Chapter 21 #2
It wasn’t the most romantic way to fill his dance card, but he’d take it. They crossed the lawn together. The whole walk, Poppy didn’t look at him, but he could feel the tension between them, the energy simmering just beneath the surface.
The only illumination in the tent came from the string lights above the dance floor, casting everyone’s faces in a golden, mythic haze.
AJ placed his hands on her hips and tugged her close to him.
He could feel the heat from her palms where they landed, gentle but secure, at the nape of his neck.
She was careful not to press her body against his, and he tried to be respectful of her space, but the urge to pull her flush to him was overwhelming, like two magnets on the verge of remembering their purpose.
They fell into step with the music, swaying side to side.
Poppy rested her cheek against his chest. He inhaled the sweet, clean citrus scent of her shampoo.
For a few minutes, they spoke in low, tentative voices.
At first, the conversation was pure surface, the ceremony, the food, and how pretty the tent looked.
Then, without warning, out of the blue, Poppy stated, “If I ever get married, I’m eloping. ”
He was briefly stunned by the statement, not because it was outrageous, but because he realized he agreed with her so completely he’d never even considered another option.
“You don’t want a big wedding?” he asked, genuinely curious.
Suddenly he pictured Poppy in a white sundress and an old denim jacket, hair windblown, hands trembling with excited nerves. He imagined himself gripping her fingers, both of them shocked and relieved to be alone together in a courthouse signing papers.
“Absolutely not,” she reiterated, her voice softer now.
“I just think that kind of moment should be... private. Like, so private it feels like a secret. I don’t want anyone else’s noise in it.
” She hesitated, gaze flicking over his shoulder as if she were watching the ghost of her own hypothetical wedding. “I know that’s weird.”
“No. it’s not,” he assured her and meant it.
He’d always found the performative nature of social rituals exhausting, especially when he was the one forced to perform. He’d rather get his taint tattooed than stand in front of a room full of people and recite vows to the woman he loved while people watched and judged.
They drifted in silence for a while, the music swirling around them, the crowd thinning as folks retreated to the periphery.
AJ found himself hyper-aware of all the points where their bodies almost touched—their legs, their hips, her hair grazing his jaw, and the warm slip of her exhale just below his ear.
It was like a real-life game of Operation and each time they would accidentally touch, he would get a zap of awareness.
It was intoxicating and dangerous. He tried to tell his body that this wasn’t foreplay, that this was just a dance, but it wasn’t paying any attention.
Poppy seemed to sense the tension as well. When the song faded and the next one started—a slow, swoony ballad—she didn’t let go. Her eyes met his, wide and honest in a way that made him want to confess every thought he’d ever had about her.
She spoke instead. “You know, you’re not a bad dancer.”
“That’s subjective.”
“You don’t do well with compliments, do you?”
“If they are logical, I can accept them.”
Her lips split in a smile so wide it filled her entire face, and the sight caused AJ’s heart to feel heavy in his chest. She once again rested her head against his shoulder and as their bodies moved in time to the music, AJ’s brain was stuck on a loop of himself and Poppy at the county clerk’s office signing their marriage certificate and being pronounced man and wife by a judge and two strangers to witness the occasion.
When the song faded into silence, she stepped back and grinned, “Thank you, that was fun.”
In the muted light, AJ noticed, for the first time, the smudged half-moons beneath her eyes and the way her lids drooped between blinks.
Poppy stifled a yawn with the back of her hand.
A primitive instinct in him flared. He wanted to pick her up, throw her over his shoulder, take her to bed, and stand watch over her until she woke up refreshed and rejuvenated.
Since that behavior would not be appropriate because it was not the paleolithic era, instead of going prehistoric on her, he suppressed his inner-caveman and asked if she’d driven herself.
She shook her head, explaining that Zion had picked her up.
Her words came out blurred at the edges, like she was fighting through fog.
He offered her a ride home, and she accepted but then—as if coming to her senses—insisted they leave separately, staggering their exit times.
Poppy didn’t want to draw attention and didn’t want their departures noted, catalogued, and used as fuel for the Hope Falls gossip train.
He agreed to her terms. After lingering for a moment inside the tent, he said goodbye to his sister, slipped out through the side yard, and waited for her in his SUV, engine idling.
The world outside was pitch black, the air sharp with the promise of overnight frost. After what felt like an eternity but, in reality, was thirteen minutes, she finally appeared, tote bag slung over her shoulder and hair pulled up on top of her head in a bun.
Just seeing her face caused his entire body to relax.
She climbed in, fussed with the seatbelt, then settled into the passenger seat and stared out the window.
AJ watched her profile, the slope of her nose, and the delicate tremor of her jaw.
He wanted to say something, for the first time it was him who was tempted to break their ritual of no speaking on drives home, but the quiet felt sacred.
So he left the radio on at a calming level, an oldies station playing Motown and melancholy Fleetwood Mac, and allowed the silence to fill the space between them.
Hope Falls was built for short distances and long conversations. That night, neither of those facts worked in his favor. He turned into their neighborhood barely eight minutes later, wishing he could circle the block a dozen times to draw out their time together and stretch it thin like taffy.
As soon as he pulled into the driveway, he noticed she’d fallen asleep.
He tried to be as quiet as possible, but as soon as he shut off the ignition, she jerked with a start, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands.
For a second, AJ considered offering to carry her inside like a knight in black slacks, but he knew she would decline his offer.
He got out, rounded to her side, and opened the door.
She blinked at him, confused, then smiled, a real, unfabricated smile that caused his heart to do a backflip.
When she stepped down, he lifted her tote bag from the floorboard. It weighed about forty pounds, the contents shifted with the scrape and tumble of textbooks and a glass water bottle.
“You carrying rocks in here?” he joked.
Her only response was a weak laugh and tiny shake of the head, but even that appeared to take effort she didn’t have to waste.
He escorted her up the short walk to the ADU, the air so still and cold that their every footfall crackled against the stone path.
When they reached her door, he hesitated, not knowing exactly what to say or do.
He wanted to say something meaningful, something that would connect the dots from the dance floor to this frozen moment on her porch.
Instead, he fell back on the only thing he could think of.
“Do you have plans tomorrow?” he asked.
“Just studying, and I might get my keys.”
He nodded. A flash of him seated beside her on the couch reading while she typed away on her laptop. Then, clear as day, he saw them driving downtown to the real estate office to pick up her keys and go to her new house. He saw them touring the space discussing her plans for renovations.
“I’ll be right next door if you want company.”
She took in a breath. “Thanks.”
He noted her complexion was pale as she reached for the bag from him.
“I can take it in for you,” he offered.
“I’m fine, I’ve got it.” Her tone was defensive.
Reluctantly, he handed her the tote.
“Goodnight,” she stated.
Despite not picking up on social clues, it was clear from the tone in the two-syllable word that she was ending the interaction and wanted him to leave.
“Goodnight.” He turned, wondering what he’d done, what he kept doing, to make her so hot and cold with him. One minute he thought she liked him, the next she was distant.
He got only a few steps down the gravel path before he heard it, a hollow, shattering thud, the kind that comes when something dense and weighted hits the ground all at once.
Then, the softer scatter of contents spilling across the walkway.
He whipped around and saw the tote and its contents were laid open on the ground, books fanning outward in a lazy spiral.
And Poppy was lying beside it, collapsed on the porch, arms splayed out like a marionette with cut strings. Unconscious.