Page 47 of Billionaire's Desire
“What’s up?”
“My phone battery is dead. Guess I forgot to plug it in today.”
“That’s okay. You can describe her to me.”
Her eyes glow immediately.
“You really mean that?”
“Yes. I think it would do us some good to remember her tonight, what do you think?”
She settles the pillow on the headboard and sits upright. “Okay.”
I scoot over, letting our knees touch. “Okay, Maggie. What was she like?”
“She loved my baking, even the really bad batches. I could never throw away a burnt cookie with her around.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. And she always made these funny declarations whenever she was chomping on them. One time, I burnt cookies that I made after a German recipe. I was so frustrated, but she gave them all names, and apologized to them as she ate them. It was childish and funny, but it made me laugh. She always made me laugh.”
She takes another sip of her tea.
As Maggie continues to describe Poppy, my curiosity intensifies. I listen intently as she speaks, hoping to get a glimpse of the person who has been weighing on her so heavily.
“Poppy was.. .she was something else,” Maggie says, her voice softening. “She had this fiery spirit about her, you know? She never let anyone tell her what to do or how to live her life.”
I nod, trying to picture this person in my mind.
“And her hair,” Maggie continues. “It was this vibrant shade of red, like a flame. She always wore it long and wild, like she was defying anyone to try and tame her.”
I can almost see Poppy now, with her flaming hair and rebellious attitude, and for some reason, the image that comes to mind is Pen.
My brother’s Pen.
“But she had a softer side, too,” Maggie says, her voice growing wistful. “She loved music and poetry, and she had this laugh that was just infectious.”
I can hear the emotion in Maggie’s voice as she speaks, and it’s clear that Poppy meant a great deal to her. As she finishes her description, I can’t help but feel a sense of loss for someone I’ve never even met.
“She sounds amazing. I wish I had met her.”
She sighs wistfully. “Me too, Max. Me too.”
We sit in silence for a while, just basking in each other’s company.
“Can I tell you one more thing about her?”
“I want to hear all your stories, Maggie. Every single one of them.”
Her lip trembles with emotion. “Well, back on campus, she used to organize girls’ nights out.”
I lean in, ready to absorb any morsel of information she is willing to give.
This is a very different Maggie from the woman who ran out of the club tonight.
Eventually, Maggie’s voice starts to grow quieter and more slurred, and I realize that she’s starting to fall asleep. I watch her for a few moments, taking in the way her features soften as she drifts off.
Without even thinking, I stand up and walk over to the table to put my mug down, then I pick up hers and do the same.
