The Last Waltz

Chapter 13

Poppy had tried to go back to drawing, but her heart wasn't in it after Siobhan visited her studio, so she packed her supplies, grabbed a snack, and headed to the folly. Perhaps some time in the fresh air would inspire her. One thing was for sure, she was going to add a hag to her story, and it was going to look a lot like Siobhan.

She placed a blanket on the forest floor and settled against the fallen log on which she had sat the last time she had visited when she had met Isaac for the first time. It was late August, so the weather was lovely, but she was a bit chilly in the shade of the dense tree growth, so she threw on a sweatshirt over her T-shirt to keep warm.

She reached for an apple and bit into it while her hand flew across the page, drawing the hag. She started to grin as the evil ugly face took shape under her pencil. Had Isaac honestly considered marrying Siobhan? What would his life be like if he had?

After a few minutes, she leaned back and looked at the folly as she considered that she didn't feel any different as a married woman and wondered if Isaac felt different as a married man. Should she feel different, or should he? Maybe if they were married in the true sense of the word, they would?

"A penny for them?" Isaac's voice said from behind her, startling her.

His sudden appearance made her jump.

"What, no ATV this time?" Poppy asked, moving over so he could join her on the blanket.

"No, I was working in my office in the stable block when I noticed you leaving. I had my suspicion that you were coming here. I thought you might still be upset about what happened with Siobhan."

Poppy shrugged and showed him the drawing. "I feel better now."

"Wow, if you drew her that way, I'm scared to ask how you drew me?"

"You are a goblin king," Poppy said as she flipped back in the book and found his drawing, showing it to him without fear.

"Huh, at least I'm a king," he ran his hand through his beard as he studied the drawing, and the movement caught Poppy's attention. What would those hands feel like on her skin?

He handed back the book and looked at the decrepit folly. "What are you going to do with it? I don't think it will be standing for much longer." He stretched his long legs before him and leaned back on the log as he looked at it.

How far they had come. He was no longer angry or hostile towards her and even admitted to being worried about her. It probably would have been easier if he had been angry with her. As it stood now, she fell a little bit more in love with him every day.

"Enjoy it while it lasts, I guess. Do you know its history?" Poppy handed him an apple, which he took, brushing her hand with his.

"No, Boyd might, though." He bit into the apple, and they crunched away silently for a few minutes.

"Tell me about yourself, Isaac. As your wife, I should know a little about you." Her shoulder brushed his as she readjusted herself.

"My parents died when I was twelve, and Boyd took me and my sister Molly in and raised us here. It was a fun place to grow up. I joined the military when my schooling was complete, spent some time overseas, and then came home. I realized I had a talent for emergency management and search and rescue in the military when our orders called for us to step in for natural and man-made disasters, so I started my own business."

"Did you go to college?" Poppy asked.

"No, never found the time, you?"

"Yes, I have an undergraduate degree in art from the Royal College of Art and a graduate degree in Literature from Oxford."