Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
POPPY
The door to the fellowship hall opens out of the corner of my eye. Aunt Marla is slowly taking memorabilia out to her car—we’ve long overstayed our reservation, but the pastor insisted he was happy to let us stay until we’re done.
Bless his heart.
The streamers flutter from the opening and closing of the door, and then I spot Miguel and Mike turning.
“Looks like it’s another lost wedding guest,” Miguel mutters.
I follow his eyes to the door.
And I drop my Solo cup.
It crashes to the ground, splashing hot cider all over my legs that I hardly notice.
Because that’s not Darren Freaking Murphy standing in the doorway.
It’s Oliver Freaking Fletcher.
His eyes find me—and they instantly light up like a Christmas tree. But how did he find me? And why? Is he so dissatisfied with every other way he’s rejected me, now he has to come here and make sure to do it again in person?
Again?
His eyes are wide and his brow tugged high as he strides toward me with too much energy, too much purpose.
Too much hope.
No.
I can’t think that way. I can’t let myself believe it’s hope.
Because hope is contagious.
“Who are you?” Mike asks.
Oliver’s eyes are burning as he looks at me. “I’m the idiot who needs to talk to Poppy.”
But before he can reach me, Joey steps in front of me, cutting him off.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Joey asks.
Oliver stops just before hitting the man. “I messed up. I need to talk to Poppy. I need to make it right.”
My heart trips, giving an extra beat that makes my chest feel weak and fluttery. “You do?” I ask, looking past Joey.
“Poppy, who is this?” Uncle Bill asks, standing next to me protectively. He’s barely five-eight, but right now, he has an energy much bigger than that.
“Yeah, everything okay, Gracie Lou?” Mike asks from my other side.
Oliver’s face snaps between the men, and then I notice Miguel, Mikhail and every other returned citizen in the room gather round me. Like protective uncles.
Like family.
My eyes well with tears.
“Do, uh, do we need to hurt this guy?” Joey asks, leaning toward me.
I laugh. “I don’t think so.” But then I look at Oliver, who has lost every ounce of confidence he had remaining. “Do they, Oliver?”
He holds his hands up, looking disheveled and devastatingly handsome in his tux. “No. No you do not. I am not here to hurt Poppy Grace. I just want to talk to her. Can we go somewhere private?”
“Not a chance,” Uncle Bill says. “Whatever you need to say to my niece, you can say here.”
Never has someone had my back like these men.
I had no idea it could feel so good.
A grateful tear rolls down my cheek, but it’s white noise at this point. I’ve cried so much today, I don’t know how I’m not hooked up to an IV for dehydration.
Joey gives Oliver a long look. “You said you messed up. Did you hurt her? Is that why she’s crying?”
“Not like that!” Oliver says in a rush before they rush him.
“Listen, I suck at words. I’m here because I’m in love with Poppy, but I was too stupid and scared to admit it, so I let something get in the way.
I fell in love with her online over a year ago when I was just some angry idiot on a forum.
And then I fell in love with her again in person.
And when I found out she worked on a case involving my brother, I walked away. But I was wrong.”
“And now?” Uncle Bill asks.
“Now I’ve come to tell her how sorry I am. To beg her to take me back.”
His words are like a hug, but Mike folds his arms, unimpressed. “Yeah? So?”
“So … what?” Oliver asks, trying to see me past my personal bodyguards.
“So where’s the apology? Where’s the begging?” Mike asks.
Oliver runs a hand through his hair, which is reaching for the ceiling at this point.
“Poppy, I am so sorry. I’m beyond sorry.
I should have listened instead of talked.
I should have appreciated how amazing you are for helping Darren and so many others instead of feeling like his gain was our loss.
It wasn’t. I was wrong. Darren—” He gives a breathy laugh.
“Darren is a good guy. He deserved all the help you gave him.”
“So you forgive him?” I ask, my throat tight.
“I need him to forgive me.” His voice is thick with emotion. “And I promise I’ll ask him soon. But I had to ask for your forgiveness first. Please forgive me, Poppy. Please take me back.”
The room is silent except for the music.
Joey looks at Mike. Mike looks at Uncle Bill. Uncle Bill studies Oliver for what feels like an eternity.
Then Mike breaks the silence. “That was a pretty good apology.”
“I’ve heard better,” Joey says, his arms still crossed. “Where’s the grand gesture?”
Mike shakes his head. “You read too many romance novels in prison, man.”
I laugh. Happiness is bubbling in my chest like soda, but Oliver’s brow is furrowed, like Joey’s words have left a mark. He takes out his phone, makes a couple of swipes, and then holds it up.
“How about a hundred thousand dollars to Mercy in Justice?”
“Whoa!” Miguel says. “That’ll do!”
The guys start elbowing each other, but Joey’s not impressed. “If you have a hundred thousand, I bet you have two hundred thousand.”
It sounds like a small animal is dying in Oliver’s throat, but he nods, changes something on his phone, and then holds it up again. And sure enough, there on the screen is a donation page that shows two hundred thousand dollars.
Oliver holds his thumb over the “Donate Now” button. “Is that okay?”
I’m not sure who he’s asking—Joey, Uncle Bill, me, the universe—but we all shout, “YES!”
He laughs and hits the button.
And everyone cheers.
The guys rush Oliver, but this time, there’s no hint of threat. Miguel and Mike hoist him on their shoulders, and everyone laughs as they bring him over to me and drop him at my feet. Then they back off, giving us space.
I hardly notice the tears on my cheeks, but what I do notice is the cozy, warm feeling of love swelling in my chest.
Oliver’s here for me.
He did this for me.
“I love you, Poppy Grace,” he says, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear and then cupping my face so tenderly, it makes me go weak in the knees. And ankle. “If I’ve lost you, I’ll never forgive myself. Nothing on earth matters more to me than you.”
I want to tell him how much I love him, too, but something occurs to me, something painful. “You saw my messages on Beyond Justice, and you didn’t respond. It hurt, Oliver. Why didn’t you answer?”
“That isn’t the whole story. I saw your message after a huge blow up fight with my granddad, and when I wanted to answer, Darren Murphy came over, and I dropped my phone between the seat and console, and my stupid big hands couldn’t fit, and by the time I finally grabbed it, you were already gone.
I felt sick. I didn’t know how to find you and make it right. ”
His clear guilt and obvious pain soften my remaining hurt. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
“It is,” he insists, grabbing my hands. “It is a big deal. I should never have made you feel small. And I never will again. If you’ll take me back,” he adds.
I hesitate. He’s saying all the right things, but there’s so much he’s not saying.
“I hid a lot of things from you—my dad, my work, my pain. I’ve hidden it from everyone.
It’s easier to hide than it is to be seen and rejected.
At least when I was hiding, if someone didn’t want me, I could say it’s because they didn’t know me.
The people who’ve known me best haven’t always treated me best.”
He winces, and his eyes go glassy, like he’s fighting tears. “I hate that. I hate even thinking about it.”
When I speak, my voice is so small, I can barely hear it. “I don’t want to hurt anymore.”
A single tear spills out the corner of his eye, and his arms wrap around me, hugging me. “I never want you to hurt again. I know I’ll mess up, but I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you. If you’ll let me.”
I’m crying again, and Oliver kisses my head and holds me until the tightness of his embrace makes something in my chest finally give way. The hug undoes me, unravels me. All the threads I’ve kept wound so tightly come loose, falling into his arms in a tangled mess he doesn’t let go of.
But as I fall apart, he shifts, and somehow his arms gather me back in, gentle and steady. It’s like he’s reweaving me—thread by thread—into something whole again. Not new, but stronger where the seams used to split.
Stitching me back together, like I’d hoped he would.
One of his hands cradles the back of my head to him, while the other wraps around my waist. He’s so warm.
When did I get so cold? I grip his tuxedo jacket and let myself dissolve into him.
My tears soak through his shirt, but he doesn’t seem to care.
He just holds me. “I was already half in love with you months ago online, and the other half only took a few days.”
I laugh, my cheek to his chest, feeling how fast his heart beats and marveling that it could possibly be for me.
“I should have asked to meet you months ago,” Oliver says. “But I was so scared, Poppy. You’ve seen me at my worst this week. I didn’t know someone could care about me after seeing even half as much as you did.”
“I should have told you the second you mentioned Mercy in Justice who I was,” I say, hoping the words can reach him over the new song: “Space Age Love Song” by Flock of Seagulls. One of my all time favorites.
“You were probably afraid I’d bite your head off.”
“I wasn’t not afraid of that.” I say with a light laugh. “Maybe not right then, but I could have told you later.”
“I’m glad you didn’t. If I’d frozen you out before getting the chance to fall, I don’t think I’d ever recover from what might have been.” The words rumble through his chest straight to my heart.
“Might have been, huh?”
“Still could be, I hope?”
This hug isn’t something I’m ever going to want to break apart from, but I need him to see me when I say this, so I push back just enough to stare up into his deep blue eyes. “Yes.”
The grin that breaks across his face is bright enough to hurt after being in darkness for so long. “Is it too early to plan a future?” he asks.
I start laughing. “If you’re asking me as Poppy, yes. But not if you’re asking me as Poppy Grace. I like that name, by the way.”
“I love it,” he says.
“I love you, GreenArrow11. Fletch. Ollie.”
“It’s Oliver,” he tells me, shifting his hands so they’re perched possessively on my hips. “Oliver Fletcher.”
“Oh, are you Oliver Fletcher? In that case, I take it all back.”
He snorts and leans down. “No you don’t.”
I stand on my tiptoes. “Prove it.”
His mouth claims mine, and his lips rob me of whatever fake protests I had left. I throw my arms around his neck, and suddenly, he’s picking me off the ground, putting us on even footing while we kiss. Minus the footing.
And my word, does this kiss blow any other out of the park.
Because as surprising—as delicious—as it was to kiss him in Kansas, as wonderful as it was to kiss him in Cleveland and on the train this morning, we weren’t the same people then.
We were Fletch and Poppy. That first kiss was like a gasoline fire that flared bright and hot but that couldn’t last. The next ones were caught up in the excitement of new love.
This is completely different. Oliver and Poppy Grace, two people who’ve known each other, who’ve seen the best and worst of each other, who’ve suffered and persevered for each other. This kiss isn’t just heat—although it is absolutely hot—it’s emotion. Healing.
Love.
And again, I cannot emphasize this enough: it is also very hot.
I’m dimly aware of the song changing. “All I Want Is You” by U2 starts playing—all aching guitars and orchestral yearning.
It starts so simply but with a driving, rising emotion that I feel in my bones.
It’s a gift from my dad, this song playing in this moment. And I know exactly what Bono is saying.
All I want is you, I think as I kiss Oliver.
His thumb traces my jawline, and I shiver despite the warmth flooding through me. His other hand slides up my back, fingers splaying wide like he’s trying to memorize the feel of me.
I thread my fingers through his wild hair, and it’s softer than I imagined. He makes a sound low in his throat that I feel more than hear.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathing hard. His forehead rests against mine, and he sets me down.
“Wow,” he says, his hands finding my waist.
“Wow,” I echo, taking a deep breath.
He leans down and presses one more soft kiss onto my lips. When he backs up, his thumb rubs my cheek. “This may be weird timing, but can I see your phone?”
“Uh, what?”
“I need your number. I’m not letting you go again.”
“Was that a threat?” I ask with a laugh.
“Is he threatening you?” Mike barks from only a couple yards away, and suddenly, all of Dad’s friends are rushing Oliver, and I’m standing in front of him, screaming it was a joke.
But it’s Uncle Bill who comes out of nowhere. He grabs Oliver from by the tuxedo lapels and pushes him against the wall. “You hurt my niece,” I hear him growl, “and what these guys want to do to you will look like child’s play compared to what I’ll do.”
And that’s how we finally get kicked out of the church.
Uncle Bill threatening to beat up my boyfriend.