Chapter 27
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Grant
Poppy unbuckles her car seat straps before I park the car.
“Pops! That’s not safe, honey.” I’m scrambling to go after her because she is already out of the car and bolting toward the garage.
“Where are you going?” Lily yells as she’s wrestling out of her seatbelt.
We catch up with Pops, who’s currently sporting rainbow stretchy pants, bright pink rain boots, and her rainbow rain jacket, kneeling on the cement and peering under the juniper tree to the left of the garage.
“Poppy, what are—”
“Shhhh! Don’t scare him!”
Lily and I share a look, though I’m certain I’m bracing more than Lil is.
When Poppy found a nest of baby racoons in the woods, Lily was in love.
I immediately called the pediatrician since they had touched them.
She’s tried to aid an untold number of birds, especially at my parents’ house since they have giant windows on the top floor of their home that were a magnet for birds until they put some appropriate measures in place to deter them.
My Poppy has a bleeding heart for creatures, and I would love to not be dealing with this tonight.
“What is it?” Lily crawls up next to her, then exclaims, “Mr. Bingley!”
At the sound, the cat bolts from under the tree to the bushes in front of our house. I instantly have a far better sense of how Poppy got lost following him last month.
“Don’t keep chasing him, girls. We don’t want him to go too far.” I find Sam’s contact information and connect the call.
“Hey, Sherriff.” Her tone is warm, and if I wasn’t afraid I’m fooling myself, I’d say she sounds downright happy to hear from me.
“Hey, Sam. Poppy spotted Mr. Bingley outside. Wondering if you wanted us to corral him back in?”
I’m pretty sure she does, but maybe she’s letting him be indoor-outdoor. I don’t recommend it out here so close to the woods because there are predators who’d love to make a meal of a house cat. I need two hands to count the number of childhood pets taken down by the likes of coyotes and wildcats.
“How is he doing that? I need to figure out how he’s escaping. I don’t think I can get there, but yes. If you can catch him, please do. He doesn’t have any idea how to defend himself against the wildlife.” I can hear voices in the background, but I don’t think she’s working today.
“I’ll let you know as soon as we get him inside.”
I try not to enjoy her saying my name when she thanks me before hanging up, but I fail. Miserably.
“Thank you, Grant,” echoes in my mind with each step I take toward my front porch.
The girls are huddled up making high-pitched little sounds begging him to come closer. I decide I’ll take a different tack and step as close as I dare before scooping down into the middle of the bush and plucking the fluffball out from the top.
He rumbles a warning sound and I tuck him close, but with his back to me so he doesn’t take a swipe at me.
“I know, buddy. I’d be mad, too, but we don’t want you to get eaten.”
He yowls his protest, and the girls scuttle after me.
“Daddy, can I hold him? He’d like it if I do it.”
Poppy’s certainty makes me smile as I fiddle with my keys to find the rental’s.
“No, Pops. He’s upset right now. His prison break was foiled, and you can hear he’s agitated.
” He’s gone limp for now, but I don’t trust that he’s not seconds away from lashing out.
Finn took a claw to the cheek when we were kids, and he had a scar for years.
I’ve got my fair share of scars, but I’m not particularly interested in adding to the collection today.
“Aw, but we won’t know until we try, right?”
Lily isn’t on my side with this one. “Yeah, Dad. Let us try.”
I ignore their pleas and march up the steps to Sam’s apartment, which is, alarmingly, unlocked. I’ll have to mention it to her—she should be keeping everything locked.
Opening the door, I let Mr. Bingley go at the same time he shoves off me with his giant back feet and propels himself across the floor.
Before the girls can elbow their little selves in, I turn and shut the door with Mr. Bingley inside.
“Hey, I wanted to see!”
I hear the edge now. We’re on a ticking clock before Poppy’s day comes crashing down on her.
It’s been a long week, and we were stopping home to get a snack and have a few minutes of downtime before we head to my folks’ house for dinner.
Most often, we go straight there, but I got off early enough to get Lil from school and Poppy earlier than usual.
“Let’s head home and relax. I’ll let Miss Sam know we got Mr. Bingley taken care of, and you two can watch a show before we go to Gram and Gramps’s house.” I’m hoping the mention of my parents will quell her disappointment at not getting to cuddle the cat.
Lily trots down the stairs with focus. She’s ready for the break.
Poppy’s entire being has become a flashing sign indicating she’s sad.
Downtrodden, even. She’s dragging one hand along the banister, and her head is drooping so far down, her chin is on her chest. Her legs are heavy and if I could see her face, I’d see a frown to say the least.
“Oh, no. She’s lost all her stuffing.” I bend and haul her up into my arms. She flails in protest not unlike Mr. Bingley, then droops over, arms flopping over my wrist where I’ve got her upper body. Her little legs dangle. One boot falls off when I turn to close the garage entrance.
Eventually, I get Poppy inside and pour her a bowl of goldfish and a cup of milk. It’s the snack of champions, and I see the evidence of victory when she slowly reinflates as an episode of Bluey plays on the TV and her body regains some calories and therefore, the will to live.
I drop to a crouch and brush her hair out of her face. “You feeling a little better?”
She nods, chewing a giant handful of her snack. “Yes. But I think I could have held him.”
I chuckle and drop a kiss to her head. “We’ll find a time for you to give him some pets soon, okay? If Sam’s there tonight, maybe we can even plan for this weekend.”
Her gaze shifts from cheery to pleading with puppy eyes. It’s stunning how quickly she can turn it on. Meanwhile, Lily’s in her own world, blissed out on Bluey and her own snack.
I leave them to couch rot for a few minutes while I change clothes, happy to have a chance to get out of my uniform before we do dinner.
Admitting exactly why isn’t an option. I can’t be acknowledging that I want to feel good about how I look on the off chance I see Sam, because not even a full three weeks ago, we ascertained there’s nothing between us. Or that, at least for now, it’s not going to happen.
She needs to feel good about who she is and what she wants. She needs to be able to trust herself.
I want those things for her.
I also still very much want her.
Unfortunately, I don’t see that changing.
So, most likely, I’m doomed to have stupid flutters in my chest whenever I anticipate seeing her.
I’m fated to overthink our interactions and battle the twin instincts to avoid her and therefore avoid the pang I feel whenever I see her, and try to encounter her as often as possible, thereby satisfying the crushing ache I feel when I don’t see her.
It’s great.
Actually, it is. Because I’ve seen her around town.
She’s gotten hooked in with the library ladies and I think I saw her wandering around posting flyers about something with May.
She’s mentioned more than once in passing how much she loves volunteering with Mrs. Armstrong, who does all things public library, so I know she’s in good hands.
Of course, she’s still working at Jerry’s, and I’ve had the incredible self-control to only go in for lunch one time since our chat weeks ago.
We smile at each other. We wave, even, sometimes. And today, I got to call her.
I cringe away from the thought. Nothing like taking scraps from a woman who doesn’t even mean to be giving them.
She’s just existing as a human being and I’m over here panting after her.
She’s working to figure out what she wants and everything I know about her so far tells me the odds of her even wanting to try with me, let alone any time soon, are slim to none.
I should probably work on accepting how mismatched we are.
“Don’t be an idiot.” I stare at my reflection in the mirror, batting away the thought that maybe I should shave since I’ve got stubble after the long day. No.
I wouldn’t shave for my family, so I’m not shaving on the off chance Sam might be there. She probably won’t be. She wasn’t last week, and hasn’t been back since that first time. Why would she be there tonight?
I hope she’s there tonight.
I groan and toss a hand towel at my reflection as I leave, determined to be normal and enjoy my family and a nice meal I didn’t have to cook.