Chapter 17
YOU SHOULD STAY.
Dallas
Tyler
How come we always have to be the ones to ask for the updates?
Mitch
Ty, he’s probably busy.
Tyler
So you’re saying he’s too busy for us now?
Mitch
Goodman…stop.
Tyler
No. I’m hurt, and my feelings are valid. Coach moves to a middle-of-nowhere town where there’s probably nothing to do and forgets about us.
Mitch
Leave him be.
Tyler
Fine. I’ll leave him be the same way he left us hanging.
I’m sorry I haven’t checked in. *eye roll* I’ve been mildly preoccupied.
Tyler
Ugh. Fine. I’ll let it slide because Sage is also number one in my book.
Yes. Because of Sage…
Tyler
That sounds very vague. I’m no longer mad at you, so you can continue to explain that part.
Mitch
Normally, I’m not one to egg on our golden retriever friend here, but I also need to know more.
She’s unlike any woman I’ve ever met before.
Tyler
I…didn’t expect that update.
Mitch
Wow.
I sigh, staring at my phone in my hands.
He’s right. This is a big deal. After everything, I said I was going to be more focused on being present with Sage. My priority is supposed to be her because I was never there the way I should have been after the divorce, because baseball was everything to me.
But I can’t help myself anymore when Poppy is around.
I can’t help but become wrapped up in her, too.
Since the dinner at Griffin’s, it’s been a struggle to hear Sage come home from school all week and hear her talk about the fun things she did in class, and how much she loves her teacher. Or how they laughed and danced in class to an alphabet song they found online.
I want to see Poppy laugh.
I want to dance with her to anything and everything.
When she was here last week, reading Sage a bedtime story, I held back because I didn’t want to move too fast for her. I didn’t want to come off too strong. I’ve been pissed off that I held back, even though it was probably the right thing to do.
There’s no denying that I wanted to press my lips to hers and see if she tastes as good as I think she does.
Something I wanted to do the night she was here.
Something I can’t help but feel like I should have done.
Would it be the worst thing in the world if I allowed myself to act on the thoughts I have about Poppy? To explore these feelings that I can’t seem to deny when she’s around?
She cares about Sage.
She taught me how to braid my daughter’s hair.
Something was there between us.
I put my phone face down on the counter, leaving the conversation with the boys at that, because how do I explain something I haven’t figured out myself? All I know is the truth I sent them.
Moving to turn the coffee maker on, Sage enters the kitchen.
“Morning, Daddy,” she says with Mr. Marshmallow in one hand, rubbing her eyes with the other. “I’m starving.”
“Good morning, bug. What do you want today?”
She giggles. “It’s Sunday, Daddy. That means we get the epic breakfast day.”
“Ohhh.” I laugh. “You want the new Sunday special, huh?”
“Yep. My breakfast belly is ready for all of it. Mr. Marshmallow’s tummy is grumbling too.”
“One Sunday special coming right up.”
“Can I play that block game on your phone and try to beat your high score while I wait?”
“Of course. But you’ll never beat my high score.”
“That’s what you think,” she teases as she swipes my phone from the counter.
It’s wild to me how kids know how to work technology more than I do most days.
It shocks me a bit because Sage isn’t usually the kid who likes to sit on the tablet and play games, or watch television, for that matter.
She’s more of a creative kid. Always drawing, coloring, or making up games in her room with her stuffed animals.
Her brain has fascinated me since she’s been living with me.
I knew she was special, but seeing her in her element daily, I notice it much more.
I move easily around the kitchen, grabbing the pancake mix, eggs, bacon, sausage, and strawberries to slice up.
On our first Sunday here, I made her a mini breakfast buffet in the kitchen.
It’s become our little Sunday tradition on the weekends she stays because April has to work a certain number of weekend shifts.
I successfully juggle all the breakfast pieces at once, taking the last pancake off the griddle and placing it on a plate.
Moving everything to our small kitchen table, I feel the ache in my shoulder again.
It’s a constant pain that comes and goes, but when a flare-up happens, it’s almost debilitating.
I wouldn’t call it that this morning, but the change in the weather here probably isn’t helping.
“I’m going to grab some medicine quickly,” I tell Sage, grabbing my mug of coffee to take with me. “You can start making your plate.”
“Yummm,” she says, stabbing a fork into a pancake and bringing it to her plate.
I head to the bathroom connected to my room, grab an ibuprofen to take before it gets worse, and then take a moment to do a few shoulder stretches I learned in physical therapy.
Once I enter the kitchen, I’m stopped dead in my tracks when I see Poppy standing there with wide eyes that rake down my bare chest. I tighten my grip on the mug because I feel it slipping through my fingers under the weight of her stare.
It’s the same way I look at her every time I see her.
She shakes her head as if to snap her out of whatever daze she was in, quickly turning her head to the side and covering her eyes with her hand. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Poppy,” I smirk, entering the kitchen fully and grabbing a plate. I don’t even bother going to grab a T-shirt, because even though I told myself I should stay away, I love how flustered she is right now. “Do you want some breakfast? I made plenty.”
Poppy looks at me, to my door, and then back to me as if questioning what she should do next. My eyes narrow in confusion, and her nervous body language forces me to replay the last time we were together.
Did I do something wrong?
Is this confirmation that she did want something to happen between us?
No, that can’t be it.
She made it clear she wanted to remain professional.
“No. I don’t want to impose. I’m just here to drop off the puzzle. I sent you a text asking if now was a good time to come over, and you said yes.” Her eyes trail me up and down, and it sends blood rushing to the one place it should not be rushing to right now. “So I came right over.”
Turning to face Sage, she beams. She has my phone, which means she responded to Poppy. Lifting her chin in the air, and a smile so wide that her eyes are almost shut. I can’t be mad at her for it; I just wish I were a little more prepared.
“Stay. Stay. Stay,” Sage begs with her hands together in prayer. “Pretty please. Daddy makes the best pancakes.”
“It does smell great, but I should get going.”
“You should stay,” I say quickly before she runs out like she did the last time she was here.
Poppy looks from me, to Sage, to the food scattered across the table before her emerald eyes find mine again.
The hairs on my arms stand tall, and my body shivers with chills.
I can’t remember a single time when a woman looked at me that made me feel this much, this intensely.
I want to blame it on witnessing every little interaction she’s had with my daughter.
I want to blame it on the sparks I remember from touching her as I guided her out of Sage’s room that night.
But it’s all her.
It’s all Poppy.
There’s no use denying it anymore.
Fuck everything I’ve said about how I can’t do this, because I want to do this.
When someone feels something this strongly, it’s the universe pushing you in that direction; your gut is waving the green flag that this is right.
“I’m not opposed to begging,” I say with the corner of my lip twisted in a lopsided grin.
“Okay,” she whispers. “I’ll stay for breakfast.”
“Yay!” Sage says, bouncing in her seat with a mouthful of pancakes. “You’re going to love all of it. It’s so good.”
She takes a seat across from Sage. I only have two chairs at the small table, but I don’t mind standing. Besides, it’ll give me the opportunity to look at Poppy.
“I brought you this puzzle,” she tells Sage, handing it over to her.
“A thousand pieces?” Sage asks. “That’s a lot. It’s going to take me five hundred days to finish this.”
Poppy laughs. “No, it won’t. I promise. Your mom told me you can finish a five-hundred-piece puzzle in two nights. I believe in you.”
She chuckles. “Do you do a lot of puzzles, Poppy?”
“Every night.”
“Every night? That’s a lot of puzzles.”
Poppy laughs. “I don’t finish it all in one night, most of the time.
I keep it on a small table in my living room, which is specifically designed for puzzles, and every night before I go to bed, I work on it a little at a time.
Plus, it relaxes me. I have trouble turning my brain off most of the time, so focusing on a puzzle with either a TV show in the background or music helps me turn off my brain for a bit. ”
“Wouldn’t it be so cool if there were a switch on the side of our head, and we could just flip it on or off whenever we wanted to? On. Off. On. Off,” Sage says, pretending to flip an imaginary one.
“That would be great.” Poppy chuckles, prompting Sage to laugh, too. “Since that isn’t real, puzzles do the trick for me.”
“Sometimes I have trouble turning off my brain, too,” Sage admits. Alarm bells ring in my head because she’s never told me this before, and April has never mentioned this.
I stand there, with my plate in my hand, chewing on the piece of bacon I made as I listen in on this conversation. It’s the first time since being in Bluestone Lakes that Sage has really opened up more than just surface level.
This conversation has only ignited some dad-guilt in me.
Guilt for all the years I put baseball before her.
Guilt for not taking more initiative to learn the things that go through my daughter’s head.
So. Much. Fucking. Guilt.