Page 28 of I'll Keep Her Safe

“I only work two blocks away! I could pop home on my breaks to play with her and make sure she’s okay.”

God, I can’t say no to that smile. Besides, I probably owe her one after inadvertently letting her ex into the house. I still feel awful about that.

“Fine,” I murmur.

Poppy bounces on her toes with glee, and for a second I think she’s going to hug me. “Thank you so much, Mr. Mathers.”

“Wyatt,” I correct, and she scrunches her nose, looking from me to the kitten, who has climbed out of the box and is inspecting the sugar container with interest. That can’t be sanitary.

“Sugar,” Poppy whispers, scooping the cat up and setting it onto the floor in front of the saucer of eggs. She watches intently as the kitten sniffs the food, then tentatively begins to eat. “I’m going to call you Sugar.”

There’s a strange flutter in my chest at the way she crouches beside the cat, gently encouraging it to eat, and I wash it down with a swig of beer. I’m pleased I could make Poppy happy after what happened yesterday with Kurt, that’s all.

“You should take it to the vet,” I say, sliding onto a stool at the counter. “Make sure everything is okay with it. It looks a little malnourished.”

Poppy nods. “I’ll do that tomorrow.”

I think of the costs associated with getting a pet and make a mental note to stop in at Target to pick up a couple of things tomorrow. I mean, yes, it’s Poppy’s cat, but it lives with us both, so I don’t mind contributing. Especially when I know she’s trying to save after Kurt ripped her off.

I still can’t believe he did that, and I’ve been thinking about it nonstop since Bailey told me. There must besomethingwe can do to get her money back. We can’t let that asshole win.

Poppy checks on the lasagna, then leans on the counter to watch the kitten—Sugar—as it licks its paws, the eggs gone. I bet that’s the best meal that creature has had in weeks. Sugar lets out a contented purr, rubbing her head against Poppy’s shin, then ambles over to where I’m seated at the counter. She looks up at me with that same beseeching expression, and I sip my beer, watching her.

“She wants you to pick her up,” Poppy says, her mouth twitching with a smile.

I frown down at the cat, mentally willing it to go to Poppy instead, but its eyes seem to grow wider and more pleading, and I set my beer down with a sigh. I’m notcompletelyheartless. I settle Sugar in my lap and reach for my beer again, thinking that will be the end of it, but she scrambles up my chest and onto my shoulder. I suck in a breath at the sharpness of her claws as she climbs me, then exhale as she nuzzles into the side of my neck with a purr.

Christ. This could not be any more inconvenient.

From across the kitchen, Poppy’s giggle draws my attention. “I think she likes you.”

“What’s not to like?” I joke without thinking, and Poppy makes a “hmmm” sound. Her gaze strays from the cat to my chest, then down my arms. When she brings it back to my face, her cheeks are pink. The oven timer dings and she clears her throat, averting her gaze as she serves dinner. I don’t know what that was about, but I’m distracted from thinking about it as Sugar climbs back down my torso and settles into my lap. Why do I get the sense I’m going to be treated like a tree from now on?

The truth is, I don’t mind. It’s worth it to see Poppy laugh. After the way she shrunk into herself yesterday, after seeing how Kurt could make her feel so small, I’ll do whatever it takes to make her smile.

We settle in to eat, which is considerably more difficult for me than her, given Sugar keeps trying to stick her nose onto my plate, and eventually I drop her onto the floor to explore the house. It occurs to me I probably won’t be able to wait until tomorrow to go to Target. She’ll need a litter box very soon.

The vegetable lasagna is, as expected, delicious. Poppy has paired it with a light salad, using some of the greens I gathered from the garden the other day. There’s sliced radish in there, and I realize Marty must have snuck some into my basket after all.

“This is amazing,” I say around mouthfuls of melted cheese and pasta. “I’ve never eaten so well.” I cook for myself most nights when I’m not busy at work, but it’s usually basic stuff, and never turns out this good.

When I glance at Poppy, her cheeks are pink with delight, and she’s smiling around a forkful of salad. I wonder if Kurt ever told her that her cooking was good. Actually, no—wasn’t it him that talked her out of culinary school? Anger swarms through me at the thought, and I twist to face Poppy, wanting her to know how good her cooking is. Wanting to help her believe in herself after learning how Kurt treated her.

“You should be a chef,” I say, and her smile fades. Shit. That wasn’t the right approach. Switching gears, I ask, “How’s the business coming along?” Her smile has completely vanished now, and I curse myself for opening my mouth in the first place. We were perfectly fine eating in silence.

Poppy swallows and shrugs. “It’s… I’m working on it.” She picks at her food, and I push my plate away as I finish my meal, annoyed with myself. Only moments ago she was smiling and laughing, and all it took was one comment from me to kill her mood.

Determined to make her smile again, I rise from my stool and look around for Sugar. She’s on the coffee table, batting at the TV remote with a paw, and I pick her up and set her back on my shoulder. It’s the last place I want the damn cat, but she settles in with a purr, draping herself over my shoulder as I run water into the sink for the dishes.

And when I sneak a glance over my shoulder at Poppy, the smile dancing on her mouth feels better than that first moment I get my hands in the soil after the last frost of winter thaws.

And that’s a very dangerous feeling.

12

Poppy

“Got any exciting weekend plans?” Daisy asks as I untie my apron for the day. My first few shifts at Joe’s are done, and they’ve been great. The setting is cute, the customers are lovely, and it’s a much more relaxed atmosphere than the last place I worked. Dave is friendly, as are the rest of the staff, but I’ve enjoyed getting to know Daisy most of all. She splits her time between Joe’s and freelance photography gigs, and her passion has inspired me to move forward with my own business.

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