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Ravage took a step toward the pictures. “Is that right?”
“Your motorcycle is next to her house.”
“It’s just a motorcycle, Poppy,” I corrected. “It’s not his.”
“But it has a red seat.”
“Lots of motorcycles have red seats.”
Ravage looked at the picture, then back at me with an odd expression. But he didn’t say a word. He stood there looking at me, and I wanted to crawl into a deep, dark hole and die. Thankfully, Poppy saved me by pointing to a chair next to me and announcing, “You can sit there.”
Ravage looked at her, then at the tiny kid chair she was pointing to. “You giving orders now?”
“No.”
“She’s absolutely giving an order,” I teased, relieved for the distraction.
“You can sit if you want,” Poppy corrected. “Or don’t.”
“Appreciate that.” He pulled the chair back and sat. “She always like this?”
“Pretty much.”
I smiled at Poppy, but she didn’t smile back. Instead, she gave Ravage a pout. “Like what?”
“Bossy.”
“I’m not Bossy.” Her pout faded into something more determined. “I’m six.”
Ravage laughed, deep and warm, and that made Poppy smile. It made me smile, too. I went over and gathered the last of the colored pencils as I asked him, “Was there a reason you stopped by today?”
“Yeah.” He raised a cup of coffee that I hadn’t even noticed he was holding and said, “I brought you some of that caramel-mocha shit you like.”
“You said a bad word.”
“My bad. Won’t happen again.”
I walked over and took the cup from his hand. “I can’t believe you remembered.”
“It’s just coffee.”
“You like her,” Poppy interrupted.
“Who?”
“Ms. Emery… You want her to be your girlfriend.”
I nearly dropped the pencil case in my hands. Ravage looked just as startled by her declaration, but he shook it off and said, “Sorry, kid, but she’s just a friend.”
Poppy looked at me, then back at him. “I don’t think so.”
I tried to hold it back, but my laugh came out before I could stop it. Ravage shook his head. “You’re a handful.”
“She is,” I agreed. “I love her.”
“I like her, too.”
“I’m glad, but you’re still weird.”
