The Last Waltz

Chapter 16

Poppy had always been an early riser, so when she awoke at five, Isaac was still fast asleep. Poppy didn't know what she expected, but maybe something like in romance books where they would awake wrapped in each other's arms because they were naturally drawn to each other. However, the reality was that both of them were squarely on their sides of the bed, their backs turned to each other.

It was very unromantic. She quietly got out of bed and grabbed her sketchbook as she headed to the window. She wanted to draw him like this. He was asleep and relaxed, his massive body half hidden by the covers.

As she started to draw, she frowned. If she had been more experienced in the ways of men, she probably would have known how to wake him up to get what she wanted, but as it stood now, she was worried about how he would be when he did wake up.

About an hour later, after Poppy had sketched her picture, gone to the restroom, dressed, and made some tea, he awoke and rolled over, finding her sitting in the window, looking out at the misty morning.

"Good morning, sleepy head," Poppy greeted as she sipped her tea.

He rubbed his eyes as he sat up, and Poppy enjoyed the play of muscles across his chest.

"How long have you been up?" his voice was rough with sleep.

"About an hour, I always was an earlier riser."

"That must be why you were out as soon as your head hit the pillow last night," he yawned, and Poppy's heart contracted at his relaxed mood. It was unexpected.

"Did I?" Poppy tried to remember falling asleep, but she couldn't, so it must be true. "I guess I have a clean conscience.

"You also snore," he flung his legs over the side of the bed and faced away from her. Poppy noticed a large scar that ran from his shoulder to his waist at an angle.

"I do not!" she denied hotly. "And if I do, it's very ungentlemanly of you to point it out."

"I never said I was a gentleman. Do you still want to go riding this morning?" He looked over his shoulder at her, and she quickly turned to look out the window.

"Sure, I have to defend your honor, don't I? Who knows what Siobhan would do if she got you out in the woods by yourself." Poppy sipped her tea and looked over at him with a sweet smile that was less than sincere.

"I'm capable of defending myself, thank you," he stood and stretched.

Poppy felt her nerves stung tight at his half-dressed state and his lack of concern about them sharing a bed. He looked well rested and as if he didn't have care. He could at least pretend that Poppy bothered him a little.

"Are you gay?" she blurted out as soon as she thought it.

He stilled. "No, why?"

Poppy shrugged. "You're forty-one, not married, and you don't want me or Siobhan. It just seems a little odd, that's all. Sharing a bed with me didn't bother you at all?"

"Oh, it bothered me, as did your little strip show last night," he burst out, turning to face her. "What in the world made you do that?"

"I sometimes get so wrapped up in what's next that I forget what's happening in the present. When I was a girl, and we were arriving somewhere, and I saw someone I knew, I would throw open the car door before the car even stopped. My parents kept the children's locks active until I was well into my teens. That's what happened last night. I knew in my gut it was Siobhan, and my pride didn't want her to see me in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt a few weeks after our marriage." She shook her head. "You may not want me, but she doesn't need to know that."