Page 16 of Whiskey & Wreckage

Poppy: 10/10 would recommend.

I smirk, my thumb already hovering over the screen.

Me: No lawsuits or emergency room visits?

Me: I’m impressed.

Her reply is instant.

Poppy: No lawsuits.

Poppy: But if I don’t get a sticker or a juice box I’m filing a formal complaint with someone important.

Poppy: Maybe the President.

I snort under my breath. She’s ridiculous. And it shouldn’t be this charming, but it is.

Me: You’ll have to settle for a gold star ?

Me: That’s the best I can do.

There’s a pause. Then her next message comes through, and it knocks the breath out of me.

Poppy: Thanks for… everything.

Poppy: Seriously.

Poppy: You didn’t have to help me. But you did.

Poppy: And I don’t know if you’re secretly a superhero or just a guy with good instincts, but either way, I’m stupidly grateful.

Poppy: Even if you are a high-functioning menace.

My chest tightens. She makes it sound like a joke, but I can feel the honesty in every word.

I stare at the screen for a long moment, then type back.

Me: You don’t have to thank me, Poppy.

Me: But you’re welcome.

Me: For the record…

Me: You’re pretty hard to walk away from.

I’m still staring at the screen when Nash barrels into my office without knocking. Again.

“You still babysitting that girl from the bar?” he says, grinning like a jackass.

“I’m not babysitting her,” I mutter, grabbing my coffee like it’ll shield me from this conversation.

“Mm-hmm,” he says, flopping into the chair across from me. “So you didn’t put her up in a fancy-ass hotel and play knight in shining armor?”

“I got her a room because she was wasted and had nowhere else to go,” I say evenly. “That’s it.”

“You also checked in on her,” he points out. “And had the front desk physically confirm her existence, then ordered her breakfast.”

“She didn’t answer her texts,” I shrug.

---