Page 37 of Special Delivery
‘You okay, love?’
Not really. Not at all. But totally fine, if anyone’s asking. Fine enough to raise a daughter. ‘Yes,’ she called back.
‘You sure?’
Poppy had lost all feeling up to her ankles. ‘Never better, Mary. See you later.’ Poppy hurried to her front door. She stepped into the warmth of her hallway, where the light from the tulip-style fixtures cast a peachy glow. Quietly, she turned and padded towards her daughter’s bedroom. Opening the door, she could hear the tiny whisper of Maeve’s rhythmic breathing, as soft as an eyelash fluttering in the wind.
Poppy curled her still-unthawed toes against the tiles. A painful lump had thickened in her throat, making each breath razor-sharp. She may have already lost Patrick and her right to a safe, predictable future, she might soon lose whole limbs to hypothermia and properly lose her mind, but that didn’t mean that her precious, unprejudiced daughter had to lose her father. Poppy closed the bedroom door and prised her phone from her pocket.
A fervent need throbbed in her chest. She wasn’t sure if she was doing this for herself or her daughter, but her fingers tapped the keypad on the screen.
Hope the client meeting goes well. We’re always free to talk, whenever you are
CHAPTER 17
It appeared Maeve was in a ‘leap’—a period of cognitive development impacting sleep, behaviour and mood. Poppy had downloaded the app but it wasn’t doing jack shit. Suffice to say, the morning had been a disaster. She’d texted Patrick again—just a quickFT today?Only two words, abbreviated, totally his style, hopefully completely safe from accusations of nagging, but she’d heard nothing back—and then Henry had bounced into The Bustle this morning looking like a curly-haired Hemsworth cousin. His cheeks were pink from the wind and tiny diamonds of rain were scattered across his curls. ‘Dad’s getting a labrador,’ he announced, sinking into the seat beside her with his takeaway coffee. ‘That’s his retirement plan.’
Poppy readjusted Maeve on her lap. ‘What about your mum’s allergies?’
‘He’s getting a doodle one.’
Poppy couldn’t repress a grin. ‘A male one?’
Henry grinned back. ‘No, a doodle one, you dumb-arse.’
‘Alabradoodle?’
‘Iknewyou knew what I meant.’
She always knew what he meant. ‘Why a labradoodle?’
‘Penis size.’
Poppy snorted into her coffee and Henry’s eyes twinkled, thrilled with himself. A mental image of Henry’s dad with his blond handlebar moustache popped into her head, and Poppy felt the bubble of something hilarious in her throat. ‘I always thought …’ she began, but nope, the giggles were already fizzing through every vein. ‘I always …’ she tried again, but the laughter was sucking the air from her lungs.
Henry’s grin expanded and he began to chuckle. Their eyes locked and they laughed harder, and Henry had no idea why they were laughing, which made it even funnier.
‘I …’ Poppy gasped, holding Maeve tighter before she lost full control of her body.
‘Tell me,’ pleaded Henry. They were both shaking now, vibrating like caffeinated tambourines. Every time their eyes connected, that link between them was pulled tighter and they laughed harder. Random customers glanced at them, smiles tugging at their lips too, as if whatever was happening between them was contagious. They were making a scene for no good reason other than this was how they were together. Still.
‘WHAT, POPPY?’
The blond moustache.She couldn’t. It was too stupid.
‘GOLDENDOODLE!’ she gasped, clutching her daughter as a tear rolled down her cheek. ‘Always had you for a golden-doodle family.’
Henry’s head fell into his hands. ‘Poppy!’
‘I know!’
‘Not! Funny!’ More laughter rumbled from his core and his eyes sparkled. Everything about this man thrummed with life. The gloss of rain in his hair, the twinkle in his eye, the creases of his laugh lines. He looked like a man who slept for eight hours a night.
‘I’d forgotten this,’ Henry wheezed, settling back into his chair.
‘How hilarious I am?’
‘No, how you crack yourself up two hours before the punchline.’
