“Excuse me,” the man said.
Poppy looked up at the man, her dark eyes wide as if a strange man talking to her was uncommon and a little startling.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” the man said, offering a reassuring, friendly smile.
Poppy glanced at Killian, clearly confused by the man’s attention.
“It’s okay,” she said, smiling, albeit weakly. Killian couldn’t say why, but he was pleased to notice the dimple didn’t make an appearance for this guy.
“Can I help you?” she said, her voice polite but impersonal.
The man looked flustered then, as if he wasn’t really sure what he was doing either. Killian thought of sending him another mental nudge, but something stopped him.
“I—” The man gave her a pained smile. “I never just approach a woman like this. But I noticed you from where I was sitting over there.” He gestured to the sofa. “And I just had to come over and speak to you. And—and see if I could—I don’t know. Call you sometime.”
Poppy stared at him, something akin to shock on her face.
“I mean, if that’s okay,” the man said. “I’m really not some weirdo.”
Killian fought the urge to make a face. Like a weirdo would admit he was a weirdo. Then Killian narrowed a critical look at the guy. Was he a weirdo?
Suddenly he decided maybe this wasn’t the right guy for Poppy. After all, as far as he could see, the guy had no sense of humor at all. And intelligence, well, there wasn’t much sign of that either. And interesting was also right out the window with this one.
Then the man laughed nervously—a nasally twitter. Okay, if the great laugh wasn’t even there, what was the point?
But before he could send the man a thought to gracefully—and quickly—leave, Poppy answered him.
“I’m sorry,” she said, offering him a pained smile of her own. “I’m involved.” She nodded toward Killian.
The man glanced at Killian for the first time since approaching the table. Killian tilted his head, giving him a cool smile by way of greeting.
“Oh. I’m sorry,” the man said to Poppy, then looked back at Killian. “I’m sorry,” he repeated to Killian.
“No problem,” Killian said, finding it easy to go along with Poppy’s story. “She is a lovely woman.”
Killian saw Poppy look at him out of his peripheral vision, surprise in her brown eyes.
“Very lovely,” the man agreed.
Okay, enough was enough.
“Sorry to bother you.” the man bowed slightly.
The man headed back to the sofa and his paper.
Poppy watched him go, then shot Killian a puzzled, yet amused look. “That was strange.”
“You don’t get men asking you out?”
She laughed as if the very idea was ludicrous.
“No.” She chuckled again. Killian couldn’t help noticing her laugh. Lovely. Sweet. A sound he could hear over and over. You know, if he ever considered laughter. Which he didn’t. Well, you know, until she’d mentioned it.
The waitress arrived with their food, giving him something else to focus on. But not even food distracted him long.
He watched Poppy as she cut off a piece of her waffle with her fork, a small, secret smile still on her lips.
The man’s attention had really pleased her. But he couldn’t imagine she didn’t get noticed all the time. Although, that man probably wouldn’t have noticed her without Killian’s mental prompting.
He watched her as she picked up a raspberry and popped the small fruit into her mouth. A raspberry as ripe and red as her lips.
Killian stared at those lips. He couldn’t believe she wouldn’t get attention. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said she was lovely. She was.
Then he glanced over at the man. He watched Poppy over the top of his paper. There was still keen awareness in the man’s eyes. An awareness Killian found himself disliking. Very much.
Before he even realized it, a thought was fired from his head, sent out like a warning shot.
The man’s gaze moved from Poppy to him, and Killian found himself staring back. Unflinching. Unapologetic.
The man looked away. And Killian felt relief, mingled with a very real feeling of possessiveness. A feeling he refused to overanalyze as he returned his attention to his breakfast.
CHAPTER 14
Of course, by the end of breakfast, he had analyzed his feelings—to death. And he’d realized that he was clearly confusing possessiveness with concern. He could admit that he’d come to rather like Poppy, which made it harder to just pick any old guy for her.
He didn’t really care for concern as an emotion. Not his thing. But it was better than possessiveness. Possessiveness didn’t even make sense.
“How about this store?” Poppy asked, pointing to another shop in the strip mall where they’d just picked up his toiletries.
The drugstore she’d taken him to was fine. He could get a functional razor, toothbrush and deodorant anywhere. But clothing? From a place called …
Poppy smiled at him as he read the large sign over the glass storefront. “Why do I get the feeling that you’ve never set foot in this store before?”
“Probably because I never have.”
“Well, I figured this would be a good place for you to just pick up a few essentials. After all, your luggage is bound to be returned to you eventually.”
Leave it to her to be practical at all times.
He followed her into the store, realizing he had heard of this place—in television ads. Ads that used weird talking mannequins to sell their clothes. He was used to live models on runways selling him his clothing.
Ah well. When in Rome. Or Boston.
He picked up an orange-and-blue checked shirt, grimacing. Or in some cases, Hell on earth.
“How about this?” Poppy held up a faded brown T-shirt with a logo of a skull and wings across the front.
He must not have hidden his disdain, because she returned it to the pile, muttering, “Okay, maybe not,” under her breath.
He wandered over to a rack of button-down shirts, rifling through them until he found a few that weren’t too unpleasant. Next he went to a rack of jeans, also choosing a couple pairs of those. He wouldn’t need much—after all, he had to have this job done as quickly as possible.
“See. You found some things,” Poppy said, not hiding her self-satisfaction with her store choice.
“That remains to be seen,” he told her.
She rolled her eyes, the action more cute and impish than derisive.
“The dressing room is over there.” She pointed to the back corner of the store.
He headed that way, still not optimistic about this shopping trip. When he saw the employee working the fitting room, he felt even less sure.
“How many?” asked the young man, who looked as if he’d never met a hair dye he didn’t like. Or a piercing gun.
“Too many,” Killian muttered and the kid, clearly not very worried about the rules of his job, randomly plucked
