Page 51 of Wicked Love

“I love presents,” she says.

Bowie smiles a real smile now. There’s no mystery to him when he looks at his daughter. He is an open book when it comes to her, and I adore that about him.

Becca flings the tissue paper out of the bag and Bowie and I scramble to catch it before it flies everywhere. She takes the picture out and stares at it, a huge smile on her face.

“Me and you,” she says happily. She holds the picture of the two of us from the other day up to Bowie. “Look, Dad. Me and Poppy.”

“It sure is,” he says, his eyes meeting mine. “Thank you.”

I smile and nod slightly.

“That was…really wonderful of you,” he adds.

I stare up at him, surprised by his rare vulnerability.

Becca lightens the moment by waving the frame in front of us again. “I love me and Poppy. I put it on my shelf.”

I get choked up and fortunately, I don’t think Bowie sees because Becca throws her arms around me and we hug it out. When we pull apart, I look at Bowie again and his expression has gone completely soft and melty. He swallows hard and gives me a closed smile. It wouldn’t seem like much coming from anyone else, but from him, it feels like maybe I’ve cracked through just a tiny bit of his armor.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

SMALL MERCIES

BOWIE

I inhale the aroma of coffee before I even push through the door of Luminary Coffeehouse, ready for my coffee fix. I haven’t slept enough the past week and a half. Things have escalated with my dad…he’s hanging on, but it’s not looking good. Seeing him so close to the end is bringing up memories I thought I’d buried, things I needed to forget.

And then there’s Poppy. It doesn’t help that I’ve seen her almost every afternoon, dropping Becca offat Briar Hill. We’ve established a routine now, where I drop her off and she brings Becca home in the evening. Those few minutes at the door, chatting about the day, have become a bright spot.

Damn it, I don’t want to think about Poppy Keane.

Music blasts through the speakers and I wince at the sound. Patrons are scattered around mismatched tables, and normally they’d be chatting or looking at their phones, but not today. Every eye is on me as I walk inside.

Clara stands behind the counter, her usual wide grin stretched across her face.

“Morning, Bowie!” she calls, buzzing with more energy than is reasonable for this hour. “You’re just in time.”

“For what?” I clear my throat to get some of the gravel out.

Clara’s grin is mischievous and I get a bad feeling. “Dance-off.”

I stop mid-step, brows scrunching up. “Dance-off?”

“You heard me,” she says, hands on her hips. “No coffee for you boys today until you dance. It’s my new policy.”

A groan rises from the corner table where the resident grumps, Walter and Marv, sit at their usual table…without coffee.

“This is ridiculous,” Marv mutters, crossing his arms.

“Back in my day, we just handed over a nickel and got our coffee,” Walter scowls. “No wiggling involved.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “It’s too early for this.”

“It’s never too early for joy,” Clara chirps.

Henley walks in and Clara points at him.

“Dance for your coffee, Henley.”

---