Poppy was not pleased with the response she received from Atticus. He was being dismissive and trying to change the subject. For a moment she debated letting him. It didn’t seem like he was willing to go much further, and from experience, Poppy knew any more pressing would only result in both their tempers, and her tears, flaring again. This was hardly the place to illicit such a response and so, reluctantly, Poppy supposed there was nothing more to be gleaned by beating this horse into the ground. She would circle back in a few weeks, once the idea had settled in, and they would revisit the topic. Atticus Foxwood would not get away with dismissing her so easily. Pulling her hand back and taking a small sip from her now cold tea, Poppy settled the thing gently back in its saucer with a click. She tugged her wand free and subtly gave it a small wave to re-heat the cold pot before pouring herself another tasse. She didn’t have anything else pressing to unload upon Atticus at the moment; at least nothing she wanted to share with him. She was perfectly satisfied with sharing her more juvenile, giggling things with Beryl, June and Ida. “No," Poppy replied simply. “I think I’ve shared enough for one afternoon.”
As they settled into an easy silence, Poppy wondered what all could be filtering into Atticus’ mind. He was sometimes as simple and uncomplicated as the recipe for a befuddling potion but other times could be as tricky as extracting a tooth from a screeching, adolescent mandrake. He was so serene in that moment that it almost made Poppy nervous. “Tell me your thoughts,” she inquired, holding his gaze. “It makes me anxious on the rare occasion I feel we are not aligned.”
© Fox