version of himself and the sullen, angry guy I found trying to walk out of my life.
Poppy takes a step back to study it, sighs, and pulls the items out of the cart. “Maybe you’re right.”
I do my best to hide my shock and hurry her away from the display.
“How has that been going?” Poppy asks, moving to examine a much more neutral option. “You haven’t really said much about where things stand with you two.”
“He’s angry, mostly. And obsessed with making our world respect him, whatever that means. I think he just needs more time. I can’t stop thinking about his place in Queens, of how he grew up—and then to have my dad throw it in his face. I’m angry, too, but I want to move on.”
“Have you wondered what you’ll do if things don’t work out between you two?” My brow furrows as I load an objection, but Poppy rushes on, “I like Sterling, you know I do—”
“Do you like him?” Lately, I’m not sure. Looking back, I’m not sure she’s ever really liked him.
Poppy drops a set of pale blue, 800-thread-count sheets into the cart and fixes me with one of her deeply sympathetic looks. “I have nothing against Sterling personally—and I know your father just complicates everything—but what if you manage to keep him out of it...and it still doesn’t work out? You two have a lot of differences, and you’re only nineteen. Do you really want to cut out your whole family for a guy you’ve only known a few months?”
I bite back a saucy reply by telling myself she’s just trying to look out for me. What can I say to convince her? Nothing I haven’t tried telling myself, unfortunately. “I only have two people in my life who see me as something besides Angus MacLaine’s daughter. Just two people in all the world who will let me be something else. You’re one of them, and he’s the other. I don’t know how else to explain it.”
A flash of realization dawns on Poppy’s face. “You have to see where it goes. Or you’ll regret it later.”
“Exactly. Exactly.”
Poppy’s crimson lips finally crack into a smile. “I’m not trying to be pushy about it, love. I just want to make sure you’re focused on what you need. Aside from these pillows. Holy shit, what are they even made of? Some kind of kitten fur? I’ve never felt anything so soft!”
“God, I hope not!” I say, feeling the pillows and laughing.
“Sorry, but these are for me. Sterling would never appreciate them,” she says with a wink that says she’s trying. Trying to like him. Trying to understand. I can’t ask for more than that.
“Do you want me to wait here while you get your own cart?” I ask.
“I think I’m just going to come back later. I’ve been feeling the need for a refresh, and this place is giving me ideas.”
It takes another hour to get everything we need for my new room, which leaves my bank account dangerously low. My inheritance from my mother wasn’t much after taxes. Still, I’m glad I refused my father’s offer to invest it for me. It means for now I have something to live on—but for how long? The feeling I get isn’t exactly panic, more like a gnawing worry.
In the parking lot, it takes Poppy a couple minutes to figure out how to lay down the seats in her mother’s BMW crossover, which she borrowed for this quest, so we can put the bed frame in. I end up doing most of the lifting, which is fine—it’s my stuff, after all. But it leaves me panting and sweaty, and Poppy decides to cool me off with something from Starbucks. I don’t want to spend any more money or run any later than we already are, but I don’t quite know how to tell her.
Sterling was supposed to meet us when we got back, to help move things in. But by the time we get there, we’re running a half hour late, and a moving truck is parked on the curb in front of our building.
“Surprise!” Poppy says as we get out. “They’re here to do all the lifting. And before you complain, they were going to be here whether they helped you or not. Ava and I needed to move some of our clothes back home.”
I’ve known Poppy practically my entire life, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how much clothing she goes through. The