Page 90 of Small Town, Big Storm

“I’m a mom, Storm,” she tells me dryly.

“I’m aware,” I return just as dryly.“But why does that mean you can’t wear the bikini?”

Preferably of the tiny red variety.

“My body’s not the same,” she says.“I know a lot of the women in your circle probably immediately bounce back from popping out a kid.But it wasn’t that easy for me, and I know I’m supposed to be all hip with the times and into body positivity—after all, it gave me the gift of Holly…” A sigh.“But…”

I come to a stop on the tiny stretch of beach, set the cooler and blanket on the ground.

But I don’t immediately release her.

And she doesn’t immediately hop down.

“But what?”I ask softly.

She’s quiet for a long time.

For long enough that the sounds of the river creep in—kids shouting, birds chirping, water splashing, wind rustling through the trees.

Then Poppy gives me a gift.

And it may be the best one I’ve ever received: her trust.

“Because there are parts of me I hate,” she whispers.“Parts of me that are broken and damaged and will never be the same again.”

Twenty-Four

Poppy

At first,I was talking about my stretch marks, about the loose skin that will never be the same again after carrying Holly all forty—plustwo—weeks.

But then somehow…

I was talking about me.

The me I am today.The me who lost Storm.Who lost Sully.

Who gained the world in Holly.

Storm shifts, slowly sliding me to the ground.I shiver as our bodies brush, as I feel all the coiled, fierce strength of him against me.

Then he’s turning and?—

Oh, no.

I saidwhat?

“This is beautiful,” I blurt, hurrying to the waterfront.“I’d forgotten this little cove existed.”I rush over to the blanket, snagging it from the top of the cooler.“Not that I could forget—” I clamp my lips shut before I bumble into talking about our night together, talking about what happened afterward.“It’s just such a hassle to get down to,” I finish in a rush, flicking the blanket out and spreading it on top of the sand.

The river is running fast today, meaning there isn’t a ton of room between the water and the edge of the blanket.

But there’s enough space for a picnic.

I turn for the cooler?—

“Pop,” he murmurs.

I bend, but he catches my shoulders, halting me in place.