Poppy didn’t know what, if anything, she expected from Kristoffer. Had she half-heartedly hoped he’d play into her suggestion to run away? Had she deep down expected him to rebuke her badly enough to crush this growing attachment? In the end perhaps it didn’t matter because he did neither, instead just letting her collapse into his chest. Poppy felt the overwhelming urge to blubber continue to rise, and when the gentleman did at last respond, it was a final nail in the coffin. Tears began to stream down the brunette’s cheeks, no longer caught in the fray of her eyelashes. They beaded against the fabric of his cloak before taking the time to soak his shoulder, and all the while— all Poppy could think was how badly she wanted this to be her reality. For him to be the one she could depend upon, call on, and potentially even escape to whenever she needed.
(And maybe it was already true. He certainly had no reason to be here, holding her, in the dark, frigid, pre-dawn, and in Paris of all places. But that wasn’t the reality that had flit through her mind as fingers curled tighter into his lapel.)
“I missed you too,” Poppy hear herself whisper so quietly she wasn’t even sure she meant for him to hear. “I don’t want to ever leave you again. I want—” Hazel-grey hues shut to the world and Poppy sucked in a shuddering breath. She wanted the impossible.
© Fox