Page 92 of Wicked Love

“Oh.” She looks surprised. “Thank you. So do you.”

“Hmm,” I grumble but grin.

“Handsome, whatever,” she says, laughing.

We walk toward my car and I open the door for her.

“Very gentlemanly,” she says.

“Trying something new.”

She laughs, sliding into the seat. The sound eases something inside me. I’m not good at this—romance—but I can try. For her, I want to.

I drive to the end of Jupiter Lane and take a left, going into the mountains.

“Wow, it’s beautiful up here,” she says when we round the bend and see the lights of Silver Hills below. “I feel like I’m living in a storybook here…another little world. Don’t you?”

“It is a pretty little town,” I agree.

After the next bend, I pull into the parking lot of the Silver Hills Dinner Theatre. The lot is full and Poppy looks around, curious.

“I’ve wanted to come here but haven’t had a chance to yet. Fun! What are we seeing?”

I stop the car and glance at her. “Pride and Prejudice.”

Her eyes widen. “Did someone tell you that’s one of my favorite stories?”

My eyebrows lift. “No.”

“Have you ever read the book or seen the movie?”

I shake my head.

“Oh, you are in for a treat.” She laughs. “Get ready to see a glimpse of yourself, Darcy.”

I give her a perplexed look and get out of the car, moving around to the other side to open her door. She’s more animated now and seems less nervous, but when I reach out and take her hand, she looks up at me and gulps.

“Is this okay?”

“Y-yes.” She trips on something and I steady her.

“You sure?” I ask, chuckling.

She groans. “I hate my feet right now.”

“I won’t let you fall.”

We step into the old theatre, the building lovingly maintained with creaky floors and velvet seats. The guys would give me such a hard time if they could see me right now. We look over the menu and place our orders and chat for a few minutes about how our days have been, when the lights dim. I pay close attention to Mr. Darcy, the proud, reserved asshole Poppy compared me to and give her a mock glare when he’s being particularly rude.

I guess I can relate to a guy who doesn’t like small talk.

About halfway through, Darcy makes his painfully awkward proposal and Elizabeth rejects him. The audience chuckles. I glance at Poppy, who’s watching with her chin propped on her hand, her smile wide. When Darcy storms off, looking wounded and superior at the same time, Poppy side-eyes me, biting her lip to keep from laughing. I growl and she laughs out loud.

I spend the majority of the second half watching Poppy instead of the play. She’s way more fun to watch.

Afterward, as we walk into the cool evening air, Poppy loops her arm through mine and I like that she made the first move to touch me.

“What did you think?” she asks.

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