Poppy nodded her head. “Yep! Your second-favorite place.”
I thought of the cherry blossoms in bloom in the grove. I envisioned us sitting under our favorite tree. And, unlike me as it was, I sent a prayer that she would make it that long. Poppy had to see the trees in their full flower.
She simply had to hold on that long.
“I will,” Poppy suddenly whispered. I met her eyes and she squeezed my hand like she was hearing my silent plea. “I’ll see them. I’m determined.”
The silence stretched out between us. A lump lodged in my throat as I silently counted the months to when the trees would be in blossom. About four months.
No time at all.
Poppy’s hand had become rigid. When I searched her face, I saw the pain again. The pain silently telling me that she was hurting, because I was hurting.
Forcing the lump aside, I said, “Then you will. God knows not to stand in your way when you’re determined.”
And like a switch, her pain faded and pure happiness shone through.
I settled back in my seat, watching the world outside flash by in a blur. I was lost in my own thoughts when I heard, “Thank you.” It was a tiny sound, barely a fraction of a whisper. But I closed my eyes, feeling Poppy’s hand relax.
I didn’t respond. She wouldn’t want me to.
Another song began on the radio, and like nothing had even happened, Poppy’s soft voice filled the car, and it didn’t let up. For the remainder of the journey I held onto her hand as she sang.
Making sure I drank in every note.
When we arrived at the coast, the first thing I saw was the tall, white lighthouse sitting on the edge of the cliff. The day was warm, the cold snap seemed to have passed, and the sky was bright.
There was barely a cloud in the sky as the sun sat high, beaming its rays over the still water. Poppy parked the car and cut the engine. “I agree, it’s my second-favorite place,” she said.
I nodded, watching the several families scattered around the soft sand. There were kids playing; seabirds circling, waiting for discarded food. Some adults were slumped against the dunes reading. Some were relaxing, eyes closed, lapping up the warmth.
“You remember coming here in the summer?” Poppy asked, joy lacing her soft voice.
“Ja,” I rasped.
She pointed underneath the pier. “And there, kiss seventy-five.” She turned to me and laughed at the memory. “We sneaked off from our families to stand under the pier, just so you could kiss me.” She touched her lips, her eyes unfocused, lost in thought. “You tasted of salt from the seawater,” she said. “Do you remember?”
“Ja,” I replied. “We were nine. You wore a yellow bathing suit.”
“Yes!” she said, through a giggle.
Poppy opened the door. She looked back, excitement on her face, and asked, “Are you ready?”
I got out of the car. The warm breeze blew my hair over my face. Taking a rubber band from my wrist, I pushed my hair back off my face into a loose bun, and walked to the trunk to help Poppy with whatever she’d brought.
When I glanced inside the large trunk, I saw she’d brought a picnic basket and another backpack. I had no idea what she had in that.
I reached forward to take everything from her when she tried to carry it all herself. She released them for me to hold, then she stopped, motionless.
Her stillness forced me to look up. I frowned, seeing her studying me. “What?” I asked.
“Rune,” she whispered and touched my face with her fingertips. She skirted them over my cheeks and along my forehead. Finally, a huge smile broke out on her lips. “I can see your face.”
Lifting onto her tiptoes, Poppy reached up and playfully tapped my hair, trapped in the bun. “I like this,” she declared. Poppy’s eyes tracked over my face one more time. Then she sighed. “Rune Erik Kristiansen, do you realize how utterly beautiful you are?”
I ducked my head. Hands ran down my chest. When I looked up, she added, “Do you realize how deeply I feel about you?”
I slowly shook my head, needing her to tell me. She placed my hand over her heart and her hand over mine. I felt its steady beat under my palm, the steady beat that got faster as my eyes locked on hers. “It’s like music,” she explained. “When I look at you, when you touch me, when I see your face … when we kiss, my heart plays a song. It sings that it needs you like I need air. It sings to me that I adore you. It sings that I’ve found its perfect missing part.”
“Poppymin,” I said softly, and she pressed a finger over my lips.