Page 43 of The Birthday List (Maysen Jar 1)

“And are you going to let me hire another part-time worker so you don’t burn yourself out?”

“This is ridiculous.”

“Answer the question,” Molly pressed. “Yes or no? Are you going to let me hire another person?”

“Yes,” Poppy hissed.

What the hell? I was definitely missing something here, but before I could ask, Poppy threw her hands in the air and stormed back into the kitchen as Molly burst into laughter.

When she’d caught her breath, Molly wiped tears from the corners of her eyes and leaned a hip against the counter. “She has to say yes to everything today, and I’m taking advantage because it’s for her own good.”

“Ah.” I nodded. “Let me guess. Another birthday list item?”

Molly straightened. “She told you about the list?”

“Yeah. The last time I was here.” Shit. “Should I have kept that a secret?”

“No, but it is interesting.” Molly studied me for a long moment, then smiled. “I like you, Cole. Poppy does too, even if she won’t admit it. Just go easy, my friend. Go easy.”

“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”

She shrugged. “Takes too long.”

“Agreed.” I smiled, then slid off my stool and walked over to an empty table along the far wall.

The restaurant was busy tonight but not packed. Everyone seated had already gotten their meals so I sat and people-watched until Poppy came out of the kitchen with a tray of food and waters. She set down two steaming jelly jars filled with macaroni and cheese.

I inhaled the cheesy smell. “This smells great.”

“Thanks.” She handed me an unshaken jar of salad. “Shake that up and I’ll be right back.”

I did as I was told, shaking as she went behind the counter for plates and silverware. She came back and set the table, splitting the salad between us.

“I’ll share the salad but you better not take any of my pie. I’ve been promised dessert and I refuse to share.”

She giggled and did a mock salute. “Understood, Detective.”

We ate quietly, each of us diving into our salad and pasta. The gentle hum of other conversations filled the room until Poppy broke the silence. “Can I ask you something?”

I nodded as I swallowed my bite of macaroni. “Shoot.”

She waited a second before speaking softly. “Why did you stay that night? You sat with me for hours, even after my brother arrived.”

I blinked, surprised by the serious question, then set down my fork and leaned in closer. “I stayed because I didn’t want you to be alone. Your brother was on the phone and dealing with stuff. I just . . . I didn’t want you to be by yourself on that couch.”

She looked down at her plate, poking at her salad. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me. I was just doing my job.”

It was more than that, but my real motives were damn hard to explain. Delivering the news of James Maysen’s death had been fucking extreme, something I’d never done before. At the time, I’d chalked up my late-night vigil to the difficult situation. But now—now that I’d been around her again—I knew it wasn’t just the circumstances that had made me stay.

It was Poppy.

I hadn’t been able to leave her side until I’d known she was in good hands. So I’d sat by her side until she’d fallen asleep on the couch and her brother had taken my place.

“What made you ask?”

She shrugged and speared a bite of lettuce. “Just curious.”