Chapter 32 Owen
T he tension is finally leaving my shoulders after walking south on the boardwalk for another minute. I keep stealing glances at her because, holy shit, she could have gotten so mad at me back there.
It felt like every fiber of my being was screaming to step in when she saw her ex. Hell, I was even able to let her handle it for a bit. She’s a strong woman and was doing amazing, even if I could see signs of her discomfort. It wasn’t until his mother said all that condescending bullshit that my control snapped.
Poppy looked like his mother had just slapped her across the face and her ex just stood there like this was a normal conversation.
What the hell is wrong with that guy?
But when she came into my arms after I opened my big mouth, it felt so fucking right. Even if it was just to get her out of a terrible situation.
She definitely looks calmer now. Playful at times. Her reaction to the tone I had when I stepped in has put too many ideas into my mind and each time our hands touch, I have to remind myself that everything back there was an act. That she’s my friend. Friends help each other like that, right?
“Where’s your head at?” she asks.
“Honestly?”
“Yeah, I like honesty.”
I exhale sharply, still a little winded from the run and I wipe some of the sweat beading down from my brow. “Back there, it didn’t feel like an act for me, and I’ll work on that. I really respect you and want to be friends, if that works for you.”
She stops as I mentally kick myself for saying any of that.
What the hell is wrong with me ?
Her eyes roam over me, taking me in thoughtfully. A small smile begins to take shape and she simply says, “Let’s just see.”
And then she’s walking again, leaving me baffled. See what? See if we can be friends or see if we are just coworkers? Or, was there something else behind it and I haven’t been the only one feeling this pull?
How can she look so relaxed right now?
“So,” she begins, drawing out the word as we near my apartment. Tension builds up inside of me, not knowing where this conversation might be headed. “When do we plan out Noah’s coffee sabotage?”
I bark out a laugh.
“What? He’s not getting away with this set up without a consequence. Otherwise he’ll keep trying to meddle.”
Would him meddling be such a bad thing? I wonder.
“Do you plan well on an empty stomach? Because I don’t,” I say instead.
“Did you bring energy bars or something? I didn’t bring my wallet,” she points out.
Taking a chance that she’s open to friendship, I say, “I cook a mean omelet, but you’ll have to put up with my cat to get one.”
Some of her hair has fallen loose from her ponytail and I stop myself from tucking it behind her ear when a breeze causes it to brush across her face.
“What kind of cheese do you have?”
Hope settles inside me. “At least one shredded blend, sharp cheddar, a block of mozzarella, and fresh mozzarella.”
“Impressive. I’m in.”
“You’re in for omelets in my apartment?” I clarify.
“Well, is your cat going to attack me?” Her hand goes to her hip, accentuating her natural curves.
“Samson is more of a lover than a fighter, but he might give you the third degree. He’s never been fond of female guests.”
An eyebrow raises, disappearing behind her bangs, which are somehow not plastered to her forehead. How have I not realized until now that she’s not a sweating mess like me?
“Not that I’ve had many,” I blurt. “I mean, I have had a good amount…no, the right amount. Actually, the amount doesn’t matter, does it?”
It’s her turn to laugh and I rub my face with both hands, simultaneously covering my embarrassment and wiping off the sweat that stopped dripping.
“I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at whatever that number is. You just got so adorable trying to backpedal.”
“So, a very different response to the voice I used earlier,” I say, laughing at my mini-ramble. But instead of laughing, she takes a sharp inhale and the mirth in her eyes shifts to something else. Something I saw the night of Brandon’s wedding.
We’re just friends. At most.
Before I get myself in trouble by talking more, I clear my throat, pull out my keys, and gesture to the door. “Shall we?”
“Let’s meet this cat of yours, even if he doesn’t like me, I love being around them.”
“Do you have one?” I ask as we walk up the stairs side by side.
“I don’t, but want to get one now that,” she hesitates, “now that I’m done traveling.”
“I’m sure Andi and Brandon would happily watch a cat for you when you travel, so you shouldn’t let that stop you.”
“Actually, Steven didn’t like cats and before he and I started getting serious, or what seemed serious, I was still in college living in a dorm.”
“Well, he might hide from you, but you’re welcome to stop by and have all the cat-time you need with Samson,” I say, unlocking the door to find the feline in question waiting just inside as we enter.
“Oh my goodness, he’s so adorable,” she coos at him, putting her hands on her knees to get a better look at him but not reaching out. “How old is he?”
I close the door and watch Samson look at her, glancing at me once, but not greeting me as usual.
“Hey bud,” I say, squatting down and giving his neck a little scratch. He pushes his head back so I pet him more and purrs, but when he stands up, he walks over to Poppy. “He’s seven.”
She whispers a hello to him and slowly lowers herself so she’s sitting crossed legged right in front of the door, holding out her hand so he can sniff her, still purring. Samson steps over her ankles and puts his front paws onto her chest, rubbing his face against hers.
“You said he’d give me the third degree,” she whispers excitedly. “What is happening?”
“Honestly, I have no idea,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief. “But he clearly likes you.”
“I love him already and might sneak him home with me,” she says, running her fingers through his fur.
“He might follow you home whether you like it or not judging by his reaction to you,” I joke. “I’ll give you two a minute and start breakfast.”
Watching her with my cat feels way too natural and I need to keep my head on right. Poppy Edwards is in my apartment. And we’re friends.
Nothing more.