Poppy shakes her head. “No more than before.”
I settle her on the leather. “Blanket? Pillow?”
“No thank you.” She glances around. “Maybe my phone?”
Grabbing her backpack, I pass it to her, noticing she still won’t meet my gaze. I sit on the edge of the couch and stick out my hand. “I guess we haven’t been formally introduced,” I say. “Gibson Hart.”
Biting her lip, Poppy shakes my hand. “Poppy Johnson.” She takes a deep breath. “Are you?—”
Nodding, I keep ahold of her hand. “I am. But I’m not that anymore.”
I expect her to ask a bunch of questions, but she doesn’t. Instead, her big, blue eyes search mine and I feel exposed in a way I never have.
A spark flares in my stomach, and lower. Poppy is beautiful and kind and I’m intrigued way beyond simple attraction. Back in the clearing, it was easy to chalk it up to the fact that I’ve been alone for a long time, but that has been by choice. There’s never been any shortage of interest, whether I was the frontman for Velvet Riot or whenever I head into Hollow Peak, but nothing ever made me want to put myself out there.
Something about Poppy whispers to me, which is crazy because we’ve just met.
Nothing about it makes sense, but I want her. My skin itches to be near her. My hands want to touch her. Her voice initiates something deep inside of me that previously only music has had the power to do.
I want her but I don’t want to scare her. I’m a stranger and she’s injured. She’s been abandoned by her friend and by the looks of the weather outside, she’s going to be trapped here for a couple of days at least.
I lean back, to put some distance between us. “Is there anyone you should call?”
Poppy blinks and spares a glance for her phone. “Yeah, I should probably call my friend.”
If she says she’s going to call the asshole who abandoned her, I don’t think I’ll be able to prevent myself from stealing her phone and tossing it out the window. “The guy you were hiking with?” My tone sounds aggressive, even to my ears.
Shaking her head, she looks away. “No, not that guy.”
The fire crackles and pops in the silence that follows her words. Poppy breathes a sigh and faces me. “Matt’s not—” she pauses. “He’s nothing, really.”
“Not your boyfriend?” I don’t really care how it sounds, I just want to know for sure.
“No.” She shrugs. “I guess we had a situationship, but it was never serious. Even today, I don’t really think it was a date.” Her nose wrinkles and I almost give in the urge to kiss it.
“I think…” Poppy points at the washroom. “Those records, in there. I think Matt knows who you are. I think he was looking for you and found your farm.”
Grim confirmation settles in my chest. The fence I can fix. I'll need to call about getting an extended system installed, something that makes it harder for someone to get close without me knowing.
That particular item has been on my list since my agent called three weeks ago to mention there'd been inquiries about my whereabouts, and I'd filed it away as something I'd deal with eventually. I should have dealt with it immediately.
I knew I was getting complacent. I started to believe that no one remembered me. I expected solitude.
What I didn't expect was her.
“Why would he be looking for me?” I ask.
Poppy toys with her phone, tapping the screen absentmindedly with her fingernail. “He’s a podcaster. He specializes in unsolved mysteries.”
“I’m an unsolved mystery?” I don’t know why I thought the fascination with me would die out when I was out of the spotlight. Maybe I’ll never escape.
“Well, Gibson Hart the frontman for Velvet Riot who disappeared a few years ago is an unsolved mystery. I’m not certain that Gibb the goat farmer is.” She gives me a soft smile that fades. “I think Matt cut your fence. On purpose." Her shoulders hunch as she continues. "He said he had a lead for his podcast. He came up here looking something to use. For a story." I hold his gaze. "I didn't know. He told me we were going for a hike, that it was beautiful and that I could use the exercise.”
I’m quiet for a moment. The fire in my chest shifts and settles. “What did you just say?”
Her eyes widen. “I didn’t know, I swear.”
"I know," I say. "Your boot prints don't match the ones near the fence. Your boots weren’t anywhere near the fence.”