Page 17 of I'll Keep Her Safe

I should shrug this off and tell her to go upstairs. Dinner is over and I’m more than happy to clean up after such a delicious meal. But there’s something in her open, unwavering gaze that compels me to answer.

“I have responsibilities.” I dump the cutlery into the sink and begin scrubbing. “I stopped shortly after Bailey came into my life.”

Poppy takes the cutlery and dries it quietly, then the bowls when I place them on the drying rack. I lower our plates into the water to scrub, thinking that’s the end of the conversation, when she speaks again.

“Do you miss it?”

“Riding?” I glance at her, and her eyes are warm and curious as they move over my face. I quickly look away. “Yes.”

“Then you should ride again,” she says, drying our plates. “Is it still… I mean, does the bike still… go?”

I stifle a chuckle at the way she struggles to phrase her question. “Yes. I work on it often.” It’s the only way I’ve maintained a thread of connection to the thrill I used to get from riding, but it’s not the same. I should sell the damn thing.

“Bailey would want you to ride if you miss it,” Poppy says, taking the pan I’ve scrubbed, and drying it carefully. “She’d hate to think of you not doing that because of her.”

I set the last pan on the drying rack and drain the sink, turning to Poppy. She’s right, Bailey would hate that, and yet I can’t seem to bring myself to do it. It’s been so long now… maybe I don’t have it in me anymore.

Poppy sighs quietly as she puts the dishes away. She’s still wearing the apron, and as she places everything back in the correct spot, as if she’s lived here for years instead of days, that funny sensation from earlier happens in my chest again. I’ve never admitted to anyone why I stopped riding all those years ago, or that I long to do it again. How did she get that out of me?

As I watch her rise on her toes to put the sugar away in the top of the pantry, I move without thinking and step behind her, taking the container from her hands, lifting it onto the top shelf. When I glance down, I get a whiff of her sweet, peachy shampoo, and my head spins. What would she do if I lowered my mouth to that spot below her ear and brushed my lips over it?

She’d freak the fuck out, you creep.

Sucking in a sharp breath, I step back from the pantry, away from Poppy. She doesn’t seem to have noticed my momentary lapse of judgment, because she’s humming quietly to herself again as she wipes the countertop clean, but I’m backing away to the doorway, my heart racing.

Honestly, I’m starting to fucking scare myself. Why am I so drawn to her? There are millions of women in the city. Why can’t I choose someone more appropriate? Literallyanyone elsewould be fine.

“Thanks for dinner,” I mumble.

“You’re welcome.” Poppy turns to me with a smile that sinks right into my chest. “We should do it again.”

“No,” I blurt, panic swirling through me. I can’t stop my eyebrows from digging into a frown.

“Oh.” Her face falls at my abrupt response. I want to say something to reassure her it’s not her or her food, but what’s the point? Better to be firm about this now.

Besides, I’m used to people thinking of me as the bad guy.

“I can’t, Poppy.” My tone is harsher than I intend, but I let it remain that way. She needs to know this can’t happen again. “I have a lot going on right now,” I add, as if to soften the blow, but I still feel like a prick.

“Of course. I get it.”

She frowns too, untying her apron and folding it over her arm. I can’t tear my eyes from her movements, the confused purse of her red lips. What was I thinking, eating dinner with her?

Hell, why did I even let her move in?

I need to get out of here. The irony is that now would be a perfect time to get on my bike and clear my head. I settle for turning to walk out of the kitchen.

“I’ll… stay out of your way,” Poppy says quietly behind me.

“Good,” I choke out, taking the stairs two at a time.

8

Poppy

It turns out, if you get creative, it’s possible to completely avoid the person you’re living with.

My alarm wakes me at 5:45 in the morning, and I hit snooze three times before finally blinking awake. I stare at the ceiling, wishing I didn’t have to get out of bed. The first fingers of dawn are already creeping across my ceiling, and I know I’ll need to move fast if I’m going to get out of the house before Mr. Mathers is up. I shouldn’t have snoozed through my alarm.

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