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CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

LITERARY LESSONS

BOWIE

I didn’t expect to be this anxious, not over a date…even though it’s been way too long since I’ve done this. But as I pull up to Poppy’s place, my knuckles white on the steering wheel, I come face-to-face with the facts. I’m freaking nervous. I can’t believe I’m doing this or that we’re having a baby or that everything is about to change…

Whoa. I look at myself in the rearview mirror. One thing at a time.

I get out and knock on the door and Poppy opens it, looking hot as fuck in jeans and a soft-looking sweater, her long hair trailing over her breasts. My mouth goes dry.

“Hey,” she says, stepping out.

“You look beautiful,” I tell her.

“Oh.” She looks surprised. “Thank you. So do you.”

“Hmm,” I grumble but grin.

“Handsome, whatever,” she says, laughing.

We walk toward my car and I open the door for her.

“Very gentlemanly,” she says.

“Trying something new.”

She laughs, sliding into the seat. The sound eases something inside me. I’m not good at this—romance—but I can try. For her, I want to.

I drive to the end of Jupiter Lane and take a left, going into the mountains.

“Wow, it’s beautiful up here,” she says when we round the bend and see the lights of Silver Hills below. “I feel like I’m living in a storybook here…another little world. Don’t you?”

“It is a pretty little town,” I agree.

After the next bend, I pull into the parking lot of the Silver Hills Dinner Theatre. The lot is full and Poppy looks around, curious.

“I’ve wanted to come here but haven’t had a chance to yet. Fun! What are we seeing?”

I stop the car and glance at her. “Pride and Prejudice.”

Her eyes widen. “Did someone tell you that’s one of my favorite stories?”

My eyebrows lift. “No.”

“Have you ever read the book or seen the movie?”

I shake my head.

“Oh, you are in for a treat.” She laughs. “Get ready to see a glimpse of yourself, Darcy. ”

I give her a perplexed look and get out of the car, moving around to the other side to open her door. She’s more animated now and seems less nervous, but when I reach out and take her hand, she looks up at me and gulps.

“Is this okay?”

“Y-yes.” She trips on something and I steady her.

“You sure?” I ask, chuckling.

She groans. “I hate my feet right now.”

“I won’t let you fall.”

We step into the old theatre, the building lovingly maintained with creaky floors and velvet seats. The guys would give me such a hard time if they could see me right now. We look over the menu and place our orders and chat for a few minutes about how our days have been, when the lights dim. I pay close attention to Mr. Darcy, the proud, reserved asshole Poppy compared me to and give her a mock glare when he’s being particularly rude.

I guess I can relate to a guy who doesn’t like small talk.

About halfway through, Darcy makes his painfully awkward proposal and Elizabeth rejects him. The audience chuckles. I glance at Poppy, who’s watching with her chin propped on her hand, her smile wide. When Darcy storms off, looking wounded and superior at the same time, Poppy side-eyes me, biting her lip to keep from laughing. I growl and she laughs out loud.

I spend the majority of the second half watching Poppy instead of the play. She’s way more fun to watch.

Afterward, as we walk into the cool evening air, Poppy loops her arm through mine and I like that she made the first move to touch me.

“What did you think?” she asks.

“I don’t know whether to be offended or amused that you compared me to Darcy. The guy’s a bastard. ”

She giggles. “A little, yeah. He’s broody, hard to read, doesn’t like to make conversation just for the sake of it…sound familiar?”

“More like rude and standoffish.”

She raises an eyebrow and when we reach the car, I move closer so that she’s got her back against the door. I lean into her and hover over her mouth.

“You think I’m rude?”

“Not always.”

I sputter. “I just don’t dance for coffee unless I have to.”

She snorts. “Right. Darcy would’ve never agreed to that.” She stands on her tiptoes and kisses my cheek. “I guess you’re not as bad as Darcy.”

I give her a dry look. “High praise.”

Her hands hook around my neck and she grins. “And way better hair,” she whispers.

I decide then that I kind of love it when she teases me.

There’s a sudden hush, as every distant sound and worry falls away, and our lips slowly, softly meet. It’s featherlight and then deepens as our bodies melt into each other. I explore her sweet mouth, the lingering taste of strawberries from the dessert we shared, and kiss her until we’re both breathless.

“I bet Darcy didn’t kiss like that.” I open her car door and she sinks onto the seat, looking up at me with glazed eyes.

“No, he did not,” she says.

We talk about the play all the way to her house and then I walk her to her door. She hesitates and I don’t want her to feel like she has to invite me in. I give her a chaste kiss.

“Thanks for a great night,” I tell her.

“It was a lot of fun, Bowie,” she says shyly.

When I get home, I text her.

Darcy wouldn’t have told Elizabeth that kissing her has become his favorite thing in life. What a dumbass.

Poppy

Is there something you’d like to say, Bowie?

I grin. I love it when she’s sassy.

Kissing you has become my favorite thing in life. I’d like to do a lot more of it. Please. If you’re game.

Poppy

I’m game.

Night, Poppy.

Poppy

Night, Bowie.

The next day I call her during her lunch break.

“Hey!” she says, sounding surprised.

“Hey, you. How’s your day going?”

“It’s been a good one. How about yours?”

“Yeah, same here. Mrs. McGregor is bringing Becca to Briar Hill after school. I have a meeting with my agent.”

“Oh, okay.”

“But I wondered if you’d want to come over for dinner tonight.”

“Well, look at you, two nights in a row. I might start to get ideas,” she teases.

“I hope so,” I say. My cheeks get hot when I talk to her. It’s the dumbest thing. I feel like a kid, trying to impress a girl… the girl. I put my hand on the back of my neck and smile down at the floor.

“I guess I could come over for dinner,” she says.

“Anything I can do to make you certain?”

“Hmm. I like it when you say please .”

“Please, Poppy Keane, will you please come to my house for dinner tonight?”

“I’d love to.”

I laugh and she gasps.

“I just made Bowie Fox laugh…on the phone.”

“Shut up,” I mumble.

She laughs and I grin like a motherfucking cheesehead.

“What can I bring?”

“Just yourself.”

“That I can do.”

I’m in the kitchen talking to Mrs. McGregor about dinner, when Mom walks in.

“What’s going on?” she asks suspiciously. “Why are you all dressed up?”

I look at my button-down shirt and frown. “Is it too much? Poppy’s coming over for dinner.”

“Oh!” She brightens up, clapping her hands. “What are we making?” she asks Mrs. McGregor.

“ I was making my Bolognese,” Mrs. McGregor says.

Mom sniffs, looking Mrs. McGregor over. “Your Bolognese?”

“Well, an old neighbor’s recipe, but it’s an authentic sauce. ”

I look at the ceiling and count to five. “Was it a mistake to try to have a date over here tonight?”

Both women look contrite.

“Absolutely not,” Mrs. McGregor says.

“We’ll work together and then get out of your way,” Mom says, giving me a gentle nudge out the door. “Don’t worry about a thing.”