Forever Starts Tonight: Poppy Wilder's book (Wilder Family) by Karla Sorensen

Author:Karla Sorensen [Sorensen, Karla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dutch Girl Publishing, LLC
Published: 2024-09-27T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

Popppy

When I was little, I told my dad that hurting people’s feelings made my stomach feel like it was flipped upside down. It was in fourth grade, and I invited a couple of friends for a sleepover. But there was a girl in my grade who heard about it, and I saw her crying on the playground the next day. The rest of the school day, I was sick to my stomach, that this perfectly nice little girl had her day ruined because of something I’d done, even if it was unintentional.

We had her over for a playdate a few weeks later, but I’d never really forget the look in her eyes when I saw her crying, never forgot what it did inside me knowing I’d caused it.

I had that same feeling sitting in the family room watching Dean dry the last of the dishes, even though my mom told him he didn’t need to help.

Resting my chin on my hand where it sat on the back of the couch, I thought about that girl in fourth grade. Whether she ever really forgave me. Or if she still thought of me as that girl who didn’t invite her for a sleepover.

The muscles in Dean’s back shifted when he set the last of the glasses into the cupboard to the right of the sink, and I tilted my head as I watched him move with ease in my mom’s kitchen.

“You’re quiet over there,” he said, still not facing me. “What’s on your mind, beautiful?”

The bridge of my nose burned before I could stop it—a bad sign for the upcoming conversation. Before I answered, I took a few deep breaths and willed it away.

“A lot of things,” I answered honestly.

Dean slung the towel over his shoulder and finally turned, leaning back against the counter while he looked across the room, gauging the expression on my face. Whatever he saw had him sighing deeply.

“I, uh, got a little carried away after dinner, didn’t I?” he asked sheepishly.

My smile was fleeting. “A little.”

Dean blew out a breath through puffed-out cheeks, then tossed the towel onto the counter and came to join me on the couch. He sat opposite me, easily pulling my feet toward his lap so he could dig his thumbs into the arches like I liked.

“That’s not why we need to talk,” I told him.

Dean was quiet, and I loved that he never rushed to say something, even in the quiet. He was thoughtful and good, and my heart ached that I couldn’t feel more for him. That the touch of his hands and the simple act of his nearness didn’t set me on fire.

“I feel like I’m losing you,” he said quietly. His eyes didn’t meet mine at first, and I watched him with a growing sense of understanding of how we’d ended up here. How, for months, we both settled into a comfortable rhythm in an uncomfortable situation.

Dean was driven and smart and kind, and he liked the fact that I wasn’t fawning over him.

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