I could do it easily. I’ve already been thinking about how I might be able to go back tonight, and the few hours between now and then would be the perfect time to prepare.
But there’s something in her face, in the way her hair is still half plastered to her head since the overhang at the restaurant didn’t stop all the rain, that has me nodding. “Yeah.”
She smiles a little but quickly turns so I can’t see it, and we walk next door to her place, where she unlocks the door and opens it up for me. My immediate impression is that Poppy’s idea of putting things away seems to consist of piling her crap up, sticking a hand grenade into the middle of the pile, and pulling the pin.
It’s not really that bad, just . . . cluttered. Her dining area’s clearly her work office, with a full-sized whiteboard covered in scribbled notes and magnets with scraps of paper tucked under them. Next to it is a corkboard that looks like a full-on conspiracy theorist’s dream, with pictures of celebrities and random model stock photos connected with bits of colored string.
“Wow,” I breathe, part impressed and part scared. This is similar to what I do when I’m planning a job, but I usually keep it in my head. It’s safer that way. This is . . . all out there in the open for anyone to see her crazy.
Poppy looks where I’m focused and rolls her eyes, but her laugh is tight, betraying her nerves. “I swear I’m not some weirdo conspiracy theorist. It’s my design board for my books. When I make a character, I create a picture that best fits how I picture them. The string is how I can remember their relationship with other characters at a glance. The whiteboard’s my written information.”
“That’s—”
I’m interrupted as twin yapping sounds fill the air, and suddenly, two furry balls of insanity are streaking around the room, dancing around everything before realizing that there’s a new human inside. Immediately, I’m swarmed with bouncing, sniffing, and yipping.
“Nut and Juice.” Poppy introduces them like I didn’t already figure that out.
They’re maniacs, but I know how to deal with that. I don’t bend down to pet them, but instead, I snap my fingers sharply to get their attention and then hold out a palm. They calm instantly, tongues hanging out and attention locked on me. “Good dogs.”
Poppy looks at me in wonder, “How’d you get them to do that? They never do that for me.”
I shrug. “I guess they recognize an alpha.”
She hums disbelievingly, taking it as a joke. I’m only half kidding.
“I wanna show you something,” she says, spinning and going into the kitchen. “Come here.”
I don’t take orders from many people, but I’m curious to see what she’s got up her sleeve. If she even knows, I think wryly. Seriously, the more time I spend with Poppy, the more I think she lives her entire life fifteen seconds at a time.
In the kitchen, she kicks out a chair, gesturing for me to sit. I scan the room quickly, noting that the layout is similar to my own place and actually a lot cleaner than her dining area, then lower to the wooden chair.
Poppy digs around in a drawer and pulls out a little bag that looks like a travel toiletry kit before coming over to sit beside me. “Hand?” she says, holding hers out.
I lift a brow in question, not moving a muscle. She growls, cute as can be, and reaches for my hand. I have plenty of time to move away from her, but I don’t. I’m too curious about what’s she’s doing.
It’s not until she lifts the hand up and looks at the heel of my hand and starts peering at my fingers that I realize what she’s doing. She’s checking me for injuries, and her bag is her first aid kit . . . in a blue and yellow vinyl shaving kit bag.
Because Poppy.
“It’s fine,” I tell her, but I don’t move away. Not when I’m enjoying the feel of her fingers dancing over mine, testing and teasing as she searches for any signs of trauma. I’m not used to people taking care of me. It’s . . . nice, though warning bells are sounding in my head telling me not to get used to it.
“I’m sure it is, tough guy. But that guy’s nose has probably seen more snow than a Colorado mountaintop, and the last thing