Page 78 of The Grump Next Door
“Why do you do that?” I ask.
She blinks up. “Do what?”
“Take care of everyone but yourself.”
Her fork stills halfway to her mouth. “I take care of myself.”
“When?”
She laughs once, short and breathy. “It’s been a busy week.”
“Why do I have a feeling it’s always a busy week with you?”
Her fork lowers to the plate. There’s a shift—the kind that changes the air. “Maybe because if I stop moving, I’ll have to think about—” She stops. “Nothing. Forget it.”
“Poppy.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. You’re stringing lights at midnight and forgetting to eat.”
“So? You’re feeding a stranger at midnight instead of sleeping.”
“You’re not a stranger.”
The words come out too fast. Too true.
She looks at me for a long second, then says quietly, “No. I guess I’m not.”
She pushes pasta around her plate, appetite fading. “This wedding… it’s important.”
“All weddings are important to you.” I mean it as an observation, not an accusation.
“This one’s different,” she says.
“Why?”
She meets my gaze. There’s something raw there—fear, maybe, or exhaustion. “Because if I mess this up…”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you.” My voice drops. “You’d die before letting Ivy down.”
Her mouth twitches. “That’s kind of the problem.”
I move closer, leaning on the counter across from her. Close enough to catch the faint scent of vanilla shampoo and stress. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing. I’m just… stressed. Normal wedding planner stuff.”
“Bullshit.”
She laughs—quick, brittle. “Can’t get anything past you.”
“Poppy.”
She exhales, pacing. “What do you want me to say? That I’m in over my head? That I’m one bad vendor call away from a complete breakdown? That I haven’t slept in three days becauseevery time I close my eyes, I see all the ways this could go wrong?”
