I feel whenever I see her, and try to encounter her as often as possible, thereby satisfying the crushing ache I feel when I don’t see her.
It’s great.
Actually, itis. Because I’ve seen her around town. She’s gotten hooked in with the library ladies and I think I saw her wandering around posting flyers about something with May. She’s mentioned more than once in passing how muchshe loves volunteering with Mrs. Armstrong, who does all things public library, so I know she’s in good hands. Of course, she’s still working at Jerry’s, and I’ve had the incredible self-control to only go in for lunch one time since our chat weeks ago.
