“Much, thank you.” Poppy sips the whiskey, her eyes lighting up. “Johnny Walker Blue? When did you start drinking this?”
I lean across the bar, letting my fingers trail along the soft skin of her forearm. “Ten years ago. It reminded me of you.”
“Tell me about the festival days. I’ll bet you two had a ton of fun together,” my mother requests, adding a bit more whiskey to her glass.
“It was fun. I don’t think I’d enjoy living out of a van anymore. I love my creature comforts,” Poppy giggles.
I nod in agreement. “Remember that freak storm when we were in the desert? Our tent literally floated away.”
Now her giggle is a full-blown laugh, complete with that beloved snort. “You were chasing after it, yelling at it, as if it would listen to you and obey your commands to cease and desist.”
“Meanwhile, you were atop this garbage can, yelling at the storm gods to cooperate.”
Poppy holds up her glass, sending me a smirk. “Hey, the storm stopped five minutes later. I’m just saying, I know a guy.” Her smile fades, replaced with a wistful longing. “I didn’t think that you’d remember.”
“I remember everything. I’ll be right back.” I dash upstairs, pulling a shoe box from under the head of my bed. When I return, I’m greeted with confused glances from both women. “Here. You do the honors, Poppy.”
She lifts the lid, her eyes glazing over. It’s full of pictures from our time together, a box of memories that I could never part with, no matter how many years passed. She pulls out a handful of photos, flipping through them. “Look at us. We were so young.”
My mother peers over her shoulder, chuckling. “He was skinny as a rail. And that hair, Dylan.”
“Careful there, Mom. Poppy liked my hair.” I top off my drink, scooting next to Poppy to examine the contents of the box.
“I did,” Poppy concedes, her finger tracing along a photo of us embracing outside a national park. “But then again, I also thought a blue pixie and Birkenstocks was cutting edge fashion.”
Chuckling, I drop a kiss to the top of her head. “I definitely prefer your current look.”
“I think you both look better now. But, what do I know?” My mother reaches into the box, pulling out a piece of paper that is worn and faded. “What’s this?”
Poppy takes the paper, a single tear rolling down her face. “It’s a letter I wrote to Dylan after a massive fight. It was the first time I admitted how important he was to me.” Her hands turn the paper over, examining the creases. “How many times did you read this?”
“Whenever I was missing you. So, more times than I can count. Hundreds. Maybe more.”
She puts the paper back into the box, dashing from the room. I exchange a worried glance with my mother. “See, Mom? I told you, she’s a free spirit. I speak about anything too profound and she panics.”
“Or not,” my mother murmurs, as Poppy returns with her purse in hand.
Wonderful. Is she going to demand to leave now?
“What are you doing, Poppy?” I ask, not sure I want to hear the answer.
Pulling out an equally faded piece of paper, she places it on the kitchen island and my heart stops.
“It’s the poem I wrote you.”
She nods, her eyes bright with tears. “I read it whenever I was missing you. More times than I can count.”
My mother chuckles, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Goodnight, you two. I told you, destiny believes in you.”
I wait for her to leave the room before pulling Poppy to me, my hands stroking along her waist and hips. “I missed you so much, Sunshine.”
Her hands cup my face, tracing lightly along my jaw. “I missed you, D.”
“So, what are we going to do about it?”
Chapter 11
Poppy
My brows raise at his direct question. “What do you have in mind?”
His hands tighten around my hips, those talented fingers moving ever so lightly across my body. “I want to spend time with you. Alone.”
I can’t say I’m surprised, or disappointed by his words. The heat level between the two of us has been rising for weeks, and we’ll both implode if the fire isn’t given free rein.
It’s funny. Earlier this evening, I decided to halt any further romantic inclinations between me and Dylan. I knew it would go nowhere, even if it promised to be the hottest sex in a decade. But now, after that maniac cornered me and Dylan threw him off, protecting me while risking himself, I’ve changed my mind.
Life is short, and all we have is this moment. Perhaps my free-spirited ideals of old aren’t such a bad idea, after all.
That, and my body is buzzing from even the slightest touch.
I tap my finger to my chin, as if considering his offer. Hey, he may be Yuletide’s hottest commodity, but I plan to make the man work for it. “No yelling.”
Dylan gives a rueful shake of his head. “I’ve been a royal dick, haven’t I? No yelling. I promise.” With that he extends his hand, leading me down one of the many hallways in the home. “Welcome to my man cave.”
I gasp upon entering. For a man cave, it certainly is inviting. Thick rugs and pillows are scattered on the floor by the fire, inviting anyone in the vicinity to cuddle by its warmth. Likely, that’s exactly what Dylan does with his many girlfriends. I turn from the fire, willing that visual from my brain.
Be in the moment. That’s his rule, Poppy. If you want to be part of Dylan’s world, you need to play by those rules.
Dylan stokes the fire, patting the floor next to him. “Anything else?”
I hesitate to sit, instead directing my focus to the pictures hanging around the room. No animal heads or naked women on the walls. A definite plus. “No angry kisses.”
The smile that spreads across that man’s face. How does any woman stand a chance? “Deal, although I’m going to make a play for a different kind.”
I pivot toward him, my hands on my hips. “What makes you think I’ll give you any kind?”
“I may or may not have mistletoe planted everywhere. It is tradition.”
“Ah. Nothing like bribery,” I retort with a laugh.
Dylan is not dissuaded by my standoffish approach. The man has always loved a challenge. “Or the fact that I know every weak spot on your body.”
I chuckle, although my entire core flames at the idea of him touching me. “It’s been a decade.”
Now Dylan is on his feet, walking toward me like a hunter after his prey. “They haven’t changed.”
“You don’t remember them.”
With a grunt, he closes the distance between us, sinking to his knees in front of me. He doesn’t ask permission as he pulls apart the edges of my robe, exposing my lacy thong.
“Want to make a bet?” His hands slide up the backs of my thighs, palming my ass as his tongue flicks along my panty line, working his way up along my hip. That’s the thing about Dylan. He loved to tease me, driving my body to the point of implosion before backing me down and doing it all over again.
Thank God some things never change.
The feel of his beard against my sensitive skin is lighting me up like a 4th of July picnic, and Dylan chuckles when my hands drift down to his head, holding him in place.