Wren sucked in her breath. “Have you told Benji how you feel?”
“Oh, only a dozen times,” Poppy retorted. “He said I’m being too sensitive, that they are only trying to help, that they have all the experience in the world, and I should begratefulfor their input.”
Poppy’s mom and about-to-be mom-in-law were sometimes friends, all-time rivals, two A-list Queen Bees confident in their social power, their exquisite taste, and their influence. Sophisticated, catty, and snobby, Poppy didn’t stand a chance. “Oh, Pops,” she said, reaching across the table to give her a quick shoulder-squeeze.
“Aren’t you supposed to encourage me to stand up for myself, to insist on what I want?” Poppy demanded.
She could, but there was little chance of Poppy getting what she wanted. Their wedding was billed to be the wedding of the year, and the Two Evil Queens weren’t going to let a little thing like the bride’s feelings get in their way.
“It wouldn’t help, Pops, not without Benji stepping in.”
“And there’s no chance of him doing that,” Poppy muttered. “I’m going to be, officially, a part of that family in three months, Bird.”
“Do you love him, Poppy?”
Poppy took so long to answer that Wren thought she never would. This, too, was a change; when she’d asked the question before, she always got a quick, warm, sometimes heated, response. But tonight Poppy looked mentally exhausted, and her words took a while to leave her lips. “I think so,” she quietly stated.
That wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement for marriage, but Wren knew better than to point it out. Instead of telling her friend to run like hell because that’s what she’d do, Wren slid off her stool and walked around to Poppy’s side of the table. She wrapped her arm around her tiny waist—she was fairy-small—and rested her temple on Poppy’s bright head. “I’ll always be here, babe, no matter what you decide to do. Or not do. I’m always fully on your side.”
And between now and late September, she could pray that something would happen to change Poppy’s mind.
Wren pulled away when the waiter placed their beers on the table. Poppy, insisting on paying, handed over some cash, and they clinked. When Poppy lowered hers after a long draft and looked at her, Wren knew she didn’t want to talk about her love life anymore.
“You said something about meeting Hayes and Hot Doc,” she said. “How do we find them in a crowd like this?”
Wren moved to make way for a tipsy woman wearing oversized bat wings and scanned the crowd again. “Simple,” she replied, nodding to a group of girls sitting at the bar. “You don’t look for the guys—you look at whateverthey’restaring at.”
Poppy followed her line of sight. The entire group was gazing in the same direction with near-religious focus, acting like they’d spotted the Holy Grail … if the Holy Grail had broad shoulders, stubbled faces, and annoyingly good hair. Yep, there they were. Hayes and Dane, sitting on the far-right side of the tent, blissfully unaware of the many, many female eyes on them.
Wren’s mouth curved. “See? Like moths to a flame.”
Poppy rolled her eyes. “Do they genuinely not realize the effect they have on women, or are they just pretending not to notice?”
Wren’s lips twitched. Of course they didn’t notice. Men like them never did. And somehow, that only made them more attractive.
When they reached the crowded table, Poppy plopped down on the bench next to Hayes, and Wren sat beside Dane, thigh to thigh. Being so close to him wasn’t a hardship. At all. Sigh.
Hayes, stretching his arm around Poppy’s shoulder and giving her a squeeze, took over introductions. “Dane, meet Poppy, an old friend, maybe even my best?—”
“She’smybest friend,” Wren interjected, purely to annoy him. “She was always mine first.”
At one point, years ago, she’d hoped that Poppy and Hayes would hook up, but when she floated the idea to them, individually, they’d reacted in absolute horror. “Poppy?” Hayes spluttered. “That would be like making out with my sister.”
Poppy simply gagged and wiped her mouth with her hand. And that, Wren realized, was that. They’d only ever be friends or non-blood siblings.
“Poopsicle, this is Dr. Dane Trafford,” Hayes said, and pretended to wince when Poppy’s small fist hit his upper arm.
“That wasn’t funny when I was ten, and it’s still not funny,” she muttered. Hayes, because he was a mature adult, stuck his tongue out at her. When they were finally done, Poppy shook Dane’s hand.
Hayes offered to get them a drink, and Wren asked for another beer. Dane half turned to face her and raised his eyebrow as he perused the printed pamphlet advertising the beer-tent cocktails offering. “You don’t want a Witch’s Beach Brew or a Boozy Moon Glow?”
She grimaced. “I’m already on a sugar high from too much ice cream,” she told him, her eyes dipping to his mouth. Talking about sugar… She hauled in a deep breath and tried to move away, only to lean into a large, too-sweaty man to her left.Eww, nope. She moved back, pressed her shoulder into Dane’s, and pretended not to notice his amused smile.
Hayes returned, handed out beers, and resumed his seat next to Poppy. The band announced a break and the noise levels in the tent decreased substantially, finally they didn’t have to shout to be heard. Because he was a guy, and oblivious, Hayes asked the one question she didn’t want to answer in front of Dane.
“Hey, Wren. Have you heard from the hopeless romantic? Kyle? Kai? The dude with the stupid name?”
Poppy jabbed an elbow into Hayes’s side, which only left him confused. “What?” he demanded, frowning at her, and she simply rolled her eyes. He turned back to Wren.
