Chapter 37
Poppy
Eighteen thousand fans chanting for Faris Wheel.
Though we can hear them, time still slips away from us backstage.
At the climax of our connection, I’m calling out his name just as he is called to the stage.
Laird doesn’t budge, holding me and kissing me as if we have all the time in the world.
Cupping my face, he closes his eyes as he leans against me and whispers, “I love you so goddamn much, baby.”
“Get the fuck out here, Laird,” someone shouts from the other side of the locked door. He barely has time to clean up before the banging starts again, rattling the door on its hinges.
Zipping his jeans, he connects his gaze with mine, that smirk just about doing me in all over again. “Worth it,” he says with a chuckle.
“I love you.” I sneak the words in before he opens the door.
Looking back, he winks. “See you out there.”
As Faris Wheel is introduced under the setting Phoenix sun, I rush down the steps to find a place in the audience.
Tugging at the hem of my short skirt, I’m hoping the flush in my cheeks fades before anyone is the wiser to what Laird and I just did.
Does it matter? No. I’m still learning to let go of what others think, though.
The grin he’s given me hasn’t worn off as I weave through security and find my seat. It’s not needed. I have no intention of sitting during his show. Jet Crow’s wife is next to me, opening her arms and embracing me as if I’m already part of the family.
With The Resistance and The Crow Brothers playing after Faris Wheel, everyone is busy, including the significant others backstage. It’s nice she came out for the opening band, so I say, “Thanks for being here.”
She says, “I’m glad I could come to the show. I’m flying back tonight. Just a quick trip to support Jet and the band.” Leaning over, she adds, “And I’m a huge fan of Faris Wheel.”
“Me too.” I laugh, but it’s true. I’m Laird’s biggest fan and can’t wait to watch him perform. Seeing him shine like the star he is never gets old.
Nikki takes center stage, stealing everyone’s attention but mine.
Laird’s eyes find me just as he kicks off the first song in full rock-god mode.
It’s not a side of him I see often, and one that he hasn’t embodied in a while.
He claims without our love to ground him, he’s floated through life.
I understand because I was doing the same—half living, barely surviving, always searching—without my other half.
God, I never thought I’d sound so cheesy, but I need him to breathe, and he needs me to help his heart beat.
I’m so glad we share the same universe again because I’ve never been happier.
It would be easy to say we were built on sexual attraction alone since we have that in abundance, especially watching him now on stage.
Tousled hair from my fingers running through it, hard abs and muscles defined that I flat-out licked backstage, broad shoulders that bear my weight when he wants me as a snack, and a face Aphrodite would create for her own personal taste. Good lord.
Yet that’s not how my gentle giant stole my heart all over again.
It’s the way he looks at me like I’m his world, kisses me until my lips are swollen, makes sure my pleasure has peaked before he considers his own, and compliments me when I least expect it—in the kitchen cooking with no makeup on, baggy clothes, and dirty hair or just getting back from yoga, sweaty and flushed skin.
It’s in the every day for us, not the big events, but the little moments that have always tied us together again.
When the spotlight hits him, he pulls his shirt off three songs in to catcalls and whistles, wearing confidence like a second skin.
He doesn’t realize how he affects women with so little effort.
They’ll never experience his heart like I have, though.
His love runs deep, and his care for me is endless.
Moving across the stage, he kneels in front of me, playing his guitar with those fast-moving fingers. His eyes are set on mine, and he wears a smile that’s gone rogue with naughty intentions. God, I love this man.
Weeks later . . .
“I’m never getting you back to New York, am I?” If I didn’t know my best friend as well as I do, I would think Marina was trying to guilt me. I’m used to recognizing the tactics from my mom.
Marina’s not like that. She’s happy for me, but she’s also grieving because she misses me. I miss her, too.
I recognize the stages she’s going through. I went through them too when she got married. And even though I’m not even engaged, we both know where this is leading to with Laird. It’s only a matter of time from here.
Marina and I grew up together. Spent every day and most nights together over the years.
And although our lives have taken different paths, we always had each other when the other needed us most. School, boys, breakups, lost jobs, failed auditions, lost loves, love found again, and now she has a husband and children.
I was so happy for her and sad for me because I felt the shift back then. It’s the one she’s feeling now that I’m finally steady on my own feet, full memories intact, and head over heels in love with Laird. I say, “It’s not looking likely, but I will always be there for you, Marina.”
“I know. Same for you. Always, Poppy.” I hear a little sniffle that I think she tries to muffle before she says, “Tell me about the cookbook.” I’m good with the topic change.
It helps ease the sadness I started feeling.
I’ve been missing her, but Laird’s been back on the road for a week after I left him in Phoenix, and I feel like a shell of the person I usually am.
I’m ghosting our home and sleeping with his pillow for comfort.
I promised myself never to get wrapped up in a man like my mother. Look at me now. She’d be so proud . . .
The difference is Laird. He’s nothing like my father or anyone else she’s dated. The list is too long to even compare.
Marina adds, “What’s the latest with the book deal?”
I spent my twenties doing any job that would hire me in the food industry while attending culinary school.
Just touching my thirties, I want to focus on me, my health, my relationships, my love, and although it’s not something we talk about, I want children with Laird.
He’s restored my faith in all ways. I can’t wait to see him as a father.
“I haven’t heard back. It’s been weeks, so I think it’s a no.”
“Don’t give up yet,” she says. “Publishing is like the movie industry. It’s a slow-moving juggernaut until something hits, and then it’s a chaotic life.
” She knows firsthand how fame strikes like lightning.
I suppose Laird does as well, but he makes it easy to forget the outside world when we’re together.
“Not giving up. Just anxious to hear one way or the other.” I’ve been avoiding the topic as much as I can when talking to others because the stress is rough when it comes to my mom’s wedding. I need to release some, so I say, “I leave next Monday for Nashville.”
“Ah.” She knows without me having to spell it out. “Are you sure you don’t want me there? I can help you in the kitchen—”
“No, because she’ll parade you around as her favorite daughter because you’re famous. I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of your presence.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, Pops.” Her cheerful tone has me smiling. It feels good to let go of some of the sadness I carry from Laird’s absence. “I know it’s been standing between you and the tour. You’re traveling with him right after?”
Seeing the card stuck to the fridge, I’m reminded of what he told me when he gave it to me. “That’s the plan.” I remove the magnet and start for the extra bedroom.
“I need to run, but call me soon!”
“I will.” When we hang up, I start digging through my bins and then open two boxes.
I don’t find what I’m looking for until I lift the lid of a hat box.
I take the note to the bed and sit on the edge of the mattress.
I’ve read the card a million times and have the words memorized, the number of times for the note could easily be doubled.
But when I lay them next to each other on the bed, my heart feels so full it could burst.
I love you. L.
What more needs to be said when those three words capture our universe in them?
I study the handwriting, having seen it enough I could copy it by heart. If I had only known the clues were right in front of me all along.
I’m so going to marry that man.
“This is the uniform you ordered for me.”
“You’re confused, Poppy. Why would I order a uniform instead of a dress? You’re my daughter. Everyone knows who you are. You can’t traipse around my wedding and reception looking like . . . like . . .”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I can’t keep my foot from tapping. “Like what, Mom?”
Lowering her voice, she whispers, “Like event staff.”
I start for the door. “I don’t know what to tell you. This is what you ordered for me, so this is what I’m wearing.”
“Don’t you have some frock you can throw on at least during the ceremony?”
There are three suitcases full of clothes from sexy to sweet that I packed for when I join Laird on the road after this, but I’m not feeling the need to play her games anymore.
“No. Happy wedding day, Mom. You look beautiful,” I tell her because she does. Despite our disagreements, this is my mom, and I also know it will make her feel good to hear.
Before the door closes, she says, “Make sure you’re invisible tonight. I don’t want to upset Trevor.”
I close the door, wishing I had before she had a chance to speak. When I round the corner, I run into exactly who I don’t want to see. “Congratulations on your nuptials,” I say, able to keep the peace for a few hours. After that, there are no guarantees.