He wished she had been herself enough to finish that sentence. A less-broken Poppy would have carried that notion too far for her own good, even as a joke; she would be playful and continue to be so playful that Kris would have a hard time not believing her in it. She had a way of doing that to him. Impressing her thoughts and ideas and even her (impossible) good opinions of him aloud and incessantly, until her worldview became as good as the real one.
He depended on that Poppy, he realised. He couldn’t for the life of him say why, but it was as though he needed her.
So he was too taken aback by himself to protest to her flinging herself into his arms, pressing her face into the space between his shoulder and his neck. Sorry, she had the temerity to say. As if she owed him any apologies at all. What did he know about grief? His parents were gone. But he wasn’t sure that he had ever loved his parents enough to miss them.
“Don’t leave me like that again,” Kristoffer demanded in a not-so-authoritative mumble, his arms snaking tightly around her. “I missed you.”
Which he supposed meant he must –
He depended on that Poppy, he realised. He couldn’t for the life of him say why, but it was as though he needed her.
So he was too taken aback by himself to protest to her flinging herself into his arms, pressing her face into the space between his shoulder and his neck. Sorry, she had the temerity to say. As if she owed him any apologies at all. What did he know about grief? His parents were gone. But he wasn’t sure that he had ever loved his parents enough to miss them.
“Don’t leave me like that again,” Kristoffer demanded in a not-so-authoritative mumble, his arms snaking tightly around her. “I missed you.”
Which he supposed meant he must –
