Chapter 13 #3
Poppy sat on the news all day. She’d tried to call Wren as soon as she finished her meeting with Melody, but Wren’s phone was either dead or powered off and she’d yet to return her message to call her back.
Given that Dane’s was off duty for the rest of the weekend, Poppy knew it might be a while before she checked in.
In the kitchen of Solstice Deep, she looked across the table at Thom, who was sitting opposite her, tucking into the massive pizza he’d ordered for them to share from Il Fantasma. She had a piece on her plate, but she’d yet to take a bite. She was too excited to eat.
She wanted to tell him, was desperate to tell him, but she couldn’t find the words.
Not because her news wasn’t good, but because it was terrifying.
This job hadn’t come from a favor to her mom, a referral from one of her brilliant siblings, or via someone who knew Benji.
Someone had seen her work and thought it was good. That it had value.
It was the first time in forever that she’d felt properly proud of herself.
And deeply, irrationally afraid.
She should just tell him and be cool about it when she did.
But he might not think it was a big deal and would be polite and distant, simply handing her an offhand “That’s good.
” She was fully prepared for him to shrink the moment, because that’s what people always did when she told them she was an artist and that her dream was to make a living using her creativity.
She’d heard it all, from “it’s unstable” to “you have to be a genius to succeed” to “that’s not an adult way to make a living.
” At the end of the day, it was always a dismissal, a way to shove her back into her box and to dampen her dreams. She didn’t expect Thom to be any different.
But a part of her hoped, prayed, that he’d be excited for her.
“You haven’t touched your pizza,” Thom said, leaning back in his chair. His gray eyes met hers, and he frowned. “And you’ve been distracted since you came home. Did something happen today?”
You could say that. She nodded. “Yeah, it did.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
She nodded, picked up her slice of pizza, and put it down again. Then she rubbed the palms of her hands on her denim-covered thighs. Why was she so nervous? Because this was Thom, and she wanted him to be proud of her?
“I got a job,” she said, the words coming so fast that she wasn’t sure he understood the sentence.
He rested his forearms on the table, and his lips curved. “A job? That’s great.” When she simply looked at him, he frowned. “Is this bad news or good news?”
“Oh, good news. Um, I’ve been asked to draw another map.”
“A map?”
“Mmm,” Poppy replied, pushing her plate away. “A map similar to the map I drew for H-Town. It’s for a fantasy novel by Melody Vein, but more detailed. It’s probably not a big deal, but—”
Thom frowned and held up his hand. “I’m sorry, but why isn’t this a big deal?”
She looked at him. “It’s just a map.”
“It’s a map for Melody Vein, someone who just happens to be a New York Times bestselling author,” Thom said. “Have you read her novels? They are great!”
She blinked, caught off-guard by his enthusiasm. “Have you?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’m waiting, like most of the world, for book four.”
Poppy pinched the skin on her wrist to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. “You read romantasy?”
He shrugged. “I think it’s a great fantasy series first, a romance and mystery second.” He wiped his hands on a paper napkin. “The point is that she could have an already well-known, highly regarded illustrator draw her maps, but she chose you! How did that happen?”
He seemed genuinely excited for her and more than a little impressed.
Encouraged, Poppy told him how she’d met Melody and about their hour-long conversation in Spirited Grounds.
He didn’t interrupt her, and when she was done, he didn’t make a joke or qualify her achievement; he simply sat back and smiled at her.
“That is so fucking fantastic, Poppy. I am so happy for you.”
Before she could work out how to react to his praise, to him being so happy for her, he bombarded her with a series of questions.
What’s your deadline? Have you read the books?
If he could help explain Myrrwhen, she only needed to ask.
Crucially, Thom didn’t imply that her work was a hobby, or that she’d just lucked out.
Once she’d told him everything, she felt something in her chest loosen, like she’d been holding on to stale air and she could finally expel it.
So, huh. This was what unconditional acceptance felt like.
She’d been bracing herself for him to minimize her news, to maybe brush it off or gloss over it, but she hadn’t expected his joy, or how impressed he was.
She’d expected rejection, but it never came.
And she wasn’t sure how to act without it.
He reached across the table, picked up her hand, and kissed the tips of her fingers. “I’m so proud of you, Poppy.”
His words landed hard, cleanly, without strings. Poppy felt her eyes well up. When had someone last told her they were proud? God, it had been so long ago she couldn’t remember. Her grandpa? Grandma? Thom before he exited her life years ago? Whenever it was, it felt great now.
“Thank you.”
He tugged at her hand and angled his head, a silent but clear order to come to him.
Still holding his hand, she walked around the table, and he pushed back his chair before pulling her down to sit on his lap.
Thom brushed her lips with hers, a gentle kiss that was, as always, filled with heat.
And as Thom kissed her, she realized that it was the first time she’d shared good news, or any news about herself, without qualifying it first, without shrinking it down so that other people would find it easier to swallow and manage.
And surprisingly, the world hadn’t tilted on its axis, and Thom hadn’t brushed her off.
Instead, he’d leaned in, got caught up in her excitement, and had celebrated with her without inserting himself into her achievement, into the moment.
By not making it about him, he’d given her the gift of celebrating herself.
And, man, that was huge.
Thom
Thom held her on his lap, trying to keep his muscles loose, to keep Poppy from sensing his tension.
Look, he was super proud of her, happy for her, but he was also pissed.
He’d clocked her tight shoulders, her rushed words, her hesitation, and knew she’d been scared to tell him about her job offer.
And the only reason for her to be scared was that someone, somewhere along the line—his brother or her mom, probably both—had made her feel small, less than, insignificant.
Something fierce and protective settled in his chest, and he pushed the tips of his fingers into her hip and thigh.
She had a right to feel excited, to be proud …
and he hadn’t been kidding when he said that getting Melody Vein’s commission was a helluva big deal.
He didn’t think she had any idea how big a name she was.
That was okay, she’d realize it soon, and he hoped she wouldn’t feel intimidated.
Poppy pulled back from his kiss and rested her head on his chest, her hair brushing his neck.
He was happy to sit here with her, holding her.
But because he was a guy, he was also thinking about the practicalities.
Did she have enough art supplies? Where would she work?
She couldn’t use this table; it was filled with his crap.
But there was a desk in storage, and he could bribe Hayes with a few beers and get him to help lug it up to her loft bedroom; the light was fantastic there.
“Thank you for reacting like that, Thom. I didn’t think you’d take me, or the offer, seriously. Benji certainly wouldn’t have. He and my family refuse to see my art as anything more than a hobby.”
Poppy’s words spun through him, a high-powered drill. He wanted to go back and be present on every occasion Poppy was insulted, so he could climb into the ring and land some verbal punches. How dare they?
Poppy rubbed her eyes with the balls of her hands, and he saw traces of tears on her cheeks. “My life has been such a mess, Thom, that getting some good news is a bit overwhelming.”
He could understand that; being betrayed was a kick in the gut—and in the heart—and she’d received no support from her family. He knew what betrayal felt like; maybe it would help her to know that he knew what that felt like.
But he’d keep his explanation short. “After my dad died, I took over Sheffield Strategy, and I took on a project to manage a prestigious government-grant program—combining environmental innovation and ethical tech development. The grant process was highly competitive, high-stakes, and very tightly regulated.”
Poppy straightened to look at him, immediately interested.
“One of the top-rated applicants was a small nonprofit run by Ingrid, a brilliant eco-architect.” He grimaced.
“She also happened to be my fiancée.” It felt like a million lifetimes ago, and in some ways it was.
“Everything about the bidding process was above board. I made sure it was transparent and clean. When Ingrid’s application was discussed, I advised the board that I was involved with her, and I recused myself when her project was discussed.
I had absolutely no input, and the review committee approved it unanimously. ”
He looked away and scratched his forehead. “Somehow, it still came back to bite me on the ass.”
Poppy ran her fingers over his hand, subtle encouragement. “What happened?”
“I caught Ingrid and Benji in an X-rated clinch during a party at his apartment.”
Poppy pulled a face. “What did you do?”
“Broke up with her and broke his nose.” He shrugged, feeling no remorse. The little shit was lucky he didn’t break both his legs.
“In the weeks following that shitshow, I blanked him, wouldn’t talk to him about anything but work. I kept our conversations super cold and super short.”