Chapter 5 Poppy
CHAPTER FIVE
POPPY
After reading Jack’s text cancelling—no, make that postponing our date, I drop onto my bed. Darn. That really sucks.
Moonpie looks up from her sixth nap of the day and judges me silently. “Don’t start, Moonpie,” I say, dropping my phone onto the duvet next to me. “He’s got a job to do.” I don’t know why I’m explaining this to my cat, but here we are.
I pull her close, and she endures my smothering with the resigned grace of someone who knows how good they have it. Her purrs are low and judgmental, but I’ll take what I can get.
After a while, I decide to put on a movie that makes me feel better about being alone.
I end up picking “You’ve Got Mail” because if I’m going to wallow, I might as well do it with one of my favorite movies.
While the opening credits play, I head to the kitchen and grab the emergency tub of Rocky Road ice cream hidden behind all my healthy looking frozen food.
Moonpie attempts to lick the ice cream off my spoon, but I manage to pull it away in time. Then I can’t handle her withering stare so I end up giving her a scoop of plain old vanilla in her own bowl. She circles it once, sniffs, and then looks back at me like, “This doesn’t have chocolate in it.”
I make it through twenty minutes of Meg Ryan before my phone buzzes again. My mood lifts a little when I see a text from Jack.
Detective Hottie
How’s your night going?
Me
It’s okay. How’s your case?
Detective Hottie
It sucks because I had to miss my date with you. What are you up to?
Well, that definitely improves my mood. But also… it kind of bums me out all over again.
The way my chest aches over a cancelled dinner with Jack is absolutely ridiculous.
I barely know the guy, and I’m already acting like a lovesick fool.
I mean, who gets this upset over a rescheduled date?
Me, apparently. Leave it to me to fall for a guy who makes my stomach do Olympic level flips every time he texts.
Me
I’m watching a movie and eating ice cream with Moonpie.
Detective Hottie
Lucky Moonpie. Save me a bite.
Holy hell. A bite? A bite of what? I type out that question then erase it. Damn. I suck at flirting. I delete the words and start again.
Me
You can have all the bites you want tomorrow night.
Detective Hottie
I’m going to hold you to that. See you soon, kitten.
I send a thumbs up and drop my phone on the end table. Moonpie tucks herself into the crook of my arm, purrs loud enough to drown out my thoughts, and promptly falls asleep. I’m honestly jealous because I know there’s no way I’m going to get any sleep tonight.
The next morning starts with a text from Mrs. Winters in 5B, letting me know she won’t need me to clean her apartment on Tuesday. Fudge. That’s going to put a dent into my grocery fund for the week. Oh well, I guess I’ll have ramen for dinner one night this week.
I set my coffee cup under the coffeemaker and slip a pod into the cradle. While my much-needed shot of caffeine brews, I make a to-do list for the day.
Moonpie stakes out her perch on the sofa and starts snoring like she doesn’t have a care in the world while I sort my laundry pile, which has achieved critical mass since finals.
I stare at it for a good thirty seconds, debating whether I should just throw the whole thing away and start over.
Honestly, it might be easier. There are so many socks in here that don’t have matches, I start to wonder if Moonpie’s been secretly building a nest behind the couch. Wouldn’t put it past her, honestly.
I brace myself and plunge both hands into the Mount Everest of laundry.
I don’t know if there’s an actual bottom to this basket, or if socks just breed in the dark.
Either way, I’m in too deep to turn back.
I pull out a pair of leggings I haven’t seen since before midterms, then a T-shirt with a suspicious stain. Ew. That one’s getting rewashed.
Moonpie watches my efforts with all the judgment of a bored aristocrat. I dig deeper, unearthing a bra I really liked and thought I’d lost forever. Victory! I add it to the “actually worth folding” pile. My heart races when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I take a deep breath and pull it out.
Detective Hottie
I’m just getting home. I’m going to grab a couple hours of sleep, then I’ll be down to get you. Is five good with you?
Damn. He’s been up all night and still wants to go out with me. My heart melts in my chest.
Me
Are you sure you’ll be up for it?
Detective Hottie
I’m so fucking up for it. See you soon.
I sit on the edge of the bed and fan myself.
If this man keeps texting me like that, there’s no way I’m making it to dinner without combusting.
I need to pull it together and focus, but all I can do is picture Jack’s hands, those broad shoulders, the way his voice rumbles through my chest when he calls me kitten.
Holy. Shit. I’m in so much trouble here.
Moonpie hops up on the bed and immediately plops her generous ass onto my clean laundry pile. Figures. “You’re no help at all,” I inform her, sweeping a hand over my flaming cheeks.
While she slowly licks her paws, I try to distract myself by folding the rest of the laundry, but it’s impossible. Detective Jack Vale is officially taking up all the available space in my mind.
The next few hours disappear in a blur of folding, sorting, and wrestling with fitted sheets that refuse to cooperate.
By the end, I’m sweaty, victorious, and completely convinced that laundry is a full-contact sport.
I stare at the chaos in my apartment and realize it’s not over yet.
If laundry is a battle, then cleaning my apartment is World War III.
I fly around the room, scooping up stray socks, wiping every single surface, and scrubbing the kitchen sink until it actually gleams. Hell yeah. I handled that like a pro.
Every second that ticks closer to five pm, my heart beats faster. I race through the living room, grab the vacuum, and get rid of every single dust bunny. Moonpie watches the show from her perch.
I finish up and check the time. Damn. I have an hour to shower and make myself presentable. “You can do it,” I mutter, stripping off my sweats and jumping under the hot spray.
I swear, this shower is the best thing that’s happened to me all week. The water is so hot it almost scalds, and I stand there way longer than I should, letting the steam fry my brain cells into something resembling actual human energy.
I wash my hair twice and shave my legs, since no-shave November was over months ago. By the time I drag myself out and towel off, my skin is a little pink and my hair is a full-on lion’s mane. God. I have a lot of work to do in a really short amount of time.
I throw on my comfiest robe and try to tackle my curls with the detangling spray I blew way too much on last semester.
I spritz, scrunch, repeat, and finally wrangle it into something that looks “intentionally messy” instead of “possessed by demons.” Then I haul ass to the closet and stare at my limited options.
I grab my favorite black sweater dress and tug it on.
The hem hits mid-thigh and clings in all the right places.
I smooth it over my hips and try to ignore the nervousness coursing through me.
At four fifty, someone knocks, twice—sharp, authoritative raps that send my heart ricocheting against my ribcage like a pinball. I force a deep, calm breath that does absolutely nothing to slow my pulse before my trembling fingers twist the knob.
Jack fills the doorframe, broad shoulders nearly touching both sides, with his phone clutched in one large, veined hand.
The second our eyes meet, he slides the phone into the pocket of his perfectly tailored navy dress slacks.
His dark hair is still damp at the temples, and he smells like clean cedar mixed with something spicy and warm.
His scent wraps around me like an invisible embrace.
His deep-blue cashmere sweater clings to his chest and shoulders, revealing the outline of what has to be the result of religious gym attendance, and the color makes his eyes look like twilight over a deep forest. I actually forget how doors work and just stand there for a solid three seconds.
His eyes go a little bit soft at the edges as he looks at me, and he smiles in this devastating way that sends electricity coursing down my spine.
“Hey,” he says. “You look incredible.”
I actually make a noise. A noise. Like a cartoon kitten.
“Uh. Hi,” I manage. “You look really—” I have to pause and look him up and down. “Wow. I mean. Good. You look good.”
Jack steps closer, crowding the threshold with six-and-a-half feet of homicide detective. For a second, I think he’s going to wait for me to move aside. But instead, he puts a hand against the frame, leans in, and kisses me.
It isn’t a “nice to see you again” kind of kiss.
It’s a “I’ve thought about this all day and I’m not waiting another second” kind of kiss.
His hand cups my jaw, thumb tracing the curve of my cheek, and the second his mouth touches mine, my knees actually go a little soft.
I make a sound in the back of my throat that is only technically human, and he swallows it whole.
The kiss is firm, controlled, like he’s making a statement.
Then his tongue teases the seam of my lips, and my brain turns to pixelated goo.
I let him in, arms going up automatically to his shoulders, and the sensation is so intense I almost forget we’re standing in my open doorway and my cat is bearing silent witness from the windowsill.
Jack’s hand moves from my jaw to my hip, fingers splaying against the fabric of my dress, and I feel it all the way to my toes. He breaks the kiss, just barely, and his lips brush against my ear when he speaks.
“I’ve been thinking about doing that again since Tuesday,” he murmurs.
His breath is warm, his body even warmer, and for a second I imagine skipping dinner and just dragging him to bed.
“We need to leave before I’m tempted to skip the meal and head straight for dessert.
” Wow. He really freaking just read my mind.
I blow out my breath as my heart goes ninety miles an hour. “I’m all for starting with dessert.”