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CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

SO FAR GONE

POPPY

I do one last check in the mirror when I hear Bowie pull up. My hair is in two French braids that trail down my back. The weather has gotten a lot warmer and we’ll be outside all day at a charity event, so I want my hair out of my way.

The bell rings and I grab my tote. When I open the door, Becca stands at Bowie’s side, eyes going round.

“Your hair,” she breathes.

“You like it?” I smile and touch one of the braids.

“I love it,” she says. “I want it.”

My heart squeezes. She wants to match me. “Would you like me to braid your hair?” I ask.

She nods emphatically.

“Do we have time?” I ask Bowie.

He glances at his watch. “Yeah, we’ve got a few extra minutes,” he says. He leans down and kisses me, which makes Becca giggle. “You look extra cute today.”

I flush and close the door behind them. “Thank you,” I say, grinning at Becca.

“You my daddy’s girlfriend!” she sings. “And you get married like?—”

“Okay! Let’s get those braids started,” Bowie says.

I laugh and the tenderness in Bowie’s eyes when I glance at him knocks the breath from my lungs.

I place a chair for Becca in front of the mirror. She bounces while I comb her hair.

“Okay, time to sit still,” I say, smiling at her in the mirror.

She listens and watches as I start braiding her hair. I’m careful to not pull too hard and she sits patiently until I’m done.

Bowie snaps a picture of us when she stands up next to me.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Thank you,” Becca adds, her head bobbing.

Gah, my heart. Am I allowed to feel this strongly about this man? About his daughter? I’ve known for a while that what I’m feeling is big. The way he’s letting me in, the way he looks at me now—it all spills over in my chest until I can barely hold it in. I want to believe he feels the same, but doubts still whisper to me now and then. He hasn’t said he loves me, but I really hope he does .

Becca studies herself in the mirror and looks so proud. “I look like Poppy!” she cries.

I laugh, putting my arm around her shoulder. “You sure do.”

The charity event is held in Denver, and there’s an array of games out on the big grassy lawn. The crowd is buzzing, and I recognize a few reporters who’ve come to snap photos of Bowie Fox, NFL linebacker, here to raise money for Down Syndrome awareness.

Becca competes in several relays with other kids and Bowie and I stand on the sidelines, cheering her on. She does really well, and when she finishes, she beams like she’s just won gold. Bowie and I whoop and clap.

Later, I’m signed up for a series of games for the adults—a bean bag toss, a hula hoop challenge, and some kind of plastic bowling pins set up on the grass. I’m typically good with this kind of thing…unless I’m nervous…and I’m extra jittery today. Maybe it’s the crowd, or the cameras, or maybe it’s the way I caught Bowie looking at me earlier, like I hung the moon.

Whatever the reason, I’m a disaster. I toss a beanbag and somehow manage to hurl it three feet to the left of the target, hitting a reporter square in the jaw. I’m still not showing a ton , but I guess I still don’t know what to do with a pregnant belly because when I try the hula hoop, the hoop drops around my ankles and I trip, nearly going flying. If Bowie hadn’t closed the distance and saved the day, I wouldn’t have kept standing. Let’s not even talk about the bowling. I swing my arm back and manage to fling the ball behind me, sending a group of people scattering. I rush to grab the ball and when I bend over, I feel my leggings split down the center of my rear end. Thankfully I’m wearing black underwear, so I hope that it’s not noticeable to everyone watching .

I feel like a complete fool. My cheeks blaze and I resist the urge to run and hide behind the snack table.

But then I catch sight of Bowie.

He’s laughing. Hard. He has one hand braced on his knee, the other covering his mouth, and he’s laughing so hard, he can’t breathe. I’ve never seen him laugh like this—an uncontrollable belly laugh, tears glistening in the corners of his eyes. It’s so genuine and joyful that my embarrassment eases, and I soak in the accomplishment. I’m the one who made him laugh like this.

I grin, shrugging at him with mock helplessness, which just makes him laugh more.

I’d be a fool a thousand times over if it means coaxing this kind of laughter out of him.

When I finally give up on the games, I saunter over to him and he tugs me into a side-hug, his cheek pressing against my temple.

“That,” he says, his voice still unsteady with laughter, “was priceless.”

I pretend to pout. “Glad I could provide entertainment.”

“You do more than that,” he says, looking down at me. “You make everything brighter, Poppy.” His voice dips, and the serious note there makes my heart squeeze.

He hands me a sweatshirt that he must have gone to get out of the car when I was finishing up the last race.

“Here’s this if you need it, but I don’t mind the hole showing your underwear at all. Gives me something to look forward to…if you let me come over tonight, I’ll show you what I mean.”

I fan my face. “I’d be happy to see what you mean.”

Becca bounces over, grabbing our hands and pulling us toward the snack stand. As Becca and I eat our snacks, we watch Bowie sign footballs and get his picture taken with the fans who have come out to see him.

We take Becca home, exhausted from the sunshine and all the activity. She falls asleep as I’m reading her a story, and Bowie drives me home.

When we step inside, dusk is turning the windows golden. I’m so happy to have the longer, warmer days. I set down my bag, still grinning over what a mess I made of everything I tried. I’m about to ask Bowie if he wants something to drink, but then he’s there, behind me, so close that the heat of him chases a shiver down my spine.

His arms slip around my waist, and he fits perfectly against my back, his fingers splaying across the curve of my stomach. I sigh contentedly. I haven’t gotten used to this feeling, how right it feels every time he touches me.

“I love the way you’re showing,” he whispers.

I inhale softly, my hands coming up to rest over his.

“You look more beautiful than ever, Poppy.”

I tilt my head, closing my eyes when his lips find the side of my neck. My heart aches in the best way. He steps back just enough that his fingers dip to the waistband of my leggings. There’s playful tension in the air now, and I don’t need to see his face to imagine the wicked grin there.

He gives the material a tug, pausing just a moment before he abruptly tears it, the rest of the fabric ripping with a dramatic sound. I gasp, startled, but when I twist to look at him over my shoulder, he’s the picture of innocence…except for the gleam in his eyes.

“That hole has been tempting me all day,” he says.

I burst into laughter, my cheeks warm.

“If you still want me after the way I managed to make a complete fool of myself all day long, then…well, I don’t kn ow what that says about you,” I tease, reaching back to swat him.

He just catches my hand and presses a kiss to my knuckles.

“I do…want you. More and more all the time,” he says. “I blame you…for being so irresistible.”

I turn in his arms, sliding my arms up the broad planes of his chest. And I lean up and kiss him, too afraid that if I don’t, I’ll end up telling him I’m so far gone, so madly in love with him.