That was obvious too—at least for Emma. But Madison rolled her eyes.
“You think Connor Martin is more important than good grades?”
Now it was Daisy’s turn to roll her eyes. Honestly, didn’t these two know each other?
“We still need to find a place for him to stay,” Daisy said, raising her voice to get them back on track.
The table fell silent.
Then Daisy straightened. “What about Mrs. Maloney’s apartment?”
Madison leaned forward, her eyes glittering with excitement. “That’s perfect.”
The two girls turned to Emma, who didn’t appear nearly as thrilled about the idea. She crossed her arms as if she were cold. Her shoulders hunched. “I don’t know.”
“But it’s perfect,” Daisy said.
Old Mrs. Maloney went to Tampa, Florida, for six weeks every year, and Emma took care of her fat, cranky, one-eyed cat, ridiculously named Sweetness. Which meant she had a key to Mrs. Maloney’s place. And Mrs. Maloney had just left last week. That gave them plenty of time.
“I don’t have the key with me right now,” Emma said, giving them a “see-that-won’t-work” look.
“It’s on the key hook right by the front door in your apartment,” Daisy said.
Emma’s mom was even tidy with keys.
“They’re all asleep.”
“Exactly,” Madison said. “I’ll sneak in with you. If someone wakes up, just tell them you came back for …”
“Your teddy bear,” Daisy said. Emma still slept with a worn bear she’d had since birth.
Emma pulled a face at the mention of it, then reluctantly said, “My mom would never believe that. She knows I never forget Mr. Jellybelly.”
“We’ll think of something.” Madison stood and tugged on the sleeve of Emma’s fleece pajama top. Halfheartedly, Emma allowed herself to be pulled to her feet.
“Be quick,” Daisy said, once they were in the hall. “You know Poppy’s going to be full of questions.”
“So have you been living in the U.S. for long?” Poppy asked the man who sat beside her.
“I—I—no.” The Swedish stranger shook his head, clearly not sure of his answer.
Poppy glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel. Twenty minutes. Where were the girls? She’d attempted conversation with the man, but all his answers were vague, and she could see flashes of confusion in his amber eyes.
His muddled answers and looks could be due to the hit to his head, but she liked to think it was because he was Swedish and everything was just new to him here in Boston. That way she didn’t feel quite so bad about whacking him so hard.
And to be fair, the girls had been screaming, and Poppy was terrified out of her mind.
“Why were the girls screaming?” she asked suddenly.
“What?” More bewilderment clouded his eyes.
“The girls? They were screaming like crazy. Why would they do that, if they knew you?”
He shook his head, but before he could give Poppy an answer that likely wouldn’t make any sense anyway, the apartment door opened.
Poppy rose to greet the girls, anxious to have this all-around unnerving guy out of her house.
But only Daisy walked into the living room.
“Where are the other girls?” Poppy asked.
“Still at Madison’s.”
Poppy glanced at the man, who, even despite his confusion, managed to lounge on the couch like he owned the place. Then she asked Daisy in a hushed voice, “Is everything okay?”
Daisy nodded. “Madison’s mom is just annoyed that she forgot to leave the key for him. And she also got in trouble for texting—”
“Connor Martin,” they said in unison.
Poppy nodded. That sounded like Madison. That girl could be so boy crazy. Once upon a time, Poppy had been boy crazy too. Such a waste of thoughts and energy. Now she knew there were more important things in life than romance.
Things like her little sister and keeping her safe and fed and healthy—both physically and emotionally.
“Well, I’m glad you are more grounded than Madison,” she told her little sister. “No crazy antics to get the attention of a boy.”
Daisy’s eyes flicked toward Killian, then back to Poppy. She smiled. “No, no crazy antics for me.”
“So is Madison coming to get him?”
“No, I said I’d bring him down.”
Poppy frowned. She still didn’t like the idea of this guy alone with her little sister. Not that he’d shown any signs of anything—well, anything but confusion.
“Maybe I should walk with you,” Poppy said.
Daisy shook her head. “Nah. You know what I would like?”
Poppy tilted her head, still debating going along, but her sister must have taken it as a gesture to continue.
“I know it’s late and all, but I’d love some of your famous hot chocolate.”
Poppy didn’t answer.
“Please. We’ll only be ten minutes, and then the girls will all be back. Hot chocolate would be nice.”
The warm, milky beverage might be just the thing to calm everyone down after a wild night.
Poppy glanced at Killian, who still sat there, although now his eyes were closed, his head leaning back against the couch’s overstuffed cushion.
She was beginning to wonder if this poor guy did need medical attention.
“Okay. But only five minutes. Or else I’m coming to find you with the candlestick holder,” she said loud enough for Killian to hear too.
Daisy smiled. “Promise.” She turned to the man on the couch, then paused as if considering something. Then she said, almost tentatively, “Um, Kill—ian?
The man opened his eyes, looking more confused than before, if that were possible.
“I’m going to take you to where you’ll be staying.”
He frowned, but slowly unfolded himself from the couch. It was like watching a giant stand inside a miniature apartment that was decidedly feminine and delicate.
Poppy thought Daisy looked a little hesitant to leave with him now, and she started to say she would go along after all, but Daisy stopped her. She waved and promised five minutes again.
Poppy watched as tall, broad Killian followed petite, skinny Daisy from the room. A weird feeling tightened her chest, but she didn’t think it was dread. Or fear. It was more the sense that something was amiss.
“Five minutes,” she murmured to herself as she went into the kitchen to make cocoa.
Killian followed the girl in front of him, trying to make sense of what had been going on. But he couldn’t. He wasn’t even sure who he was, or how he got here.
Well, he knew his own name. Or at least he thought he did. When the tiny woman with the disheveled hair and baggy sweatshirt and even baggier flannel pants had asked his name, Killian O’Brien had popped into his head.
That could be from anywhere, though.
And he was Swedish? Now that he had no recollection of at all.
“I’m from Sweden?” he asked the girl.
She paused in her determined trek through the hallways of the building.
“Yeah,” she said, sounding no surer than he felt.
“So why am I here?”
The girl started to open her mouth to speak, then hushed voices from around the corner drew their attention in that direction.
Two more teens came into view.
“Did you get it?” asked the one he thought he’d heard … Poppy call Daisy.
A dark-haired girl dangled something in front of her triumphantly. A key.
