Atticus narrowed his eyes at his little cousin, unamused by her words. Had it been anyone else, minus Mama, he would have gotten up and walked away. He hated when people interfered in his life! He had a plan, most of which involved ensuring the rest of his family members were happy in their own right before he worried about his own. He would manage, one way or another, to carry on the Foxwood name and he certainly didn’t need help from anyone. While he understood where Poppy was coming from, she was certainly throwing a wrench into his life plans.
A sigh escaped him as he massaged his temple with his fingers. Brown hues closed as he found Poppy’s eyes searching him for answers he didn’t have. After another beat of silence, his eyes opened. “Of course you know me. But I’m afraid you don’t know what kind of woman deserves the Foxwood name.” Poppy knew him better probably than Basil did; they talked a lot, some superficial, some personal, although he'd never outwardly expressed his wishes for the kind of wife he'd imagined. Perhaps at some point Poppy had either realized it and decided for him, or at some point had misconstrued something he'd said. Atticus frowned then. “Well, perhaps not deserves. But more so, I don’t think you truly understand what kind of wife I want, because I’m not even sure myself.” Or what kind of woman he wanted to share a bed with, but he wasn’t going to voice that to his cousin. He had a list of things he didn’t want - he didn’t want to have to entertain her or be by her side constantly. She couldn’t be boring because that was dreadful and he might throw himself off a balcony before trying to converse with that forever.
And, most importantly, she had to love owls. Merlin would peek her eyes out if she didn’t love him, and Atticus wasn’t sure if he’d stop him.
With another sigh, the brunette picked up his cup of tea and took a long sip to gather his thoughts. When Poppy said she’d been upset, he hadn’t expected any of this: Basil or the Witch Weekly. What other secrets was she hiding, and how many was she prepared to spill today? “I do appreciate your efforts, and I promise I’ll meet them. Why don’t you tell me about them?” Maybe that would make them both feel better.
A sigh escaped him as he massaged his temple with his fingers. Brown hues closed as he found Poppy’s eyes searching him for answers he didn’t have. After another beat of silence, his eyes opened. “Of course you know me. But I’m afraid you don’t know what kind of woman deserves the Foxwood name.” Poppy knew him better probably than Basil did; they talked a lot, some superficial, some personal, although he'd never outwardly expressed his wishes for the kind of wife he'd imagined. Perhaps at some point Poppy had either realized it and decided for him, or at some point had misconstrued something he'd said. Atticus frowned then. “Well, perhaps not deserves. But more so, I don’t think you truly understand what kind of wife I want, because I’m not even sure myself.” Or what kind of woman he wanted to share a bed with, but he wasn’t going to voice that to his cousin. He had a list of things he didn’t want - he didn’t want to have to entertain her or be by her side constantly. She couldn’t be boring because that was dreadful and he might throw himself off a balcony before trying to converse with that forever.
And, most importantly, she had to love owls. Merlin would peek her eyes out if she didn’t love him, and Atticus wasn’t sure if he’d stop him.
With another sigh, the brunette picked up his cup of tea and took a long sip to gather his thoughts. When Poppy said she’d been upset, he hadn’t expected any of this: Basil or the Witch Weekly. What other secrets was she hiding, and how many was she prepared to spill today? “I do appreciate your efforts, and I promise I’ll meet them. Why don’t you tell me about them?” Maybe that would make them both feel better.
![[Image: cBAJGlb.png]](https://i.imgur.com/cBAJGlb.png)