28. Dylan
twenty-eight
Dylan
It’s five a.m. on Monday, Poppy’s gone and my sisters are back, and I’m pumping out an easy hundred push-ups in my bedroom lamplight. It’s been a long time since I felt this in control of my life, but I could do anything right now. Start my own restaurant and earn three Michelin stars. Run Silver Leaf on my own and make business the best it’s ever been. Have a dozen kids and be the most awesome dad in the world. Get married. Be the perfect husband. Treat my wife like a fucking queen and make her the most cherished woman on the planet.
It’s all within reach because I now know what’s been missing. Poppy. All I have to do to make it official is tell Daisy about us, then we can start the rest of our lives. My unbridled optimism refuses to believe it’ll be anything but easy. Daisy loves Poppy. Poppy loves Daisy. I love them both. It’ll work out because it has to, and because I’m determined to hand Poppy proof that she’s safe here with me.
I’m on my last ten push-ups when my bedroom door creaks open to reveal a small shadow on the other side. A shadow with fuzzy slippers and a bunny under one arm poking its hesitant head around the door jamb.
I jump to my feet, cross the room, and lift Izzy into my arms. “Hey, Little Bee. Did I wake you?”
“No. I woke up by myself.”
Izzy’s sleep schedule is all out of whack thanks to the midnight pancakes on Saturday night. I let her sleep in a little longer than usual on Sunday morning—she needed the rest, for one thing, but I’ll admit that sex with Poppy at sunrise was a motivator too—so it took Izzy a little longer to fall asleep that night. I thought I’d need to coax her out of bed for school this morning, but apparently not. That’s the most frustrating thing about kids’ sleep. You never know what you’re going to get.
“It’s a little early to be up just yet, so how about you snuggle in Daddy’s bed while I get ready for work?” I suggest.
Izzy replies with a big yawn, and I inhale her sweet baby breath. “Okay.”
With silent gratitude to Yesterday Dylan for having the foresight to change the sheets, I slip my daughter under the covers, dim the lighting, and drop a kiss on her head before I disappear into the bathroom. I leave the door ajar in case she needs me, shower as fast as I can, brush my teeth, and scrape my hair back into a knot, then return to the bedroom with a towel around my waist.
I expect to find Izzy dozing on my pillows. Instead, she’s propped up against the headboard with my phone to her ear, talking to someone on the other end.
I hurry over and sit on the edge of the mattress. “Izzy? Who is that?”
She glances up at me with innocent brown eyes that throw golden hints in the lamplight. “It’s Mommy.”
“It’s—” I clear my throat and extend my palm, and Izzy deposits the phone in my hand without question. “Go back to sleep, Little Bee,” I say as I get to my feet. “Daddy needs to talk to Mommy for a minute, but I’ll be back soon. Okay?”
Izzy yawns again and wriggles down under the covers, her eyes already drifting closed. “Okay.”
The house is quiet enough that my pulse rushes in my ears, but I wait until I’m in the hallway before I speak into the phone.
“Annalise?”
“Dylan. Hello. How are you?”
She’s always been this way—brisk and a little detached—and I’ve always pretended it didn’t bother me. Now it feels so cold. “I’m fine. How are you?”
“I’m well. Listen. I’m calling to let you know I’ll be in town later this week. It’s only a short visit—I’ll arrive at Silver Leaf on Friday afternoon, but I need to leave on Saturday for an evening flight to Brussels. I’ll take my usual cabin.”
“Uh…”
Again, this is the standard pattern. Izzy and I live our lives here on the ranch and Annalise decides when she visits and how long she stays. I’ve never made things difficult for her because she’s Izzy’s mother, but I started questioning our casual custody agreement when Izzy stopped sleeping after Annalise’s last visit. She needs more structure. More predictability. Add Poppy to the equation, and there’s no way I’m comfortable with our old arrangements.
“Dylan?” Annalise’s tone is familiar but confident. The tone of a woman used to getting what she wants, even from the people she cares about. “Is there a problem?”
“No. Not a problem.”
I glance at my closed bedroom door, thinking of my daughter asleep on the other side and counting all the balls I need to juggle in order to keep her happy. All the relationships I need to manage on her behalf. All the problems I need to solve before they get the chance to become an issue.
Fuck . Just when I thought I had everything under control.
“Annalise, I—”
“Good. I’ll be there in time to join you for dinner. See you then.”
The line goes dead, and I stare at my screen until it winks to darkness.
I don’t know why the idea of seeing Annalise makes my stomach tighten. It’s not reasonable to wish I never had to see the woman again, but there it is. I wish I didn’t have to deal with her, but I do. I made my bed, and I’ve got to lie in it. But it’s fine. It’s all going to be fine.
It will even work out for the better. I can’t make things official with Poppy until I’ve told Daisy about us and established healthier boundaries with Annalise. Now I can do both. A one-two punch. I’ll be home free by the end of the week.
Izzy’s asleep by the time I return, and I pause for a few minutes to watch her sleep. She never asked for any of this, and I know I’ve fucked up in the past, but that all stops now. It’s a small relief that Izzy doesn’t know about Annalise’s visit yet—I worry that if she’s given too much notice, she’ll just spend the next three days fixated on it. I’ll find a good time to tell her later in the week. Maybe after I explain it to Poppy. And Poppy will understand, won’t she? No. It’ll be better than that. Poppy will help me finally get this right.
There’s no time to talk to Poppy when she gets to the house. She’s distracted helping Izzy get ready for school and I’m running late for the restaurant, but we’ve got a date later tonight, and I’ve got every intention of explaining it then.
Until she calls me from her car just after midday.
“Hey,” I say. “What’s up?”
“The school called,” she says. “Izzy doesn’t feel well and they asked me to pick her up.”
My apron’s off, and I’m halfway to the front door before she finishes her sentence. “I’m coming now.”
“No. Dylan. I’m on my way already, and you’ll just pass us on the road heading home. Meet us at the house instead. We won’t be long.”
I stall in the middle of the restaurant, eyes darting back to the kitchen, then toward the doors, and finally through the far wall in the direction of the house. “Yeah. Okay.”
“Dylan…” Poppy pauses, but even over the phone, I can tell she wants to say more.
“Yeah?”
“You listed me as one of Izzy’s in-case-of-emergency contacts?”
“I…” I drag a hand through my hair and move to the side of the room, suddenly aware of a handful of diners turning to look at me while I talk. “Yeah. I did. Is that okay?”
I wish I could see her face because the joy in her voice warms me even now. “Of course, it’s okay. It’s more than okay. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Okay. So… I’ll meet you back at the house?”
“Yep. See you soon.”
I waste five minutes handing the kitchen over to Liz, another ten raiding our pantries for the ingredients I need to make Izzy’s favorite soup—the chicken broth with alphabet pasta and chunks of carrot cut into star shapes—then rush back to the house. By the time Poppy pulls into the driveway, I’ve got the soup ready, as well as a plate of fresh fruit, a bowl of homemade vanilla ice cream topped with dark chocolate sauce, and another filled with the disgusting artificially colored sugar cereal Poppy and Izzy seem to love.
I hate to be an enabler, but Izzy’s been sick a handful of times in her life, and every time, it makes me want to throw up. I’ll do anything to make her feel better. If cereal is what she wants, then cereal is what she gets.
I meet my girls at the door. They’re holding hands—Poppy with Izzy’s school bag on her back, Izzy dragging her shiny leather shoes through the dusty gravel.
Poppy gives me nothing more than a slight shrug, so I crouch down to meet Izzy as she climbs the porch steps and try not to let the tightness in my chest trigger an overreaction. Whatever’s wrong can be fixed.
“Hey, Little Bee. What’s going on? Poppy tells me you feel sick.”
Izzy nods her droopy head as she rubs her belly. “Uh-huh. My tummy feels funny.”
“Oh, honey. I’m sorry. Daddy made you alphabet soup. And fruit. And ice cream.” When my menu fails to produce a hint of enthusiasm, I sigh and add, “I made cereal too. Maybe that will help?”
Izzy lifts her chin, and my heart leaps into my throat. Her beautiful brown eyes swim with unshed tears. “Will Poppy still be my nanny when Mommy comes?”
“What?”
I shoot a panicked look at Poppy, who’s fighting back tears of her own, then gather Izzy in my arms as I stand. “Yes, Poppy will be—”
I trip over my words. After what happened this weekend, I can’t bring myself to call Poppy the nanny. It’s not only inadequate. It feels wrong—almost callous—and cowardly. Poppy’s so much more to us than hired help. She’s family. And yet… Family is a big concept for Izzy right now, not to mention a confusing one. And until I can save Poppy’s friendship with Daisy, I can’t expect Izzy to understand what’s going on.
I meet Poppy’s eyes over the top of Izzy’s head and see the same uncertainty in her expression.
“Poppy isn’t going anywhere,” I say firmly. To both of them.
Poppy offers me a small smile, but it’s clear I haven’t soothed her worries, and I wonder what it must have felt like for her to find out about Annalise’s arrival from Izzy and not me. Dammit. I should have found time to explain it all this morning. I should have…
What? I didn’t know Izzy knew about it, and I’m suddenly pissed off with Annalise. What the hell was she thinking, talking to Izzy about visitation without clearing it with me first? The rage flares fast before it sputters into self-loathing. When have I ever set a boundary with Annalise to make sure this shit doesn’t happen? Never.
“All right, Little Bee. Let’s get you changed and snuggled up on the sofa. Do you want to sleep?”
She sniffles and shrugs, perhaps slightly calmer after my promise that Poppy isn’t leaving. “Can I watch a movie?”
“Of course. Anything you want.”
“Rapunzel?”
“Yes. Absolutely.”
“Here.” Poppy reaches for Izzy, and I shift her into Poppy’s arms. “I’ll take her upstairs and help her out of this uniform. We’ll meet you in the living room in five?”
It feels wrong to let either of them out of my sight when all I want to do is reassure them over and over that I’ll take care of everything, but I force myself to nod. “Thank you.”
Ten minutes later, Izzy’s stomachache seems to have resolved itself. She’s on the couch with her cereal and ice cream—my soup and fresh fruit forgotten on the kitchen counter—while on the television screen, a hundred glowing paper lanterns beckon a lost Rapunzel home. My relief at her relief is greater than my resistance to all that sugar. She was anxious, not unwell, and again it coincided with a visit from her mother. I need to do better, and I need to do better now .
Poppy takes a seat at the dining table, her hands wrapped around a mug of hot cocoa, and stares into the cup like there are answers instead of marshmallows floating on the surface. I fix myself a cup and join her, sliding onto the chair right by her side.
“Annalise called this morning,” I start. “I was going to tell you about it tonight on our date.”
Poppy nods slowly, still focused on her drink. “You weren’t hiding it?”
“Jesus. No .”
I take her hand in mine, but she slips her hand free and tucks it under the table. I don’t know if I deserve it, but I know she’s hurt, and I never want to hurt her.
I close my eyes and take a breath, refusing to give in to this feeling of helplessness when warm fingers brush mine with a tentative touch. I latch onto them like a lifesaver and don’t let go.
“What happened?” Poppy asks.
“Izzy answered my phone while I was in the shower,” I explain. “I didn’t even realize Annalise had spoken to her about visiting this week until she said as much at the front door. She’s been worrying all morning on her own…” I glance guiltily into the living room, where Izzy is shoveling a heaped spoonful of ice cream into her mouth. “I never would have sent her to school without talking to her first. I didn’t know.”
“It’s okay. You know now, and she’s already feeling better, but Dylan… Izzy is really unsettled by this.”
“I know.” I stretch my neck to one side and pull at my shoulder with my free hand. “It’s my fault. I haven’t been firm enough with Annalise about custody and visitation rights. I never wanted to cause conflict or discourage her from being involved in Izzy’s life.” I swallow as a constant fear grips me like a lasso around the chest. “And I never wanted her to think of me as difficult. She’s a lawyer. She could take Izzy away from me if she wanted to. And I… I can’t live without my daughter.”
“Oh, Dylan.” Poppy’s fingers squeeze mine. “I’m sorry this is so complicated.”
I laugh dryly. “Me too. And I’m sorry you’re caught in the middle, but I promise I’m going to get things under control. I know I need to talk to Daisy about us, and if it weren’t for Annalise I’d have done it today—tonight—but I need to focus on Izzy first. I need to make changes that protect her well-being, which means I need to prepare myself for some tough conversations with her mother.”
Poppy takes her hand back, and her shoulders curl as she shrinks in her seat. That rope tightens around my ribs. She’s freaking out. She’s pulling away. And I can’t let that happen.
“What’s wrong? If this is about Annalise, I promise I—”
“It’s not about Annalise. It’s about Daisy.”
What? Why? This can’t work unless Daisy knows about us. Poppy won’t stay unless Daisy knows the truth.
I sit a little straighter, vulnerability fluttering in my stomach, and frown at Poppy’s bowed head until she finally lifts her eyes to mine.
“I think I should talk to her.” Poppy’s words spill out over the top of an anxious exhale. “I appreciate you wanting to fix this, and I love you for being the one to say this thing between us shouldn’t be a secret, but—”
“I love you too.”
Poppy’s eyes widen, her lips part, and I smirk as understanding plays across her face. She said it first, but I said it on purpose.
“You—”
“I love you,” I repeat, unable to hide a grin. If there’s a silver lining to this shit show, it’s got to be the glow of Poppy’s joy shimmering behind the clouds. “And I get why you want to talk to Daisy. She’s your best friend, and you love her too. So, how about a compromise?”
Poppy’s cheeks are peachy with color, and her eyes shine with emotion. “What kind of compromise?”
I twist my fingers to braid them with hers. “Hold my hand through the next few days, help me make a plan to support Izzy and be a better co-parent, and then we’ll both tell Daisy about us. Together. Because that’s what people do when they’re in love.”
Poppy leans closer, an unintentional reaction to my gravity, and whispers, “I love you.
I lean in too, close enough that I could kiss her if Izzy weren’t in the other room, if this weren’t my sister’s house as much as it is mine, and if we didn’t have to be careful for a few more days or else risk everything blowing up in our faces.
“Is that a yes?” I murmur, watching her cherry lips as they tick up in a pleased smile.
“It’s a yes.”