“Lollipop?” I offer.
He nods and takes one.
And I could be crazy, but he seems to watch me extra carefully as I lick mine.
* * *
Ronan
I hate small talk.I hate chatting with strangers. And I’m not into tiny, tight spaces. So being here, trapped in this elevator, with a strange but compelling woman, is sapping my reserves to appear like the cool, collected action star she obviously expects me to be.
I tilt my head so I can check out my elevator companion. Her short, curvy frame is caught up in a mound of fabric. Poofy sleeves. Poofy skirt. Fuchsia pink. She should look awful, especially given her freckles and copper curls, but her eyes are large and hazel, and she has this one dimple that flashes at the corner of her mouth every time she smiles.
I clear my throat and try to say something for a change. “Thanks for being so sweet to Belle. She doesn’t open up to many people.”
Poppy’s grin is warm and genuine, not traits I see often in my line of work. Genuine people are few and far between in the shark tank called Hollywood. And I’m happy to see her smiling again, with no trace of the tears she tried to hide earlier. I have no idea how to handle a crying woman. I can barely handle a crying little girl.
“She’s adorable. And what can I say? Kids like me.”
“How long have you been a teacher?” I ask.
“For about five years.” Her smile falters for a split second before it appears again. “I’m actually an elementary art teacher, but my school’s art program closed down. That’s when I lost my job. So I’ve been substituting for a kindergarten teacher on maternity leave, but she’s returning soon. What about you?” she rushes out, as if uncomfortable having the attention back on her. “How did you get into your…line of work?”
“I started as a stuntman.”
Her eyes twinkle, even in the diffuse light.
“Don’t say it,” I warn, tamping down a laugh and trying to look stern.
“But you started out as a stuntman!” she exclaims with a laugh. “Why can’t you get the elevator open?”
“Are you going to do a tell-all about how useless I am in a crisis?” I ask, only half joking.
“It would serve you right. All those muscles.” She tsks. “False advertising.”
“If the crisis required bench presses to save us, I could help.”
“If only.”
“You’re mean for someone so small.”
“I’m not small. You’re just a giant.”
I smirk. “If the shoe fits.”
“It wouldn’t, ’cause you're solarge.”
Her laughter is infectious. I’ve smiled more while stuck in an elevator for less than an hour than I have all month—hell, probably all year. There’s something effervescent about this girl. Even in the dark, she shines. It’s in her teasing eyes and her smile and, once she relaxed, her lack of self-consciousness around me. No one dares to tease me. People are either too intimidated or afraid to piss me off.
When her laughter fades, the elevator goes quiet again. In the dark, all I hear is the rhythm of our breaths. The occasional rustle of clothes as we adjust our positions. It’s strangely intimate.
Poppy moves and stretches out one leg, careful not to wake Belle. “Sorry,” she says as her movement causes her soft breast to brush against my arm. “My leg fell asleep,” she whispers.
“Do you want me to take Belle?” I offer again.
“No. I’m good now. Just had to stretch. She’s a heavy sleeper,” she remarks.
I nod. “It’s been a lot for her, with the traveling, and now with my rehearsals starting.”
