Page 154 of Romancing in Rot

Poppy rises on her toes and wraps her arms around his neck. His arms close around her, gentle and full, one big hand spreading carefully across her back.

My vision blurs.

Poppy leans near his ear, but her whisper is loud enough for me to hear. “Thank you for making my mom happy.”

Everything inside me goes still.

Leon’s eyes close. His arms tighten around her. His jaw works once, emotion moving through his face too fast for him to hide.

Yep.

My heart is melting.

Poppy pulls back first, cheeks pink, and gives him a very serious nod like they’ve completed important business. Leon nods back with the same solemnity, then taps two fingers over his heart.

Poppy smiles.

Leon turns toward me.

I smile at him through the sting in my eyes, because what else can I do? My daughter just gave him something she hasn’t handed out easily since Russ.

Trust.

Lyla clears her throat, gentler than usual. “We need to move.”

Leon nods without looking away from me.

Then he goes.

Poppy slips her hand into mine.

The recon team disappears down the street, weapons ready, moving toward the warehouses and whatever nightmare waits inside. Fear creeps in as they go, sharp and familiar, but it doesn’t swallow me whole, because Leon looks back once before they turn the corner. At me. At Poppy. Then he lifts two fingers to his heart again.

A promise.

Poppy leans into my side. I tuck my arm around her shoulders and stare at the empty street.

The woods are too quiet.

That’s the first thing that bothers me. Not the trees. Not the cold. Not the way every branch looks like it could be hiding something with teeth. I’m used to all that now. Apparently, surviving the apocalypse comes with the delightful side effect of turning every normal outdoor activity into a murder possibility.

But the quiet puts me on edge.

Poppy walks a few steps ahead of me with her small bow slung over one shoulder, a cloth bag swinging from her hand. She’s supposed to be looking for berries and nuts, but mostly she keeps stopping to inspect mushrooms I have already told her not to touch.

“What about this one?” she asks, crouching near a cluster of pale yellow caps growing beside a fallen log.

“No.”

“You didn’t even look.”

“I don’t trust anything in the fungal family.”

Poppy huffs, but she stands. “You’re very anti-mushroom.”

I stand with her, my knees popping as I go. “Some poisonous ones look almost exactly like edible ones unless you know the gills, spores, stems, and weird little death details.” I nudge her with my elbow. “I am anti-dying because we ate forest-floor mystery snacks.”

“That’s fair.”