Chapter 6
Chapter 6
S ully had to admit the day was fun. Despite a few repeated bouts of nausea for Poppy, two of which ended in sprints to the bathroom, he had to concede he enjoyed New York. But he still didn’t see it as a suitable place to raise children.
“Look how nice this park is,” Poppy said, leaning on the iron fence.
“It’s gated,” Sully said. “It’s like a giant metal playpen. Kids need space to run free and explore. Here you can run ten feet before slamming into a spiked metal pole.” He rested his arms beside hers, watching the children play.
“Look at that kid,” Poppy said, her eyes resting on a little boy. “In a few years, that could be our kid.”
“Our kid should be learning to ride a horse at that age, wearing a tiny Stetson and leather boots,” Sully countered.
“Either way, the image is equally adorable and unfathomable,” Poppy said.
“Yes,” Sully agreed. He slipped his arm around her, and she leaned on him.
“This is so weird.”
“Yes,” he said again.
“It’s like forced intimacy. I get now why you’re not supposed to jump the gun. We’re strangers of the highest order but…not.”
He sighed. “Let’s let go of the pretense that we’re strangers. That word no longer exists for us. Instead we’ll work on getting to know each other good and proper, on becoming friends, so that when the baby finally gets here we’ll have a solid foundation on which to co-parent.”
“I love that,” Poppy said, easing her arm around his waist to give him a squeeze. “We are friends, new friends who have a pressing need to get to know each other better.”
“Where do we begin?” he asked.
“With food, of course. Food is the cornerstone of community. We’ll have a good supper and share stories.”
“I’m going to guess you know a good place to eat,” he said.
“I know all the good places to eat. And I have something in mind I think will make your cowpoke heart happy,” she said, linking her arm with his as they resumed their walk down the street.
“Barbeque in New York,” Sully said when they arrived. “Color me skeptical.”
“Color me nauseated,” Poppy said, looking pale and ill again.
“We don’t have to go here. The smell is going to be intense,” he said.
“We have to go somewhere, and I think it’s going to be the same no matter what. This way at least you’ll get some nourishment.” He held the door for her. They put their names in. She leaned against the wall with her eyes closed while they waited to be seated.
“Poppy, is there anything I can do for you?” he asked, feeling ambiguously guilty for her misery.
“Lemonade,” she whispered, pressing her lips together and swallowing hard. Sully went to the bar and ordered a lemonade for her. While there, a woman sidled up next to him and spoke.
“Are you a real cowboy?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, tipping his hat slightly.
“Do you live here?” she asked.
“No, I live in Texas, I’m heading back tomorrow.”
“Huh, do you have plans for tonight?” She rested her hand invitingly on his bicep.
“Uh,” he stuttered, taken aback by her directness. The bartender set his lemonade in front of him, and Sully picked it up, glad for the easy reprieve. “Yes.” He turned and walked away from her feeling…what? He almost felt as though he was on a precipice, as if he could be that guy now, the one who picked up women in bars for whatever pleasure they might bring him for an evening. He had broken a mold, had crossed a line with Poppy he thought he might never cross. It would be easy to continue on that path, and a part of him was tempted.
Then he returned to Poppy and handed her the lemonade. She was miserable, would probably continue to be miserable in one way or another until the pregnancy was over, due in no small part to him. So, no, he would not be that guy, he now resolved, wouldn’t allow himself to be tempted into believing his actions had no consequences, just because he wasn’t always around to see them. Feeling slightly better about himself with the resolution, he faced the restaurant again, actually looking forward to New York barbecue.
And it was good. Amazing, really. Poppy knew her food, not surprising since she was a professional. Despite her continued misery and inability to do more than nibble at her food, they talked a lot over supper. The conversation was light and casual, almost like a first date. If he could pretend there was nothing more between them, he might be able to convince himself it was a date. That thought made him tilt his head at her and take an objective look. Would he date Poppy, if he met her in the normal order of things? He had thought her adorable at Bailey’s wedding, but he had also thought her too young for him and had discounted her out of hand. Now that he knew she wasn’t too young, he took a second look.
She was more than adorable; she was pretty. Not beautiful like Cal’s former wife, Isabel the beauty queen, but then Sully didn’t actually like that untouchable level of attractiveness, if it wasn’t accompanied by kindness and warmth. Poppy was girl-next-door pretty, and he liked that. More importantly, she was approachable, touchable, huggable. She oozed kindheartedness, softness, and vivacity. Whereas Bailey was tough and together, Poppy was feminine and a tad helpless. Maybe helpless was the wrong word. After all, she was gainfully employed in one of the roughest cities in the world to make a living. But she seemed vulnerable in a way that made a man want to step up and take care of her. Or maybe it was the pregnancy. Maybe when she wasn’t pregnant she was fully capable and in control of every situation. Somehow he doubted it, though. She radiated sensitivity, sweetness, and gentleness. She was the kind of woman whose warmth drew people to her. Someday when she was older, she would be the motherly sort, the kind who always had fresh cookies on hand and welcomed her kids’ friends as if they were her own.
“You’re staring at me,” she said, touching his fingers where they rested on the table.
He picked up her fingers and kissed them. “You’re pretty.”
“I’m green and sweaty,” she countered.
“You shimmer, and green’s your color,” he said. “I was pondering us.”
“What about us?” she asked.
“If we would be attracted to each other and date under normal circumstances,” he said.
“And what conclusion did you arrive at?” she asked, tipping her head and smiling in a way that was tinged with too much orneriness for one woman to possess.
“I think yes. If I saw you somewhere like this or at a party, I would want to get your number. I’d probably ask you out, see where things went.” He let go her hand to take a few bites of his food, and then it occurred to him she hadn’t reciprocated the thought. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Would you have been attracted to me under other circumstances?” he prodded.
“Have you seen you? Good grief, you’re like a real life cover of a romance novel. Just unbutton your shirt and bold type will appear over your head saying, ‘The Cowboy’s Last Stand,’ or something.”
He frowned. “That’s not exactly an answer. Clearly you find me attractive.”
She chuckled. “Clearly.”
“But do you think we would have had a chance if we’d gone about things in the desired order?”
“I don’t think so,” she said.
He dropped his fork. “What?”
She looked up. “Oh, no, I’ve offended you, and I didn’t mean to. It’s not you, Sully. You’re sweet and, hello, did I mention super hot. It’s me. I’m a loser magnet. I always go for the wrong guy, the bad guy, the man who needs fixing. You, you’re so…” she waved her hand at him. “Stable.”
“Why does that sound like an insult when you say it?”
“It’s an insult to me. You know what my sisters call me? Hurricane Poppy, and it’s true. I have a talent for walking into a space and picking the most broken specimen of humanity available and then trying to make him whole again. I pour myself into it like a project, giving pieces of my heart and soul away until, finally, horribly, it ends. And then I swear off men until the next time I find some ridiculous loser. The thing is, I’m a sucker for words. Bad men know the best words. ‘I only act this way because I’m scared of losing you, Poppy. You’re the only one who gets me, Poppy. I don’t know why I do the things I do, Poppy. It must be because I love you so much. Be right back, going to go see my side girlfriend while you cry.’” She rolled her eyes.
“You said you haven’t dated anyone in a while,” he reminded her.
“True. I had a serious boyfriend in culinary school, a real bad boy of the chef world. He’s on TV sometimes now. We were together for over a year and…” she broke off, shuddering.
“What?” he snapped. Her tone told him he wasn’t going to like what she was about to say.
“It was bad,” she stared hard at her plate.
“He hit you?”
“Not a lot, not every day. But a few times he smacked me. It was more than that, though, an entire pattern of systematic abuse and brainwashing. By the time that relationship ended, I was convinced I was nothing and he was everything. The worst part is that he broke up with me , and I begged him to stay. After he was gone a few months, it was like I began to come back to myself, to come back to sanity and see things more clearly again. That glimpse of myself, of the person I became, of how easily it happened, it scared me. I kind of swore off men after that, and with my schedule, it hasn’t been hard to do. I work a minimum of sixty hours a week.”
He blinked at her, frowning. In his experience, women who got into those types of relationships always seemed to go for the same type of guy. It became an unbreakable pattern. The information was not good news to Sully. In fact it was a red flag. He would never, ever allow his child to be in such a situation. If it came to that, he would intervene. But to say so now might alienate her when they were making progress with their friendship. So instead he said, “If you ever get in a relationship like that again, I’ll kidnap you out of it. And then I’ll let your sister kill the guy.”
Poppy laughed, albeit uncomfortably. “That’s the real kicker. I have this family on standby willing to do anything to protect me, and I never told them. If my dad knew…” she trailed off, looking away. “Anyway, it’s over with now, and my foreseeable future has zero men in it.”
“Uh, hello,” he said, raising his hand.
“You know what I mean. Men aren’t exactly beating down the doors of pregnant and single mothers. Maybe I’ll become a nun, cloister the baby with me.”
“Are you Catholic?”
“Don’t rain on my pity parade with facts and information,” she said, and he smiled.
“You’re too cute, Poppy,” he said.
“You’re spectacularly adorable yourself, Sully. Like a grownup boy scout or something. So good, and kind, and polite.”
He frowned at his plate, not sure why the positive description of his character bothered him, except it felt as though she were categorizing him as safe. No guy wanted to be thought of as safe.
“Oh, no, I’ve offended you again,” she surmised.
“No guy wants to be thought of as Richie Cunningham. We’d rather be the Fonz.”
“But, see, when you reference a wholesome ‘70’s sitcom for a comparison, it’s really hard to see you as a bad boy,” she said.
“I don’t watch a lot of TV. I have no idea what’s current,” he admitted.
“Me neither. You may have noticed the apartment isn’t exactly conducive to lounging on the couch, seeing as how there is no couch. And I grew up overseas, so I’m totally out of the pop culture loop.”
They finished with their meal and went for gelato at another place run by yet another of Poppy’s friends. Strangely, Sully didn’t feel stuffed. Maybe it was all the walking they were doing. They must have covered ten miles of the city on foot that day. Poppy was in remarkably good shape from all the daily walking. Toward the end, it was as if a switch got flipped and he could almost see the energy drain from her. He clasped her hand, trying to imbue her with some of his stamina as they made the long walk back to her apartment and up several flights of stairs. The stairwell was another hazard, one that registered in the back of his mind like a beacon. It would be so easy for someone to attack her in there, to pen her in like a helpless calf.
The living room was filled with its usual quantity of sleepers. They picked their way over to her bedroom. Zoe wasn’t yet home. The bed was made, and George had left Poppy a box of peppermint tea with a note saying, “Feel better, roomie!”
Poppy smiled as she tucked it into her tote. Sully refrained from comment. He had said all he needed to say about everything. Now it was up to her to make decisions about her life, about her situation here. If that included recognizing the chemistry between her and George, well, he’d face that when it came. He supposed he could do worse than having an NYPD cop in his kid’s life, though a stab of jealousy knifed through him at the thought. He wanted to be the only man in his future child’s world, not some hotshot city cop.
He and Poppy took turns in the bathroom and then climbed into the tiny bed, lying side by side in oddly comfortable silence.
“It’s been fun having you here,” Poppy whispered. There was no need to whisper since Zoe wasn’t there, but it felt intimate and cozy in the darkness of the room.
“It’s been fun to be here. I’ve enjoyed getting this glimpse of your life, so radically different from mine.”
“Differences aren’t altogether bad,” she said.
“No, they’re not,” he agreed.
“He or she will have two very different worldviews to choose from,” Poppy mused.
“Yes,” Sully agreed, trying hard to keep his tone neutral.
The longer they lay there, the more he wanted to touch her. At last he reached out and rested his hand on her stomach. Surely she wouldn’t think too much of him wanting to feel what went on in there. She moved his hand lower.
“It’s there, south of the belly button.”
He smoothed his hand over the spot, trying hard to notice the changes, but since he had no frame of reference, it merely felt like smooth, soft skin to him. Poppy turned to face him. “We’re really doing this.”
“We really are,” he agreed. They shared a tremulous smile and then, slowly, he leaned forward and kissed her, a tender, gentle kiss of shared uncertainty and fear. What they were embarking on was terrifying and huge and hugely terrifying. Poppy rolled toward him and slid her hand onto his shoulder, tipping her face toward his, inviting him to deepen the kiss. He did so, and she responded. Her knee shifted, sliding onto his hip. He reached out a hand and anchored it there, drawing her closer, pressing her to him. As before, things began to spiral out of control when the door was ripped open and Zoe stood framed in the doorway. She stared at them, squinting in disgust.
“I’m showering. Stop that before I get back, or I’ll cut you,” she promised before she stalked into the room, grabbed her tote, and walked back out again, slamming the door behind her.
“What’s wrong with us?” Poppy asked, resting her head on his shoulder. “We’re like love-starved animals.”
“Or maybe two human beings who find each other attractive,” he countered. His hand skimmed down her back. It was an innocuous touch, but she still shivered beneath his fingers. “Maybe, Poppy, we should try to be together, to see where this goes. Clearly we have chemistry.” It had been a long time since he had this kind of chemistry with a woman, if he ever had. Physically at least, things felt effortless with her. He didn’t have to force any kind of attraction to her; rather he had to force himself not to act on it.
“Maybe we should sleep on it and discuss it in the morning,” Poppy said, yawning. “I’m not exactly coherent.”
“Sure,” he agreed, and she was asleep by the time he finished the word.