“It must have been confusing to be dropped off like that, when she didn’t know you very well,” she says gently.
“Like I said, she doesn’t talk about it. She didn’t have a temper tantrum or complain. The only emotion she showed in the first week was during her night terrors.”
I’m speaking into my mug, but when I finally look up, Poppy has shifted closer, bridging the distance between us.
She puts a hand on mine and squeezes. “I’m sorry,” she says. “It hasn’t just been hard for Belle. It’s been hard for you as well.”
“I don’t think about that.” I get the words out despite the tightness in my throat. “I’m an adult. She’s the one who’s had a hard time.”
“Always so tough,” she says with a gentle, knowing smile. “Adults have hard times too. And it makes it better to admit that. To have someone to talk to.”
“I don’t do that.”
She laughs. “I know. But maybe you should.”
I just grunt.
“What will happen when you two go back to California?”
“I don’t know.” I take another sip of the chocolate and am surprised to see it’s almost empty. And I’m not sure what it is. Whether it’s the warm fire and dark room with the lights of the Christmas tree shining down on us. Maybe it’s the crème de cocoa and crème de menthe Poppy added to the hot chocolate, her other secret ingredients. I suspect it’s all of that, but mostly it’s this girl in front of me, who is so beautiful it hurts—not simply on the outside, but on the inside as well. Whatever it is, emotions that are usually wound up tight unravel. And so do my words.
“I don’t know what will happen. When she got off the phone tonight, Belle asked if she could stay with me and not go back to her mom,” I say. “I can’t promise her that, though. I’ve hired the best lawyers who are trying to work out an agreement with Claire’s lawyers. But even if I fight for primary custody and win, I have three movies lined up after this one, all shooting out of the country. Belle might think she wants to live with me now, but what if I screw it all up, even if I do get that chance? I know even less about little girls than I know about being a dad.” I stop as abruptly as I began and look into the fire, avoiding Poppy’s eyes.
Her hand on mine is warm and tight. She strokes my palm with a finger, and it soothes me. Just that small touch.
“You love her. And that’s all that matters. You’ll figure out the rest.”
Her words are an arrow that pierces me, hitting straight and true.Love.I know even less about love than I do about little girls and being a dad. But Poppy is right. I love Belle with all the fierceness in my heart. It was unexpected. Her showing up in my life. The love showing up in my heart. But now she’s mine, and I’m hers.
“That scares me even more,” I surprise myself by admitting.
“I know,” she says and squeezes my hand. “That’s what love does. It’s because you care. It raises the stakes on everything.”
The stakesarehigh. I can’t afford to get this wrong. Which is why Belle has to be my first priority and what I need to remember when I’m thinking about Poppy’s hazel eyes and cinnamon hair. When I’m counting her freckles and waiting for her dimple to show. When I’m dreaming of her soft skin and smooth legs. When I want to unravel the ribbon in her hair and sink into her body.
“What if—” I clear my throat. I don’t continue. I can’t. I want to ask Poppy about what happens when Claire returns to reclaim Belle and she goes back to her life in England and I only get to see her on the occasional weekends. Ask her how I’ll stitch my heart back together. I haven’t let myself be this vulnerable since I was a child. I learned it was best to not hope, to not want things I couldn’t have. It was less painful that way. The only person I could fully trust was myself.
But now, I have a little girl to protect, which means opening up to love and pain once again. Especially since Belle is only with me temporarily. Everything that feels precious lately is temporary.
Poppy tilts her head and puts her arm on mine. “My seventh-grade art teacher helped me when I was going through a rough patch. My dad had a heart attack after we fought, and I thought it was my fault. My teacher was only with me for a year, but she made all the difference. She was wise and kind, but mostly she just cared, and it was exactly what I needed, when I needed it.
“Ronan, it’s got to be the hardest thing in the world, not knowing how long you have with Belle, but this time you have together will stay with her—and you—forever, no matter what happens in the future. You’re her dad. I see what a difference your love has made to her. I know you don’t believe it. But you are getting this right. It’s clear that Belle loves and trusts you. And the fact that you worry about messing it up just means you care.”
I blow out a slow breath. “I can’t get this wrong. My mom…she wasn’t able to get it right.” I falter as anxiety, thick and cold, flows through my veins. It’s hard to get the words out. I’ve never spoken about this to anyone. Not teachers or principals or well-meaning friends.
I push past the fear. For the first time, I want to share my burden. “I’m not sure what was wrong with her. I’ve—I’ve done some research. We never had the money for decent doctors and she was never properly diagnosed. She was a good mom when she was able to be. She would be okay for stretches at a time, and we’d have a normal life. And then suddenly everything would get bad again. I tried to help but didn’t know how. She used pills and alcohol to help her cope with her mind, to help her sleep and wake, to help her with anxiety. But they’d only make things worse, make her less able to function. Maybe it would’ve been different if she’d lived long enough for me to help her more. I could have paid for her to get the proper diagnosis and treatment for whatever mental health problems she had. I could have helped her live a good life. But I’ll never know. She died right before I graduated from high school.”
“Ronan, I’m so sorry,” Poppy says. Her eyes are filled with compassion. With something that turns my insides out. “Thank you for telling me,” she says simply. And then she wraps her arms around me tightly and buries her head in my chest as if she could take some of my burden, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to do. I rest my chin on her head. I’m scared to move and break this connection.
We stay like that for I don’t know how long. Time stops, contracts, turns in on itself. There’s just the crackle of the fire and the tick of the clock on the wall.
When she finally draws back, she pins me with her clear green gaze. “You may think you didn’t help your mom. But I’m sure she was thankful every day that she had you, even if you were too young to do all you wish you could. And I’m also one thousand percent certain that you’ll figure out how to give Belle all the love and care she needs. You and Belle will figure this out together,” she says with gravity.
Then she gives me a smile that illuminates every shadow in the room and dark space inside me. “You’re Ronan Masters. You can do anything. Except fix broken elevators.”
I look down at her lips forming that grin. It’s a mistake because I want her. I want to drown in her simple words of empathy and faith. I want her beauty and gentleness and understanding. And I sure as hell want that mouth.
I know all the reasons why I shouldn’t have her. I’m listing them in my head when she closes the scant distance and kisses me. The heat of our connection incinerates my list of good intentions, melts away any resistance or good sense, and sets my body ablaze. I lose myself in her kiss, groaning when her mouth opens under mine and my tongue brushes hers. The kiss deepens, ignites, and I’m caught in our fire.
