Chapter 25
FELIX
Whatever my coworkers expected me to say, it wasn’t that.
Veronda’s eyes have popped wide open, a clear rim of white around her irises; that’s how much they’re bulging. Herb’s jaw has dropped, his face slack, and although I don’t look at anyone else, I can hear the rest of them murmuring to each other.
It takes a good ten seconds for Veronda to recover the ability to speak.
“It—that’s not you. ” Her fish eyes have calmed down a bit, but she’s still speaking through gaping lips. “You said you covered this event?—”
“No, I didn’t. I said I covered the pageant, ” I tell her firmly. “The pageant, which consisted of many events. I did not report on this.” I point at the screen. “I performed in it, along with a group of local friends.”
“But that—” She breaks off, and then she points to the screen too. “That didn’t look like you!”
“I’ve beefed up,” I say with a shrug. “And I’ve grown a bit—as people do,” I add, looking around the table.
Do not be ashamed, I warn myself. Just power through.
Veronda’s jaw snaps shut, and for a second, she looks unsure—like she’s questioning everything she thought she knew.
I’m so sorry, I apologize silently.
“My point is,” I go on, because I just want to shut this down as quickly as possible, “I absolutely don’t feel comfortable with this footage being shown on television.” I turn to Herb. “You can understand that, right?” I clear my throat. “That was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.”
“I—we—” he blusters, and I feel bad for him, too, because his face is turning purplish-red. “I—of course,” he finally manages to get out. “Of course we understand.” He flaps his pudgy hand at Veronda, a silent command for her to drop the subject, and then he all but dives at the camera, yanking the cord out.
“We understand,” Veronda says too, her voice faint, her expression still gobsmacked.
I swallow. “I’m sorry,” I say, and part of me truly is. I feel bad for making her feel bad. “I know you wanted to use this. But I really can’t stomach the thought of that footage out there again, even though no one else would know it’s me.” I pause and look around the table. “Obviously, I would also appreciate if this information didn’t leave this room, either.”
And although they still look surprised, my coworkers nod; a few murmur Of course.
My heart is beating violently against my ribcage—I was not made for coming up with elaborate stories on the spot—but at the same time, a sense of relief begins to flood through me, cool and calm. I inhale deeply and then let it out again as my pulse slows down, and for the first time in weeks, I feel like I can breathe.
I didn’t realize I was so stressed about this, but it feels good to set that burden down.
One crisis has been averted. Unfortunately, I have just told a bald-faced lie to my boss in order to protect a woman from an embarrassment she’ll never even know about.
I think I know what that means. One crisis has been averted, but another one is looming just on the horizon.
“You told them what? ”
I clear my throat. Force down the annoyance still lingering after yesterday. I’m on edge, my hackles up, but I don’t need to take it out on Poppy.
Still, when I speak, there’s a faint hint of defiance to my voice. “I told them it was me.”
Poppy stares at me with a thoughtful expression. Her eyes narrow, her head tilts. I stare back at her, not blinking.
“And why did you do that?” she finally says.
“Because I wanted to.” I try to make myself relax, easing the tension out of my shoulders and letting myself slump back into the little couch in Poppy’s living room. There’s not much in here—a sofa, a coffee table, and a small TV—but it seems to suit her just fine.
Technically I’m supposed to be working right now. There’s a bit of leeway because I’ve been finishing up this article about the romantic places in Lucky, and that’s required a bit of driving around—redoing photos in better light, trying different angles, that sort of thing.
But I needed to talk to Poppy. So while I was out, I called her to see if she was home. Funnily enough, my first instinct was actually to call India—until I realized what I need to talk about is India. So I called Poppy instead.
I’m wondering if I should be regretting my decision, though. When she just watches me instead of responding, I go on.
“Because they were trying to drag India into this program we’re doing, and I didn’t want them to. She—they don’t—” I break off and sigh. “It’s not necessary. There’s no reason anyone needs to know that was her in that performance. So…I lied.”
She hums, looking more interested than ever. She leans forward where she’s seated on the floor, looking up at me. “That’s not like you, is it?”
No. It’s not. And yet…I don’t regret telling my coworkers it was me in that costume. If anything, I regret I didn’t think of the idea sooner.
I shrug, a jerk of my shoulders.
“Did they believe you?” she says, more curious than knowing or interested now.
“Not at first,” I admit. “And some of them might still be skeptical. But all we have to go on now is that footage, and while India is definitely shorter than me, it was a baggy costume. The mask covered her whole head. And when the back ripped…” I feel my cheeks burning, but I clear my throat and go on. “It was the back side of her that showed. There was nothing from the front. So…it could have technically been a guy under there.”
“But you were the one reporting on that event, weren’t you?” Poppy says, tilting her head.
“I did,” I say with a nod. “But I wasn’t the only one. I was just an intern then. So I told them I was in the Peter and the Wolf dance, and that I covered other parts. There are lots of holes,” I say. “If someone looked into it further, my story would fall apart. But as irritating as Veronda can be, she’s not malicious. I think she and Herb—my boss,” I clarify. “I think they’ll accept what I’ve said and move on. I told them I didn’t feel comfortable with the footage being used, and they didn’t seem thrilled, but they both agreed.”
Another hum from Poppy.
“Just say whatever you’re thinking,” I say, some of my irritability back. But really—I’m weirdly stressed, and I don’t know what to do about India, and everything in my life feels topsy-turvy right now. Which is ridiculous. The only part of my world that’s changed is her.
“You like India,” Poppy says. It’s not a question—not the look on her face or the tone of her voice.
I sigh. “Yeah. I think so.” But at the same time, I’m head-scratchingly confused. Because the way I like India is not the way I’ve liked people in the past, surface-level excitement that was fleeting and fun.
It’s exciting with India, and fun, but…it’s more, too. It’s sweet and precious and terrifyingly vulnerable.
I didn’t even know some of those words were in my vocabulary. And yet all I want to do is protect her and make her smile and tease her and—my mind pulls up the image of the two of us kissing—and yes, other things too. Things I was blindsided to want with my best friend’s little sister, the one I was sure wasn’t my type.
My heart sinks as a new thought occurs to me. All this time, has my type really just been women who were instantly interested in me? Is that what I’ve been chasing down all this time? Easy sparks? Lazy thrills?
Disappointment with myself churns deep in my gut, and I sigh again, like a tired old man. I feel tired. And somehow I feel old, too.
Poppy tucks a few strands of her dark, curly hair behind her ear. “So…what are you going to do?”
Great question. “I have no idea.”
“Mmm.”
She stares at me some more, and at this point I give up trying to figure out what she’s thinking. I don’t have the bandwidth for that. So I wait for her to speak again.
“You should come over to the girls’ house tonight,” she finally says.
I blink in surprise. “What? Why?”
“I’m not telling you yet,” she says, and then she nods as though making up her mind. “But yes, you should come over. I want to show you something.”
And I’m only half joking when I say, “Is this an ambush you’re setting up with Cyrus? Is he going to beat me up?” I swallow. “Are you going to help him dispose of my body?”
Poppy throws her head back and lets out a laugh. “Ha!” she says. “No. Although…”
I straighten up. “Although what?”
Her smile fades into something regretful. “I won’t lie if he asks me what’s going on with you and India. And I think he’s probably going to ask soon.”
“Why do you think that?” I say, rubbing the back of my neck and trying to face my nervousness head-on. I don’t know what I want to do about India yet, but unless I’m prepared to walk out of her life forever, I’m going to have to deal with Cyrus. May as well get used to the idea.
“He has a sixth sense about his sisters,” she says, and I know she’s not wrong. “Not to mention tonight—” She breaks off and then shakes her head. “Well, you’ll see. Just come over tonight around eight. Don’t knock on the door. Text me when you get there, okay?”
“Okay,” I say, even though I’m dying to ask more questions. I resist, because I know she won’t answer. So I relax back into the couch cushions once more, suddenly so tired I could fall asleep right here. “I’ll be there at eight.”
When I pull up in front of India’s house that night, I’m exactly four minutes early, and I’m weirdly nervous. My mind keeps racing, too, with questions I don’t want to ask—mostly because I don’t want answers.
The things she wrote in that article, all those years ago—especially the part about not letting a playboy back in her life. Does she still feel that way? She said she liked me, but that’s not the same as letting me be a part of her world.
And what about the dating site? Did she join one? If she did, is she being safe? Is there someone on there who will deserve her?
I certainly don’t.
I can’t help but want her anyway.
I sigh and then send a text to Poppy, telling her I’ve arrived. She answers immediately with instructions to get out of my car and come around the side of the house. She also tells me to close my car door quietly, which makes me feel a little bit like a thief or a stalker.
I do what she says anyway, trying my best to look normal as I head up the driveway. My hands are tucked casually into my pockets, and I resist the urge to crane my neck and look up and down the street to check if anyone is watching me.
When I round the side of the house, I’m just in time to see Poppy slipping out the side door. She closes it quietly behind her and then beckons for me to come closer. I follow as she sneaks further down—and there’s no other word for it; we’re sneaking —until she reaches a window. She once again beckons for me, and I hurry forward, peering in to what looks like the family room.
And what I see pulls a laugh to my lips so immediately that Poppy turns and shushes me; I clamp one hand over my mouth before realizing that I’m outside, so they can’t hear me in there anyway. My laughter fades, and I shoot a frown at Poppy.
“Sorry,” she hisses, flapping her hand at me and gesturing for me to crouch down. “But you’re loud and tall. We’re already creeping at the window. Don’t make it weird.”
“This was your idea!” I say, my voice indignant. I don’t wait for her to respond, though. I crouch down and look back through the window instead—just like the creeper and weirdo I felt like earlier.
There appears to be some sort of party going on inside, one I would give my right leg to be attending for real. I can hear the strains of music?—
“ABBA,” Poppy says when I tilt my head closer to try to hear. “It’s their favorite.”
I nod as a grin spreads over my lips once more. Aurora is sitting on the floor, scrolling through a phone and eating pizza, nodding along to the music. Juliet and India, meanwhile, are on the coffee table—I glance briefly to make sure it looks sturdy, and it does, a heavy hunk of solid wood—and they’ve both got pizza in their hands, too. The pizza slices appear to be functioning as microphones, and even though I can’t hear much, I can tell the two of them are singing their hearts out. Juliet is dancing with one hand in the air, but India is acting like she’s performing a ballad. Both hands are clutching the pizza, which India pauses to take a bite of—then she continues to sing while chewing simultaneously.
My grin widens as something almost overwhelming rises in my chest. Juliet and Aurora are classically beautiful, I can admit, but it’s India I can’t take my eyes off of. Her hair is flopping around in a bun on top of her head, and she’s dressed in sweatpants and a t-shirt. She’s…
“Perfect.” The word slips out, so softly I almost don’t hear myself speak it. Something about the way she’s standing here reminds me of the photo I took of her at Crow Point, standing against the sunset—the photo I peeked at earlier this evening and still haven’t been able to delete.
Her eyes are a little red, though. Like she’s been crying. Juliet’s too, actually.
The balloon in my chest punctures just a bit.
“Why did you bring me here?” I say, tearing my gaze away to look at Poppy.
But I think I know. And when she speaks, she confirms my suspicion.
“Because you should understand,” she says, “that none of us will let you break India’s heart.” Her expression is kind, but her voice and her eyes are unyielding. She jerks her chin at the party happening inside. “Occasionally when someone needs cheering up, we have a pizza party. We turn on music and dance around and let ourselves be silly. India and Jules were the ones who needed it this time. Juliet can’t find a job anywhere. But India…” She shakes her head. “She says she’s fine, but she’s sad. And I know it’s because of you.”
I open my mouth, but Poppy holds her hands up, heading me off before I can speak.
“I’m not blaming you,” she says. “I’m truly not. You haven’t treated her badly. Sometimes things just don’t work out. I know that. Even so…” She turns her head to look back through the window. “This is the woman you’re dealing with, deep, deep down. She might seem steady and tough, but she’s still a big softie. You can’t hurt her anymore than you already have. None of us will let you.” She takes a deep breath, and then her gaze finds mine again. “So proceed with caution, because you’re officially walking a fine line.”
I’m sure it’s not the first threat I’ve heard Poppy make, but it’s definitely the most sincere. So I nod.
“Cyrus asked what I was doing tonight, and I told him we were having a party. He didn’t ask anything else, but this isn’t something we do a lot. So he probably knows something’s up.” She pauses. “Don’t lie to him if he asks.”
“I won’t,” I say, the words heavy on my tongue.
Just like that, the relief I felt at stopping Veronda from finding out about India’s wardrobe malfunction is replaced by a new anxiety.
I need to figure out how to tell Cyrus I want to date his sister.
And, even more than that—I need to figure out how to convince India herself.