Kristoffer’s response was even better than Poppy could have hoped for. She laughed her twinkly little laugh, this time making no effort whatsoever to cover her mouth, as she snickered at him nearly spitting his champagne. How ungentlemanly, she thought to herself in amusement. Then, with a small scoff and playful roll of her eyes, the brunette gave him a flourish. “My imitations are faultless,” she retorted. “And my coordination has proven quite perfect as well, sir! I’ve never once stepped on your toes in a dance but I can certainly start.” Then, with a playful little glimmer, Poppy took another sip of her champagne. She was in a good mood this evening. With the end of 1892 there was only hope and promise looming in 1893 and now that she’d found Kristoffer, there wasn’t much else Poppy needed to ring in the new year. “Can you believe it’s been a year already since that evening?” she asked, a hint of incredulity in her tone. Perhaps it was silly to bring the topic up, considering what all had transpired that evening, but Poppy couldn’t help herself. It was a marked date in her memory, for many reasons. “It feels like so much has changed, and yet really nothing at all,” the girl trilled. Her voice had taken a soft, affected little lilt as she considered.
A lot had certainly changed, but between them, very little (other than the growing, festering sentiment in her chest every time she saw him.) They’d managed to remain friends after all however, and that to Poppy was a resounding success to be celebrated. Sentimentality, then, colored her expression as she sighed a little wistfully to herself.
© Fox