Page 19 of Touch My Shelves

“Ahhh, that’s so nice of you. You’re a hot, yummy piece of man flesh and nice.”

I give a heavy sigh knowing what’s to come. I don’t want to see Poppy go, but she must. Maybe it’s for the best. Staying away from her isn’t cooling my desire. I find her hot too.

“I tied it, Theo! Yay, me!”

My chuckle pops out. She’s a cute drunk. “Hold on. I’m going to pull you up now.”

“Wait. When?” she calls up.

I pause, confused. “When, what?”

“When are you going to pull me up? Like on three? Will you say one, two, three, and then pull, or will you pull on three? Like one, two, pull.”

I try not to laugh. “Yeah, sure, I’ll pull on three.” I give it a minute and start the countdown.

“Wait! Are you going to pull before three, on three, or after three? It’s important to know.”

Why? Why is it important to know? “On three, Poppy. It doesn’t matter. I’m pulling now.” And I do. I pull and she lets out a yelp.

I’ve only gotten a few good pulls in when she says, “Theo, I don’t feel so good.”

I brace my feet on the other side of the tunnel and pull a few more times. “Okay, I’ll have you out in a minute.”

“Okay,” she calls out weakly.

Maybe she really is afraid of small spaces.

“Okay, you’re almost at the top.”

“Good, because I think I’m going to be…”

I give a final pull and she grabs hold of my arms, digging her nails into the tender skin of my wrists. I pull her the rest of the way out. Momentum sends us toppling over backwards with me on the bottom and Poppy landing on top of me. She moans and proceeds to throw up. All. Over. Me.

* * *

I stare at the bottle of rum on my desk and then at my daughter, who sits innocently across from me.

“Would you like to explain?” I ask, giving her an opportunity to come clean. I’m not sure of how things played out, but I have my suspicions.

After Poppy threw up, she passed out in my arms, carrying a really old bottle of rum buttoned up in her shirt. I’m not certain where she got it, but I somehow think my daughter had a hand in what happened. As for Poppy drinking it, I assume she doesn’t like small spaces like she claimed.

Freeya eyes the bottle. “Poppy and I were walking on the beach,” she starts and then pauses.

The guilty look on her face tells me everything I need to know. I raise a brow. “I got that part.”

She nods adorably and admits, “I wanted to show her the cave I found.”

Freeya found the cave. That’s one mark against Poppy erased. Still, that doesn’t excuse her from allowing my daughter to go inside. “How did you find a cave?”

My precious, scheming child at least looks regretful. “Well, the last nanny liked to text on her phone. I slipped out to explore and I found a cave. I also found the tunnel and I wanted to show Poppy the treasure I found inside. She just couldn’t get out of the tunnel like I could.”

I sigh and rub my forehead. “Do you realize how dangerous that could have been?”

I don’t want to leave the island before my book is finished, but maybe the best place for Freeya is back home. Ms. Robbins was right. This castle and island aren’t a safe place for a girl with such a strong will and unfettered imagination.

“I’m sorry, Daddy. Is Poppy going to be okay?”

Her concern is surprising. None of the other nannies ever got a reaction out of her, not even when they left.

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