2. Poppy
two
Poppy
I can’t believe Daisy talked me into this.
No. I lie. I totally can.
I cast a darting glance Dylan’s way and hide the ache I feel at the hard set of his jaw. Why would I agree to be his nanny? Why would I scheme to put myself in his way when it’s obvious he doesn’t want me around?
Because I’m in love with the guy, and apparently, somewhere inside my thick skull, I’m still fourteen and willing to do anything to be near him, no matter how much it pisses him off.
And while I’m on the subject of feeling pissed off, where the hell does he get off looking so freaking gorgeous after all these years? He’s different now. Moodier and more serious, with only hints of the cocky teenager he used to be, but that doesn’t make him less beautiful. The opposite, in fact. He’s a mouthwatering mix of scruffy and brooding and strong. Broad and solid and tall. His golden-brown hair is long enough to catch on the thick dark lashes framing his baby blue eyes, and his sharp jaw is shadowed with stubble.
I spent ten years away from Aster Springs, so you’d think going that long without a hit of his face would have purged Dylan Davenport from my system. But no. He’s perfect in a way that makes me want him and hate him all at the same time. If he cared about me at all, the least he could have done was develop a bald patch and a paunch.
“See?” Dylan gestures at me without looking in my direction, reading my silence as reluctance. “Poppy doesn’t want to do it.”
“I didn’t say that,” I retort, then curse my impulse to do the opposite of what he wants me to do. “I didn’t say anything.”
“But you do want to do it, right?” Daisy gives me a face that reads what the hell is wrong with you?
I lift my shoulders with an apologetic grimace, and Dylan snorts quietly, shaking his head with a knowing lift to his full mouth. I don’t know why Daisy and I try to talk with looks when her brother can read our faces as well as we can.
The truth is I do want the job. I glance at Izzy’s schedule and note with mild alarm all the activities he has planned for her. I understand Dylan’s reasoning, and I hate that he’s doing this alone, but something doesn’t feel right, and that’s always been my kryptonite. Situations that make me believe, if only for a little while, that if I work hard enough and prove I’m worth something, I might make myself irreplaceable.
But it’s not only that. I love the Davenports like they’re my own family. I can’t say no if they need me, and according to Daisy, they do need me. And as for Izzy… So much of her situation reminds me of my own. I grew up without a dad and with a mother who was so distracted by her own life that she was more like an eccentric aunt than a hands-on parent. I’d love to be a safe, steady adult in Izzy’s life the way Daisy’s mom was a dependable presence in mine. It’s the least I can do.
And anyway, my infatuation with Dylan is my problem. I hid my racing heart and the butterflies in my stomach well enough all those years we were teenagers. It can’t be any harder now that we’re adults. I’m older now. More mature. I can totally ignore the fact that I haven’t had sex in a really long time and would pay good money for the exquisite privilege of jumping his very fine bones.
“Yes, I want to be Izzy’s nanny,” I announce with a decisive nod. “When do I start?”
Dylan closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t need a nanny.”
I smack the schedule onto the table and point at all the activities. “Maybe you don’t, but Izzy does.”
“There’s nobody better for the job,” Daisy presses. “Poppy has nannied for three families over the last ten years, so it’s not like she isn’t qualified.”
“I’ve got my first aid certificate and everything,” I add.
“And it’ll only be till the end of the school year,” Daisy says. “She’s got a summer job already lined up.”
Dylan looks at me with sharp eyes. “Really?”
I swallow under his examination. “Yeah. The last family I worked for recommended me to friends of theirs who are traveling through Europe starting in June. They need someone for their ten-year-old twins while they’re there, and if that goes well, I’ll stay on with them in Maine.”
I can’t tell anything from Dylan’s expression. Is he relieved to know I’ve got no big plans to build a life in Aster Springs? Is he disappointed? No, that’s stupid. Why would he care?
Daisy puts on a tragic frown. “But she needs cash in the meantime, and Poppy makes next to nothing working nights at The Slippery Tipple. The tips are terrible, the hours are worse, and just the other day, we were talking about how she might have to start dancing in her nipple tassels just to make ends meet.”
A muscle fires in Dylan’s jaw and his forearms ripple as he clenches his fists where they’re tucked underneath his biceps. My stomach tumbles at how gorgeous he is, and the temptation to tease him becomes too much to resist.
“It’s either that or I start selling feet pics,” I deadpan.
Dylan’s eyes drift closed, his nostrils flare as he pulls in a deep, calming breath, and I suddenly regret making light of something that’s so important to him. Tormenting him is too easy, but there’s a time and place, and this isn’t it.
“But seriously, Dylan,” I say. “I like kids, and I love Izzy. It’d be no trouble to help you manage her schedule. I can take her to and from school and activities and stay on top of dates and events, so you’ve got more time to focus on the restaurant. It’ll relieve you of some of that mental load.”
Dylan’s shoulders soften, and he opens his eyes, uncrossing his arms to run a strong, graceful hand through his overgrown hair. “I don’t know. I mean, maybe I could use an extra pair of hands, but Izzy—”
“Adores Poppy,” Daisy finishes. “Us girls have hung out together lots of times, so there’ll be no awkward getting-to-know-you period for either of them.”
“That’s true,” Dylan concedes.
When he finally looks up, his expression is a little less defensive, a little softer, and I rely on years of practice that makes it possible to maintain a carefree expression when inside, I’m melting into a puddle on the floor.
“But I’m still not convinced I need the help,” he adds.
“How are you going to manage all this on your own?” Daisy demands.
Dylan huffs out a wry laugh and shakes his head. “I have no fucking clue.”
“Then it’s settled.” With a melodramatic grunt that makes Dylan roll his eyes, Daisy reaches across the table, scoops up the papers, and with no care at all, piles them into a messy stack that she shoves to my side of the table. “Here, Miss Golightly. You’ll need these, and there’ll probably be a quiz later.”
Dylan covers his face with a hand. “Jesus,” he says, the words muffled by his palm. “I’m already regretting this.”
“But why?” Daisy gives his arm a playful shove. “What’s not to love about this plan? You’ll never find anyone better for the job—not even me. Come on, bro. Poppy is family .”
I drag the paperwork across the table toward me and try not to flinch at Dylan’s short shake of his head. I know what it means, and I know it shouldn’t bother me, but his rejection sums up the story of my life.
I’ve never had a real family.
I’ve been a daughter. I’ve been a friend. I’ve been a nanny. I’ve been related by blood, but I’ve only ever been family with conditions attached. It’s always practically , as good as , almost , nearly , not quite … The closest I’ve ever felt to having something real was all those hours I spent here as a kid at Silver Leaf Ranch, surrounded by chaos and love and laughter, embraced by Daisy’s parents like I was one of their own. And now, nearly three decades later, even Dylan—the man I’ve loved all my life—can’t think of me as family.
It’s okay, I remind myself as I neaten the stack of papers in my hands. Little bits of love are better than no love at all, and I’ve learned that it’s easier to appreciate crumbs when I don’t waste energy hoping they’ll add up to more.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Dylan asks.
“I’m sure,” I say with growing confidence. “I was about to start looking for another job anyway, and this will get me out from underneath Mona’s feet. Her apartment really is too small for the both of us, so the more time I spend elsewhere, the better.”
“How is your mom?” Dylan asks. “I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“Oh, you know Mona.” I shrug noncommittally, thinking back on the months since I returned to Aster Springs and wondering how many hours my mom has spent running her small-town dive bar, The Slippery Tipple, and how many she’s spent with me. If it weren’t for the fact that I pour drinks and serve wings there a few nights a week, I might never see her at all. “The business takes up a lot of her energy these days.”
“I can relate.” Dylan inhales and straightens his spine like he’s gathering strength. “Okay. If we’re going to do this, there’s still one person who needs to sign off on it before we start.”
“Izzy,” I guess.
Dylan gives me a surprised nod, and I warm at the way respect for his daughter comes so naturally to him. But when his gaze lingers on my face, tracing the tendrils of hair against my cheeks, the shape of my mouth, the hollow in my throat, I remind myself not to read into every word he says. Every move he makes. I don’t want to be back where I started: unable to sleep because I’m too busy over-analyzing all the ways he looked at me that day.
I tighten my legs around the napkins marked with his messy scrawl and think about Dylan’s handwriting on my thighs…
Maybe avoiding him all these months wasn’t such a great idea. My tolerance is way down. Exposure therapy. That’s what I need. Maybe then I won’t get caught up in fantasies every time he looks my way.
“I’ll talk to her over breakfast tomorrow,” he says. “Explain how it’ll work. And if she’s on board, we can start on Monday?”
“I can do that. No problem.”
Goosebumps race across my forearms, and I shove my hands into the opposite sleeves of my hoodie to rub them away. I know deep down that Dylan is not the man for me. I’ve always known it. I’m flighty, unpredictable, and used to going it alone. He’s responsible, dependable, and a man of his word. Family is the most important thing in the world to him, which is why he works his ass off at the ranch and refuses to be anything less than the best father he can be. I’m his little sister’s pain-in-the-ass best friend, and if it wasn’t for Daisy, Dylan would never even know I exist.
So, it’s no big deal that I promised my bestie I’d never complicate our friendship by falling for her brother. Daisy was—still is—my ride or die, and Dylan was only ever a teenage dream. But as Dylan holds my gaze across the table and my heart performs somersaults wild enough for an Olympic gymnast, I wonder why that old memory comes to mind now.