Chapter 13
Ollie
Burning House by Kameron Marlowe
“You’re nervous,” I say casually as I wander into the kitchen, pour myself a cup of coffee, and lean back against the counter like I don’t feel it buzzing off her in waves.
She’s puttering around the kitchen, overfocused in that way that always gives her away. Breakfast burritos are lined up on the counter, foil-wrapped and warm. Next to them sit three packed lunches, neat and ready.
She rolls her eyes at me, but there’s a smile there, too. “I made us all lunches.”
I follow her gaze to the counter, then back to her. “You made me lunch?”
She shrugs like it’s nothing, her cheeks pink. “I figured you needed to eat.”
I take a sip of coffee to hide my grin, because suddenly this feels like the best part of my day. Well, that and waking up with her in my arms. This day is off to a good start.
She’s not wrong. But it’s not the lunch I want to eat. Her pretend bullshit feels anything but pretend. The way she’s all the sudden acting nervous and looking at me just like I’ve always looked at her.
She’s so damn beautiful in this kitchen, her hair in that long braid down her back. And this is what I’ve dreamed of. Everyday moments with her. Coffee in the kitchen, lunches together, and waking up beside each other. But I can’t say any of this to her. Not yet anyways.
Instead, I make a joke because that is easier than lusting after my pretend fiancée. “That’s really sweet of you,” I tell her.
She shrugs and gives me a dry look. “Don’t make it weird.”
Owen wanders out of his room, rubbing his eyes. “Is today your first day of school, Pops?”
“It is,” she says, handing him a lunch bag. “High school mechanic extraordinaire.”
He grins. “Don’t drop the wrench.”
She laughs, but her hands shake just a little as she takes her coffee mug. “What the heck, Owen? Who taught you that? It won’t be bad. It’s just high school.”
He shrugs. “High school sounds scary. You should see middle school. It’s even worse.”
I snort laugh, shaking my head, and lean in to kiss her temple. “You’re gonna crush it.”
She looks up at me, eyes soft and unsure, and says softly, “I hope so.”
I hope so, too, because she deserves stability, respect, and a room full of kids excited to learn from her.
Not the crappy customers she’s been getting who don’t appreciate her.
Or her sleazebag dad coming around and stealing from her.
That shit is done. He’s not getting anything from her ever again.
“Whoa,” Owen says, eyeing all the food laid out. “What’s all this?”
“First day fuel,” Poppy says. “Eat.”
He sits, immediately digging in.
I watch her fuss over him, making sure he’s got his homework folder, his jacket, and his lunch.
“You all set for practice today?” I ask, taking a sip from my mug.
“Heck yeah. Basketball has been so fun with you and the guys,” he says, swinging his legs in his chair.
I don’t miss Poppy’s expression as she watches him, seeing her happy when he’s happy.
Owen grabs his things and runs down to the truck that’s parked down in one of the bays. “Bye, Ollie! See you at practice!"
“Bye, buddy.”
When Poppy grabs her bag, she pauses by the door. “Okay,” she says. “I’m nervous.”
“I know,” I say. “You’re gonna do great. I’m off today, so I’ll be here if you need anything.”
She bites her lip. “You think we’re doing the right thing?”
“Definitely.”
She exhales, then leans in and presses a quick kiss to my cheek. It lands somewhere between friendly and something else entirely. Now that I’ve kissed her and shown her the buzz between us, the sexual tension is almost palpable.
“Wish me luck,” she says.
“Good luck,” I say, grabbing her arm and pulling her back to my chest. I kiss her lips, and she kisses me back, melting into me. We kiss until she pulls back breathless.
“Go show them how it’s done,” I murmur, and she smiles as she heads to the door, face red.
She leaves, and the apartment feels quieter without them.
That night after basketball practice, Poppy and I sit at the table while Owen gives the CPS worker a full tour of the apartment and his room, like he’s showing off a mansion on an old episode of MTV’s Cribs.
I haven’t had a chance to ask Poppy a single real question yet, and it’s killing me.
When she came home earlier, she looked different.
Lighter. Like she was floating a few inches off the floor and didn’t even realize it.
Her hair was coming loose from its clip, her cheeks flushed, eyes bright in a way I haven’t seen in a long time.
She was tired, yeah, but it was the good kind.
The kind that comes from doing something that matters instead of surviving another day.
She grinned at me when she walked in, wide and unguarded, like she couldn’t quite hold it in.
I caught the words tumbling out of her in pieces as she kicked off her shoes.
Names. Stories. A laugh that bubbled up and surprised even her.
And then Owen needed help with homework, and dinner happened, and time slipped away.
Now she sits across from me at the table, hands folded tight in her lap, that earlier glow dimmed by nerves. She meets my eyes for a second, and there’s so much there I want to ask. Did you love it? Did it feel right? Did they see how good you are?
I’ll hear all of it later. I have to. But for now, this matters more.
I watch Owen proudly point out his posters and his bedspread and the corner where he keeps his basketball, and I keep my attention where it needs to be. Still, I tuck that image of Poppy coming home happy into my chest like a promise.
This interview won’t last forever.
And when it’s over, I’m going to sit with her and hear every single detail.
He even opened the fridge and shows her all of the food that I bought today. And overbought if I’m being honest. Because I never want them to go without anything they want or need ever again.
“This is where my bed is,” he says proudly. “And that shelf is for my trophies. And Ollie helped me hang my posters.” He points to posters hung beside his bed.
The worker smiles and takes notes. “Do you like living here?” she asks, smiling at Owen’s enthusiasm.
“Yes,” Owen says immediately. “Our old house was okay, too. But I love my new room.”
Poppy’s hand clenches in mine under the table, and I squeeze back.
The interview is calm and straightforward.
Owen answers honestly, and Poppy and I are quiet, just here to support him.
He talks about school and basketball. He tells her that he loves going out to Jack and Cami’s and Walker and Violet’s.
He tells her he loves Maggie, and she lets him come to the community bingo sometimes.
And then she asks him if he feels safe, and he says, “I always feel safe with Poppy and Ollie. They’re my family. ”
My heart squeezes when he says that.
When it’s over, the worker closes her folder and looks at us. “So, let me get this straight. You both have been essentially raising him since he was a baby after your mom passed away?”
We both nod.
“And you’re just now engaged and getting married?” she asks, looking confused.
I shrug. “Yeah.”
She nods, and what feels like a full minute passes as she looks us over and nods. “Seems coincidental that you’re engaged and getting married when this complaint came up.”
“Honestly? I’ve had my heart set on Poppy for years,” I say, leaning back like I’m just going along with our little act.
“I was planning to ask her a long time ago, just hadn’t found the right ring.
But then I thought… if I wait for everything to be perfect, we could be waiting forever.
So, here we are. All part of the plan, of course.
” I glance at the CPS worker. “The complaint was a false allegation. And I wasn’t about to let someone else’s bitterness stop me from asking the love of my life to marry me. ”
She looks at us for a moment and smiles. “I see no reason not to recommend you both as permanent guardians if you’re married. You’re both doing a fantastic job with Owen, and you should be so proud of yourselves. Really, strong and amazing young people here. Owen is fortunate to have you both.”
Poppy’s breath catches. I feel it, too. “Thank you,” she says quietly, her eyes shining.
“Just one thing,” she adds, “If you aren’t being honest in this process, it could reflect negatively. Just something to keep in mind.”
I tilt my head at her. “Nothing to be dishonest about here. I love Poppy and Owen.”
She glances between us and looks hesitant. “Okay. Do either of you have any questions?”
“What’s going to happen with Sully?” Poppy asks.
“The state is filing charges for parental abandonment. The state recognizes that a minor took over the parental obligations, and we want to make note of that.”
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“It means he may owe restitution and have that on his record,” she says.
After she leaves, Poppy calls Weston and puts him on speaker. We quickly fill him in on everything Monica said when she was here.
“That’s great,” Weston says. “I’m working on some paperwork on my end, too. We’re getting there.”
We thank him profusely before hanging up.
Owen crashes hard that night, exhausted in the way only happy kids get. I watch him sleep for a second longer than necessary before closing his door, thankful that they’re both here and safe.
Poppy’s exhausted, too. She’s in the shower, and I close my eyes and plop down on the couch, trying not to picture her in the shower. This is killing me.
She steps out, wrapped in a towel, and the image hits me anyway of the other morning.
The split second where there was no towel, no warning, no space to look away fast enough.
I remember everything. The smooth pale line of her skin.
The curves she hides under denim and grease and layers meant to keep the world at arm’s length.
The way my brain short circuited while my body very much did not.
I know what’s under there.
That knowledge sits heavy and relentless in my chest now, makes my pulse jump, makes the air feel thicker than it has any right to be. I drag my eyes up, force myself to focus on her face instead of the towel clutched tight at her middle.
I inwardly groan, because this is torture of the highest order.
So, I keep my hands to myself. I keep my expression neutral.
And I pretend the memory isn’t burning a hole straight through my self-control.
“Sorry, I forgot my clothes,” she murmurs as she steps into the bedroom and closes the door.
A few minutes later, the door opens and she comes back out wearing an off the shoulder T-shirt, the fabric slipping low on one side and baring a hint of collarbone.
Soft gray sweats hang loose on her hips, worn thin and comfortable, like she didn’t bother changing for anyone but herself.
Socks pad quietly across the floor as she crosses the room.
She looks beautiful and relaxed in a way she rarely lets herself be.
She sits next to me on the couch, close enough that our knees touch, and we turn toward each other like this is exactly where we’re meant to be.
“Tell me everything about your first day,” I say softly.
I reach for her feet and tug them gently into my lap. She doesn’t hesitate. Just lets me. I peel her socks off one by one, slowly and carefully, setting them aside before grabbing the lotion from the table next to us.
Her skin is warm under my hands as I start rubbing her feet, thumbs pressing into tired arches, working out the ache she’s been carrying since morning. She exhales, a quiet sound that tells me how long it’s been since anyone took care of her like this.
I keep my eyes on her face, the way her shoulders slowly drop, the tension easing bit by bit.
“Start at the beginning,” I murmur.
And as she does, talking softly, smiling more than she realizes, I think about how easy this feels. How natural. How dangerous that is.
She leans back and moans a little, which makes my cock go hard against her foot, and I know she has to feel it.
“I can’t tell you that while you’re doing this,” she says, leaning back, relaxed.
“Were you on your feet all day?” I ask, rubbing stronger.
“Yes, and I’m so tired,” she says with a deep sigh. “But a good tired. It was a really good day.”
“How was it overall?” I ask.
“The truth is...I love it. I love the kids, the projects, the vibes...all of it. I feel like I somehow won the lottery in life.”
I smile. “It all just gets better from here.”
The silence stretches between us and she finally says, “I have to tell you something.”
Her tone makes me pause.
“What?”
“I have a bigger reason why this can’t be real. I don’t want a family,” she says softly. “Not like the white picket fence, matching Christmas pajamas, and all that. I’m just not built for that life. I don’t think I want it. I like how things are with me and Owen. And you.”
I stay quiet and listen.
“I just want a good life for Owen,” she continues. “I want to make sure he’s okay. That he’s safe. And I want you with us. But I don’t know if I can do more than that.”
I continue massaging her feet, gazing at her, waiting for her to finish.
She looks over at me. “And I can’t imagine you not here with us. But if you want more than that, I wouldn’t blame you. You deserve a picket fence and matching pajamas. You deserve everything, Ollie.”
I say nothing because I know she’s not finished and needs to get whatever this is off her chest.
“I’m scared,” she admits. “Of promising something I can’t ever give you. I’m just not sure I’m built to be a wife and a mom like that, to have babies.”
I pull her into me and hold her to my chest.
“I’m here for whatever,” I say. “I’m not asking for anything with you, Poppy.”
She rests her head against my chest. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”
“You won’t,” I promise. “Not now or ever.”
She breathes me in like she’s memorizing the feeling.
“Matching pajamas are so lame anyway,” I say, and I feel her shaking with laughter.
“Right?”
“I don’t even like pajamas. Before you, I just slept naked.”
She snorts. “You can sleep however you want to be comfortable, Ollie. I’ll adjust the pillow wall accordingly.”
I laugh. “I don’t think your pillow wall held up. And I’m comfortable with you here, Poppy. I love having you both here.”
“Thanks,” she says softly. “I’m happy here, too.”
I stare at the wall over her head and think the quiet thought I don’t say out loud.
I love her so damn much. I’ll take whatever she’ll give me.