Poppy: OMG, Brookes
Me: People are assholes, Poppy. Don’t listen to them.
Poppy: I try not to. Sometimes it’s hard though. I’m human, after all…
I chew on my bottom lip as I mull over my next response, not sure if it could be considered as crossing a line. The last thing I need is to make anything blurry.But, I’m also a sucker when it comes to a crying woman.
Me: Fuck the haters. You’re beautiful.
Poppy: Thanks, I know
I can’t help but chuckle at that, but then, when I realize both Jonesy and Matt are watching me, I snap back to reality, wiping the smile from my face and tucking my phone into my pocket.
“Alright, let’s get this over with,” I mutter, grabbing my driver from Matt and moving back to the tee.
CHAPTER 14
POPPY
I’m on my seventh try of level one thousand twenty-two of Candy Crush when I’m startled by a knock on the passenger window. Jumping, I almost drop my phone, confused to see that, instead of a parking inspector telling me to move on like I’d presumed, there’s a blonde woman with huge sunglasses covering half her face, practically pressed up against the tinted glass, peering in at me.
“Hi, honey!” She waves at me, smiling broadly, voice muffled through the window.
Shit. It’s Lori. I hurry, grabbing my purse and shutting off the engine. I hop out of the car and meet her on the sidewalk.
“There’s that adorable ray of sunshine!” Lori exclaims, holding her arms out for me.
Fully aware of everyone nearby looking in our direction due to her sheer volume, my cheeks flush with embarrassment, but I move closer, allowing her to sweep me up into a big hug, and it’s only then, in this woman’s arms, this woman I’ve never even properly met before, that I relax. It’s like a hug from a mom. Notmymom, but someone’s mom, at least.
“Oh, my goodness, I’m so happy to finally meet you, baby girl.” Lori pulls back, holding me at arm’s length, getting a goodlook at me. “And you are even prettier than that husband of mine yaps on and on about every single day. Look at you!”
My smile wavers, my cheeks heating under her shrewd assessment because I could be the most self-confident woman in the world, but when someone is standing in front of you, exclaiming to anyone who will listen just how pretty you are, there comes a point in time when it gets to be a little awkward.
“Okay, so you need a dress,” Lori says, moving next to me and wrapping her arm around my shoulders.
“Yeah…” I shrug, suddenly worried again that I’m about to be fat-shamed out of yet another pretentious store.
“And heels.” Lori counts on her fingers, her long, perfectly manicured nails glistening beneath the sunshine. “A purse.” She eyes me playfully before purposely bumping her hip with mine as she says, “Panties.”
A nervous giggle escapes me.
“Well, I know just the place.” Lori takes my hand in hers. “C’mon, baby!”
We enter a small boutique that feels a lot less stuffy than Bellamy’s but still way out of my comfort zone judging by the designer bags kept locked away behind glass cabinets. I’m immediately on edge again, but then Lori blows in like a mini tornado of blonde hair and leopard print, her big, bright blue Birkin bag dangling from the crook of her elbow as she rummages through some of the racks.
“Lori Jones!”
I’m again startled, by a high-pitched squeal, looking to see Lori’s doppelgänger running out from behind the counter, the two blonde women embracing one another in a flurry of giggles and air kisses. And I stand back, waiting, not quite sure what to say or do, gripping the life out of the strap of my purse.
“Juney bug, this is Poppy!” Lori suddenly says, turning to me and dragging the woman with her. “Poppy, this is my dearest friend and retail therapist, June Faris.”
June smiles at me, and it’s genuine, and I find myself releasing the breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding.
“Poppy needs a dress for that charity gala tonight. The one for St. Anne’s hospital. And she had a… how do I say… not so amazing experience atBellamy’searlier,” Lori explains, and the two women share a knowing look and a couple ofmm-hmms.
“Oh, sweetheart,” June says to me, grabbing my hand and towing me toward the back of the store where there are a pair of beautiful sofas set up. “Those Bellamy women are nothing but whores.” She scoffs. “And not the fun kinda whores, either.”
Lori snaps her fingers, and the two share another giggle.
