Page 69 of Wicked Love

“Not anymore. It’s never been so cluttered.” He sags back in his chair.

“Maybe it’s her way of trying to help?” I bite back a laugh.

“Oh, she’s helping all right,” he says darkly. “She’s helping herself to my entire existence. She thinks I need to cut my hair and that my wardrobe lacks personality.”

“Don’t you dare cut your hair,” I blurt out. “But she’s not wrong about your wardrobe.”

He looks down at his sweatshirt and folds his arms. “Athletic wear is timeless.”

“Timelessly boring.”

Total lie. He makes athletic wear look delicious.

“Well, tell me how you really feel,” he says, his eyes narrowing on mine.

I laugh and his lips twitch. Our plates are set in front of us and when I go to take a bite of my burger, my nose flares. I set the burger down quickly and eat a nice, salty fry instead.

“It gets worse,” he says. “She’s started cooking dinner.”

“That’s nice, right?”

“No, Poppy, it’s not nice.”

Becca turns up her nose. “Yucky,” she says.

Bowie and I laugh.

“Last night it was some kind of…casserole. She called it Austrian Comfort Delight. Ham and peas with noodles, which,” he lifts a shoulder, “in theory shouldn’t be a disaster necessarily, but…” He shudders. “So much salt.”

I can’t stop laughing now.

“You didn’t like it either?” I ask Becca.

“Martha likes it,” Becca says.

“Becca fed it to Martha under the table,” Bowie says, cringing. “I discourage that, but we needed a quick fix and Martha was there.”

I cover my mouth with my napkin as I crack up.

“She wants to adopt another dog, says Martha doesn’t have enough life in her.”

At that, I double over, clutching my stomach. “This is too good.”

“She’s a menace,” he says with amusement.

“This is the most I’ve heard you talk ever,” I say, trying to wipe off my wistful expression. I clear my throat and try toget serious. “Maybe she’s just trying to make up for lost time,” I say gently.

He looks down. “Yeah, maybe.” Then he glances at my plate and frowns. “Is your burger not good?”

“Oh…I’m…it’s…would you like a bite?” I hold up my plate and he stares at the whole burger still sitting there.

“Well, now I’m curious about why you’re not eating it.” He picks it up and takes a big bite. “Tastes great to me.” He places it back on the plate.

“Take it. Please.” I nudge the plate toward him.

“I can always eat,” he says. He looks down at his plate. “I finished my steak,” he says apologetically, “but there’s still some salad. Want some of this?”

I look at it. I don’t normally like avocado or Kalamata olives, but… it looksunbelievablygood.

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