Ian’s smile falters, and he glances over his shoulder to his mother, who waves a hand telling him to get on with it while next to me, Poppy looks amused, not moving from my side. Ian’s eyes cut back to me. “Excuse me?” he says snottily, likely having never been told no in his entire life. “I’d like to dance.”
But Ian and Audrey seem to have also forgotten one more thing. The notion of asking a man to dance with his woman is ridiculously antiquated. And Poppy is not one to take that sitting down . . . or standing up . . . or any other way.
“I see,” Poppy says, crossing her arms and giving Ian a withering look of her own. “Don’t you think you should ask me to dance? Unless you want to dance with Connor. No judgment if that’s the case. Other than the whole cousin thing. That’s kinda a sticky wicket.”
I snicker while Ian finally gives Poppy his attention. Because this isn’t really about her at all. It’s about me. It’s about taking what’s mine. It’s about taking the opportunity to show me in a bad light.
His fake smile blooms again as he thinks he’s found another way to win against me. “Yes, of course, how gauche of me. Please excuse my errant question, and I shall ask you. Would you care to dance?”
He holds his arm out, inviting her to slip her hand to his elbow. But Poppy doesn’t move an inch. “No.”
Her answer is just as flat and dismissive as mine was. His smile flips completely upside down into a frown. “Excuse me?”
“It’s pretty simple,” Poppy says. “You asked me a question. A question is, by its very nature, allowing for choice and options in answer. And my choice is to say no. Unless you only asked rhetorically and you’re saying that I don’t have the choice in who I want to dance with?”
Ian flounders at her logic, or maybe it’s the big words like ‘rhetorically’, and out of the corner of my eye, I see that Caylee’s paying attention, grinning. She’s on Team Poppy, or Team Connor, or whatever we are.
Ian flushes. “No.”
“Exactly,” Poppy says. “No. That’s my answer, Ian. Now run along back to Mommy and tell her that her scheming is transparent and mean-spirited.”
Ian starts to turn, but Poppy calls him back. “Ian? You can tell her no too.”
Ian laughs like that’s ridiculous and scurries off the dance floor before any more attention can come his way. Poppy watches him, then turns back to me, shrugging. “Can’t save them all.”
I laugh softly, pulling her back into my arms to continue our dance and looking into her sparkling eyes. “You’re amazing.”
“Thank you.”
I almost stop there. Maybe I should. But before I can stop it, I give her a little pebble of my soul too. One even more important than the one I gave Caylee. “I think you’re saving me.”
Poppy’s smile falters for a moment before she lifts onto her tiptoes to give me a soft, tender kiss. It feels different this time, deeper and more meaningful. And more dangerous, but her lips’ accepting mine so openly washes away my concerns, letting hope get a foothold.
After, she giggles and whispers, “I flipped off Audrey while I was kissing you. I know it’s juvenile, but it makes me feel better.”
I blink and look over to see Ian trying to appease Audrey, who is fuming visibly but too concerned about appearances to actually do anything about it other than shoot us a sneer of distaste.
I flip her off too, giving her a bonus wink. “You’re right. That does feel better.”
We go back to our seats, enjoying the festivities and the food until it’s time for toasts. Caylee, perhaps wisely, doesn’t ask me to toast them, but when it’s time to throw the flowers, Poppy goes out there on the dance floor with the rest of the single women, ready to play wide receiver. The women are good-naturedly volleying for position, and though I can’t hear them, I think there’s a fair amount of smack talk going on out there.
Caylee looks over her shoulder one last time, smiling at her guests, and then takes three practice swings. Three . . . two . . . one. The bouquet arcs high into the air, nearly catching on a chandelier, and everyone dives for it at the same time, bouncing into and off each other. It seems Poppy was right about the mosh pit, after all.