Page 15 of I'll Keep Her Safe

But he lifts one tattooed arm to drag a hand through his hair and nods. “Sounds good. I’ll quickly shower.” Then he takes the stairs, the old boards creaking under his steps.

I should be pleased he’s agreed to eat with me. That’s what I wanted, right? To try to find a way for us to coexist peacefully here?

But as I listen to the shower turn on upstairs, thinking about the way Mr. Mathers hesitated so long before answering, all I feel is a tight ball of uncertainty in the pit of my stomach.

7

Wyatt

I’m tempted to stay in the shower for the rest of the night so I don’t have to go downstairs and face Poppy. She’s clearly safe, just as I suspected, and when I fired off a quick text to let Bailey know before I jumped in the shower, she replied with,All good. Enjoy the burgers!

Which is exactly why I have to go back down there.

Besides, I’m not a complete asshole. Poppy has obviously gone to a lot of trouble, particularly since she made the meal vegetarian, and only a jerk would refuse to eat it. My stomach rumbles as the heavenly smell of her cooking drifts up the stairs. Much like my mouth watered the moment I stepped through the front door, because the truth is, Iwantto eat it. It smells so damn good.

I step from the shower and towel off, listening to Poppy hum in the kitchen as she cooks. It’s a sweet, comforting sound that makes an unfamiliar—if not unwelcome—sensation dance in my chest, but I quickly shove it away as I wipe the steam from the bathroom mirror. I hesitate, considering styling my hair and spraying my cologne, then catch myself. There is absolutely zero reason for me to make an effort for Poppy, and I deliberately dress in comfortable sweatpants and a plain tee, leaving my hair damp and messy, before heading downstairs.

Poppy places our meals on the counter as I enter the kitchen, her back to me. She’s still wearing that apron, the red bow cinched at the back, accentuating her narrow waist and the wide flare of her hips. The copper strands of her disheveled hair fall in wild waves around her face as she turns to check on something in the oven. She finally notices me in the doorway and smiles, wiping the back of a hand across her forehead that leaves a smear of flour there. I swallow, losing the battle to keep my gaze from drifting across her flushed cheeks, the form-hugging apron that emphasizes her cleavage, her bare feet on my kitchen floor. She looks right at home here, and I have to tear my gaze away as I move to sit at the breakfast bar. I study the details on the soapstone countertop as Poppy joins me, hating myself for how much I seem to enjoy the sight of my daughter’s best friend, barefoot and cooking in my kitchen.

Jesus Christ.

Instead, I focus on the food, which is not hard to do. The burger is huge, stacked with all kinds of toppings, and the fries beside it look better than anything I’ve eaten in a restaurant. My stomach gives a loud growl of impatience, and I pick up the burger, taking a bite. It’s a fight not to groan my satisfaction.

“I wasn’t sure how you liked your burger,” Poppy says beside me, picking up her own burger. “I had to guess.”

“It’s perfect,” I say around a mouthful of fries, and holy fuck, these are the best fries I’ve ever had. Crispy and crunchy on the outside, soft and fluffy in the middle, not too oily, with just the right amount of salt.

“I had to use some of your stuff.” Poppy motions to the pantry, her cheeks pink. “I’d planned to make beef burgers, but then Bailey told me you’re a vegetarian.”

Too busy wolfing down my burger to contribute anything to the conversation, I can only nod.

“I’ll replace the beans,” she adds. “I used a little of the rhubarb from your basket. I can replace that too, if you like.”

I pause, lowering my burger. “You used my rhubarb? What for?”

She swallows, studying her plate. “Uh, I wanted to make dessert, so I whipped up a quick rhubarb crumble while you were upstairs. I hope that’s okay.” She places a fry into her mouth and chews carefully, as if waiting for me to get angry.

Actually, I’m thrilled. It’s perfect for a crumble. Why didn’t I think of that?

Now that she mentions it, my nose picks up the sweet scent drifting from the oven, and if it’s possible, my mouth waters even more. I could get used to coming home to a meal like this after a day at work.

No, you couldn’t. You won’t.

“That’s fine,” I mutter, but it comes out more gruffly than I intend, so I add, “You don’t have to replace anything. I’m glad to see it being put to good use.”

She nods, eating her burger quietly, and I polish off my burger with a satisfied sigh. I shouldn’t say anything more. I should thank her and leave, but she’s got a delicious crumble in the oven, and that was easily the best veggie burger I’ve ever eaten. My mouth gets the better of me.

“Where’d you learn to cook?” I ask, wiping my hands on a napkin. Since when did I have napkins?

Poppy’s gaze flicks to mine, then away. “I spent two years at culinary school.”

“But you met Bailey at business school, right?”

She nods, finishing her burger and wiping her mouth. My gaze catches on the scarlet-red of her lips before I yank it away.

“You’re a natural in the kitchen. What made you decide to switch to business?”

“My ex talked me into it.”

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