The waitress arrives with our drinks, placing the orange juice, hot chocolate, and one coffee in front of me. “You ready to order?”
Rae blinks all the emotions away, then lifts her chin, her gaze clear as she looks at me for confirmation.
“Go ahead,” I tell her.
She grins. “He’ll have the crepes, extra strawberries with a side of hash browns, extra crispy. And I’ll have the eggs benedict, extra hollandaise sauce.”
The waitress turns her silent speculation to me, and I have to work to hold back my laughter as I nod. She gives a silent look of judgment, then spins around.
Rae shrugs. “Since you ordered for me, I figured I’d order for you.”
“Crepes?”
“Those are actually for me. That was just my perverse joke because I knew she’d expect them to be for me like she expected all these drinks were for you.”
I chuckle, entertained by the rationale behind her decision as I slide the hot chocolate and orange juice to her. “How’d you know I always order eggs benedict?”
“With extra hollandaise,” she tags on, straightening her silverware before her blue eyes flash to mine, playful with a touch of something that makes my heart pound in my chest, recognizing it without understanding it. “I’ve also paid attention.”
“You can stay in my room. I’ll take the couch.”
She shakes her head. “That would qualify as interrupting your routine.”
“If you want this to be the topic of our first fight, I’m cool with that.”
Her chin draws up. “I don’t understand why you’re being so stubborn about this. I can stay with friends and be safe and not make our relationship go from dating to living together.”
“Your stuff is all at our place. There are four of us living there, so you’ll never be alone. I have the most comfortable bed on the planet—a fact shared by no other than one Raegan Eileen Lawson. And because I can’t fucking sleep when you’re not there,” I tick the reasons off on my fingers, staring at her, daring her to challenge any of my points.
Her lips fall closed, and she blinks once. Twice. Three times, her response missing.
“Paxton’s still staying over at Candace’s. She lives alone, so it works. You can stay in his room, the living room, or my room. Your choice, Kerosene.”
“Are you going to stop calling me that?”
I grin, tucking my menu between the condiments and the window. “No. Are you ready to admit I won our first fight?”
“That wasn’t a fight.”
“Like I said, Everest.”
“I’m going to smother you in your sleep.”
“Hopefully with those fantastic breasts. That would be a great way to die.”
She shakes her head, pressing her lips together as she fights laughter.
“By the way, that was quite literally the hottest moment. I was ready to pull you back into the bathroom after you said that.”
“I was worried you were going to hit him.”
“Why did that make you worry? He deserved it.”
“Because you would get in trouble.”
“My dad’s a lawyer.”
She scoffs. “The guy was just trying to show off in front of his friends.”
“Maybe I was trying to show off for you?”
“You should try by ordering one of these smoothies. They look really good. I’d be totally impressed.”
“Totally impressed?”
That grin of hers flashes. “Strawberry-banana or wild berry. Your choice.”
“My bed. Decision made.”
35
Raegan
I stand in Poppy’s room, her full-length mirror a reminder of my own, except hers is surrounded in a thick black frame, the only accent color in her room.
“You look beautiful,” she says, standing beside me. My dress is a deep shade of amethyst with a sweetheart neckline, so long it brushes the floor. My nails are a nude tone, my eyes heavily shaded with eyeshadow and eyeliner that made me feel bold and beautiful when Poppy had applied it and has left me second-guessing everything since.
“I look really intense.”
Poppy clutches her stomach and throws her head back, belting out a laugh.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Only you would overthink this. You look gorgeous. Lincoln’s going to want to do it with you in the bathroom and the coat closet and every other room he can sneak you into.”
“What do I say if someone asks about my dad?”
Poppy’s smile slips fractionally as the question sinks in. “If someone asks about your dad, then they’re an asshole.”
“I don’t dispute that, but I feel like I need to be ready for this question. I mean, what if someone knows him or knows her.” I sigh. “She was young. It’s possible her parents could actually be there tonight. Can you imagine?” I told Poppy about having seen the girl a few weeks ago, a secret that still felt heavy, though significantly lighter after telling Lincoln. Admitting it to Poppy made it even lighter until the idea of telling any of my family members populated my thoughts, then it felt like an anvil.
She nods. “I doubt it. She might not even be from here. For all we know, she’s from some small town in Missouri.” Brighton has been silent about who she is, and I’ve dutifully ignored the news and haven’t heard anything from my dad. Maybe he knows I’m not ready to forgive him? Maybe he’s still trying to clean up his mess? Or maybe he just doesn’t care anymore now that he doesn’t have to hide anything?
I pull in a deep breath, the dress constricting around my waist and chest. “Hopefully, no one will say anything. They’ll probably just whisper behind my back.”
Poppy frowns. “Honestly, that sounds more likely to me, and in those cases, just ignore them. Focus on Lincoln and meeting Dr. Swanson.”
I nod, working to prepare myself for this public appearance that I’m selfishly making all about myself, when likely few will be paying attention to me. “You’re right.”
“Of course, I’m right. And, if anyone asks about your dad, just ignore them and find another glass of champagne.”
I laugh off her suggestion. “Do you have a handbag I can borrow? Black maybe? That’s something I didn’t even consider packing.”
Poppy nods, opening her closet, which is meticulously organized, going to the area where her handbags and purses are all neatly aligned. She returns a second later, a small black clutch with a leather bow on the front in her hand.
“Thank you.” I take it to her bed, where I open my purse to transfer the few items I’m going to need for the night.
“What is this?” Poppy grips a folded crane hooked on my wallet. “Rae?” Her eyes are wide with a silent accusation because, in Poppy’s eyes, omissions are lies, and this is another in the long line of my omissions from this fall.
“I didn’t want you to worry,” I tell her lamely.
“Does Lincoln know?”
I know better than to reach for the offending letter, knowing it will only make her react. “It was on my car Friday after class.”
“Raegan, whoever this is, he’s following you. He knows your schedule.”