Page 13 of Poppy Kisses (Return to Coal Haven #3)

Chapter Six

Poppy

I pulled up in front of Jensen’s house. It was move-in day. He was in the shop, but he’d told me to park as close to the garage door as possible. The small garage was apparently filled with Auggie’s bikes and toys, yard tools, and an old car that had belonged to Jensen’s dad.

My chest grew tight and breathing turned into a struggle. I was moving in with a man. I’d known Jensen most of my life, but in total, our years together were a small window. Add in our ages, and there wasn’t much history there.

At least there would be no massages.

The game had been close, my ego had waffled a little, but the kids had fun, and I had a date Saturday night.

Not a date. A bet I had to settle.

I got out just as Auggie ran out of the shop. “Hi, Poppy!”

“Hey, Auggie. Long time no see.” It’d been two days. I had stayed at Alder and Daisy’s a couple more nights so they could have their own night out. I’d gotten to know Daisy’s daughter, Laila, a lot better, especially since she was a little carbon copy of her mom.

I held my hand out for a fist bump.

He bumped knuckles. “Dad said I had to help you carry everything in.”

“Right on. I don’t have much.” All of my furniture was at my parents’ place in Billings. They joked that they would keep a portion of the garage empty to store their kids’ items when we moved. I wasn’t the first who had stashed belongings there.

Auggie grabbed my laptop bag. I hitched my duffel bag onto my back and extended the handle of my rolling suitcase. “Lead the way.”

He took me inside. I had been in the house when we’d had the gathering, but again, I was hit with the fresh-cut-wood-and-citrus scent of Jensen.

Home sweet home. For the next year and two months.

I followed him to a cove with three doors.

There was the bathroom I first saw Jensen shirtless in and a bedroom on each side.

He turned to the one with the open door.

A nice queen-size bed greeted me. A small closet was tucked in the corner and two dressers lined the wall on either side of it.

I’d get a nice view of the shop out the window.

I could stalk my future husband if I wanted to. Only I didn’t have to. I lived here now. Would I get used to referring to Jensen as my fiancé? My husband? I’d have to. I’d even changed my address at the post office. I’d get mail in Jensen’s mailbox. We were doing this.

It was for the house. For my job.

“Where do you want this?” Auggie asked, yanking me away from the mounting stress. I had the place to live. Now I could work on the steady and reliable employment.

“You can put it on the dresser to the left.”

He went to the one on the right.

“Your left is the other one,” I said gently.

He let out a frustrated noise. “I always get that mixed up.”

That was a pretty common challenge for dyslexics. “Has Debbie worked with you on ways to help?”

He shook his head and stuffed his toe into the floorboards. “My teacher always tells me to hold my thumb and finger out and whichever one makes an L is left.” He did it and squinted at his fingers. “Doesn’t help.”

Because he would be trying to figure out the way an L usually looked on top of determining right from left.

“That’s because you know your right from your left, but you get them mixed up sometimes.

There are some games we can play. Some people also wear a bracelet.

I knew this one girl who has a little mole on her right hand, and she’d use that to help her. ”

He studied his hands. “No moles.”

“Want me to ask Debbie?”

He ducked his head. “Yeah. I guess.”

The heavy resignation in his voice broke my heart. I lined my suitcase up by the wall and dropped my backpack on the bed. Then I perched on the edge. “Gets frustrating, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Nah. It’s better now. Debbie’s helped.”

“Good.” I stayed quiet. He’d talk if he wanted.

He glanced at the window. Jensen was walking across the drive, his long-legged swagger in his carpenter jeans enough to give me several fantasies.

“Kids used to ask why I can’t spell easy words,” Auggie said.

I tipped my head. I could probably guess which words. Any sight word, for one. Sometimes, the words that could be easily sounded out weren’t so easy for kids like Auggie. “That sucks.”

“Now I tell them, shut up. I’m dysplex-dysl...” He worked his jaw like he was straightening out his tongue. “Dyslexic. Teacher’s helper told me to quit saying shut up.”

I bit back a smile. Shut up was easier to say than dyslexic. “Did she also tell the other kids to quit asking you why you can’t spell?”

He shook his head.

“You should tell your dad so he can talk to your teacher. You shouldn’t tell others to shut up, and they shouldn’t make you feel bad.” Some was natural curiosity, but without education, the cycle would continue.

“Hey,” Jensen said from the doorway. His gaze fell on his son and concern grew in his eyes. “Everything okay?”

“Talking about spelling,” I said.

“Do you have trouble with right and left?” Auggie asked his dad.

“Sometimes,” he answered. “Not as much as when I was your age.”

Auggie nodded like he’d conducted an experiment and the results were as expected.

“Getting our girl settled in?” Jensen asked.

My insides went dangerously liquid at the casual our girl comment. “This is a nice room.”

“Wanna see mine?” Auggie asked. “I have a tool set like Dad’s.”

“His is plastic,” Jensen clarified.

“Absolutely, I want to see.” I followed them to tour the second level. I’d follow Jensen up twenty flights of stairs if I could have that butt flexing in front of me.

I stopped in the doorway. “Whoa.”

“Yeah,” Jensen said almost apologetically.

The floor of Auggie’s room wasn’t completely covered with toys and school papers but close. Pictures of horses and cowboys filled his walls. Cartoon cowboys covered the far wall. In a line across from his twin bed with the comforter full of horses and horseshoes were four pictures of horses.

Auggie pointed to the one on the farthest right. “That’s Midnight Reins, Mom’s favorite horse.”

“Favorite from when?” I had to moderate my tone.

It had seemed like Hassie had had a new favorite horse for each season.

Her parents bought and sold horses faster than I could learn their names.

She’d bragged about each new purchase and then had boasted about how much her parents had sold them for.

I’d heard her mom tell mine that her new car hadn’t cost as much as one of her barrel-racing geldings.

“Last year,” Auggie answered. “He won her eighty grand in one month.”

I gaped at Jensen and mouthed eighty grand?

His lips thinned, and he nodded. “She had a good year last year.”

Auggie dug in his dresser and withdrew a magazine.

“She sent me this.” He opened it to a full-page spread of a gorgeous, blue-eyed Hassie smiling at the camera with her pearl-white teeth.

A beige cowboy hat was on her head, with her long blonde hair streaming out behind her. The headline read “Barrel Sensation.”

“Wow. Okay.” I took the magazine, wishing I could close it and toss it in the trash. Even on paper, she was captivating. “I used to be friends with your mom.”

Auggie’s face lit up, and he adopted a toothy grin. “Were you best friends?”

I had to answer carefully. Jensen’s gaze weighed heavily on me, but he didn’t speak for me.

“Early on,” I said, finally. “We met in kindergarten and were inseparable.” Until she’d left me behind.

It wasn’t until fifth grade that I had noticed a change.

Our friendship wasn’t equal. It was her telling me how great she was.

“Then she got into horse shows and competing, and I moved to Billings.” I handed him the magazine.

I didn’t need to read about her accomplishments, not when I was marrying her ex-husband in order to open my business. “You must be proud of her.”

Auggie nodded. “She’s going to call soon.”

Jensen’s expression was stony. He swallowed and looked away.

“Thanks for showing me.” I meant it. I didn’t want to see Hassie, but Auggie could’ve had major issues with this arrangement. Yet he’d been cool. He was a good kid. I hoped for his sake, Hassie called him soon.

There was a bark outside. “I’m going to play with Luna.” He tossed the magazine into the drawer and didn’t bother closing it before he ran out.

Jensen propped his hands on his hips. “He’s not the neatest kid.”

“Are many ten-year-olds?”

He gave me a small smile. “I don’t have much experience with ten-year-olds.” His gaze strayed to the magazine. “His mother has even less.”

Ouch. If he was smitten with her, he at least realized that she put her career over their kid. “She’s doing well.”

“She dropped baggage so she can really fly,” he said bitterly. His smile turned empty. “It says so in the article.”

Outrage heated my cheeks. “What? And Auggie read it?”

“I was two days away from hoping he’d forgotten about that damn magazine so I could throw it out. Now I have to start the clock again.”

Sympathy rose up. For Jensen and his worry for his son. For Auggie. The familiar tug of frustration toward Hassie for only thinking of herself. “That’s gotta be hard.”

“Yeah. Especially when he keeps this room like a shrine to her.” He shook himself and scrubbed a hand down his face.

“Anyway, you get all settled? Sorry I wasn’t there to help you haul everything in.

” He spread his hands out. “I had to wash up. I didn’t want to risk getting stain on any of your stuff. ”

“I’m tougher than a little stain. So are my things.”

“Would’ve bothered you before, four-ten.”