“Poppy Monroe,” she says, extending a wet hand. “Lovely to meet you.”
My mother looks at the hand like it might be contagious. “Indeed.”
That’s when the dogs make their move.
My parents have two Cavalier King Charles Spaniels—Bingley and Darcy—who are usually about as energetic as throw pillows.
Not today.
They launch themselves at Poppy like she’s made of bacon, circling her legs and jumping, whining with joy.
“Oh!” She laughs, crouching down to pet them. “Hello, babies!”
Bingley—who has never liked anyone, including the people who feed him—immediately rolls over for belly rubs.
Darcy starts licking her face.
“Well,” my father says. “That’s new.”
My mother’s expression could cut glass. “They’re not usually so… enthusiastic.”
“Dogs know good people,” Poppy says, still petting them.
“Do they?” My mother’s tone suggests she disagrees.
I grab towels from the hall closet and toss one to Poppy. “What are you really doing here?”
“We wanted to ensure everything is running smoothly.” My mother eyes Poppy, who’s now trying to towel off while two dogs compete for her attention. “Though it seems there have been some… complications.”
“Sprinkler mishap,” Poppy says cheerfully. “Nothing we can’t handle.”
“Mm.” My mother turns to me. “Dean, darling, might we speak privately?”
“No.”
The word comes out harsher than I intended.
Everyone looks at me.
“No,” I repeat, softer but not by much. “Whatever you need to say about the wedding, you can say in front of Poppy. She’s the planner.”
My mother’s lips thin. “Very well. We have concerns about the… scale of this event. The trucks outside, the tents. It seems excessive.”
“It’s a wedding,” I say. “Not a barbecue.”
Bingley whines, sensing the tension. He presses closer to Poppy, who absently strokes his head.
“I think,” Poppy says carefully, “what Dean means is that Mason and Ivy have a very specific vision for their day. And as their planner, it’s my job to execute that vision.”
My mother turns her laser focus on her. “And what are your qualifications, exactly?”
“Mom—”
“It’s fine,” Poppy interrupts. “I’ve been planning weddings for three years. I’ve handled events for ten to five hundred guests. I’ve worked with budgets from five thousand to half a million. And I’ve never had a dissatisfied client.”
“How impressive,” my mother says in a tone that suggests the opposite.
“We should go,” my father intervenes. “Let you… dry off.”
