Page 56 of Stay Wild Darlin’

There was a quiet between us, not awkward or heavy, but rather a mutual silence.

We came from silence, from figuring things out on our own. So sitting there—her eating, me breathing next to her—felt like the kind of peace you don’t ask too many questions about.

No pressure.

No small talk.

No pretending.

Between bites, Poppy let out a breath and gave a dry little laugh. “I was so sick once when I was a kid—like, food poisoning level. Couldn’t keep anything down, crying on the bathroom floor kind of sick.” She paused, chewing her bottom lip. “My mom left me there. Said I was being dramatic. Said if I wanted attention, I should go act in a school play.”

I blinked, not expecting that.

She gave me a quick, hollow smile. “So I crawled back to bed and puked all over it to prove a point. Ruined her favorite sheets. Best thing I ever did.”

I let out a small breath, something between a laugh and a sigh. “Well . . . shit.”

“I wasn’t exactly the cuddled-and-cared-for type growing up. You get used to figuring things out alone.”

“You don’t have to figure it out alone anymore,” I said.

She didn’t look at me right away, but her grip on the plate eased, her shoulders lowering like maybe she believed me. Maybe a part of her needed to.

“Okay, well, before this gets any deeper and I start crying on my dinner,” she said dramatically, “I should warn you, I’m watching this absolutely unhinged show about people who work on yachts. There’s a lot of swearing, weird power dynamics, and one guy who keeps getting fired and rehired because he’s hot.”

I chuckled, settling back against the headboard. “Sounds like therapy.”

She grinned. “It’s cheaper, anyway.”

We watched the show, laughing loudly, throwing out sarcastic comments, and yelling at the TV.

Poppy rolled her eyes every time the deckhand made another mistake, and I laughed when the chef threatened to quit for the third time in the same episode.

Somewhere between episodes two and three, the room got quieter. Poppy curled onto her side, plate empty, her hand still resting on the remote. I must’ve leaned back, let my eyes close for a second . . .

24

Poppy

Waking up next to Dalton probably wasn’t on the approved nanny protocol list, but the last couple days weren’t normal. They were terrifying, so I chalked it up to both of us being completely wrung out from what happened with Cora.

I grabbed a fresh bottle for Cora and set it aside before pulling a bagel from the fridge, something I’d been smart enough to restock before we went to Fable’s the other day.

Cora cooed from the floor in front of me, where I’d laid out a blanket and a few toys. She was in full rolling mode lately, flipping from side to side like she was training for baby gymnastics.

Every time she made it to her belly, she’d let out a triumphant squeal, then immediately start working her way back.

It made me laugh under my breath as I slathered cream cheese across my bagel, watching her with one eye like the proudest nanny on earth.

I heard my door in the back open and close, then his bedroom door followed right after. A few seconds later, the shower kicked on.

I didn’t mind.

Watching Cora wasn’t exactly a chore, especially not when she was giggling on the floor and rolling like a pro.

Besides, Dalton wasn’t even supposed to be back anyway. Technically, I was still on duty.

I pulled out my phone, thumb flying across the screen as I opened up my favorite online group.