Page 6 of The Politician Bidder

Back in your life again? We’ll have to see how Saturday goes first, buddy.I force a smile onto my face. “Goodnight, Adam.”

Chapter 5

Adam

Ipulledoutallthe stops for our date, renting a local Hawks Roost restaurant for the evening, and replacing all of the staff with top-notch chefs and servers from Nashville. Mom and Pop’s Country Cooking has been transformed into a world-class dining experience, and Poppy and I have the whole place to ourselves.

Everything’s perfect.Or so I thought.

Poppy sits across from me in a navy cocktail dress that hugs her curves like it was tailored just for her. Her hair’s curled loosely over one shoulder, and her lipstick is a deep berry shade that makes her brown eyes stand out like headlights in fog.

She looks breathtaking.

And completely and totallymiserable.

She’s barely touched the amuse-bouche, and when the waiter tried to explain the molecular gastronomy foam on the second course, she blinked at him like he’d just described a crime scene. She’s quiet and reserved, sipping her $85 glass of wine like it’s a chore.

I point to the plate in front of her. “You really should try the appetizer. It’s delicious. The head chef tonight is none other than Roberto Vizzini.”

Her lips press together into a straight line, and she doesn’t say anything.

“He’s a James Beard award winner,” I tell her. “One of the very best chefs in the world.”

She nods politely, taking another sip of her wine.

“He cooked at the Met Gala last year. Apparently, Gigi Hadid cried over his truffle risotto.”

Poppy blinks. “That seems... deeply unnecessary.”

I’m dying here.

I launch into my most crowd-pleasing topics—polling numbers, bipartisan initiatives, a new green energy bill I helped pass. She continues to bob her head politely, but still she refuses to engage in any conversation.

I lean in slightly, trying to find a crack in her armor. “I looked you up after I saw that article about the auction. I saw you won the Benton Award for Public Service. That’s a huge accomplishment. Congratulations.”

That gets her attention. Her spine straightens and her expression shifts—just slightly—but enough that I notice. “Yeah,” she says. “That was a surprise. I didn’t even know I was nominated.”

“I’m not surprised,” I say honestly. “You’ve always been a fighter.”

She shrugs, but there’s color in her cheeks now. “It was for a juvenile sentencing reform case. We had a win. Small, but it mattered.”

I nod, setting down my fork. “Tell me about it.”

She does. And for the first time tonight, she’s animated. Her eyes light up, her hands move as she talks, and that passion—the one that used to scare professors and inspire classmates—is there in full force. I sit back and watch her with a mix of awe and… guilt.

She’s out here grinding, changing lives. And I’m giving speeches about the state bird at middle schools.

When the waiter brings the fourth course—some kind of deconstructed duck ravioli that looks more like art than food—I clear my throat.

“Hey, Poppy?”

She glances up mid-sip, one brow raised.

“Remember how we used to study in the law library until they kicked us out?”

A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth. “And we’d sit on the steps outside and eat cold pizza from that place with the garlic knots.”

“Gino’s,” I say. “They knew us by name.”

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