Truth or Demon

CHAPTER 10

Poppy wasn’t surprised by the directness of Killian’s question. She’d known him less than twenty-four hours, but she already recognized that was just part of his personality. She was, however, a little startled by the almost flirty quality in his voice.

Finally, gathering her wits, she nodded. “Sure.”

Now that she better understood his reaction to the blonde in the food court, she felt her reaction was over the top. Besides, what difference did it make to her if this guy had turned out to be genuinely shallow?

“I was in a mood, I guess,” she said.

Somehow taking the blame seemed like the easiest way to apologize without saying too much.

He studied her for a moment, those amazing eyes of his roaming over her as if he was trying to read her mind. Then he simply nodded, although his gaze didn’t leave her.

She suppressed the shudder, the overwhelming sensation that zinged through her body as if electrical pulses coursed through her. Breaking their stare, she looked back to the cupboard, not wanting those feelings. After all, what could she possibly do with them?

“So, tacos?” she asked.

“If you let me help.”

She hesitated without looking at him. Working closely beside him—bad idea. But they’d formed a truce.

“Sure.”

She pulled down a yellow box containing the taco shells and spices. Then she went to the fridge and got out ground turkey as well as tomatoes and lettuce.

Killian started to rise from the table, but she stopped him. Space was key if she was going to keep her silly hormones in check.

“Stay put. You are going to be the chopper.”

She set the ground meat on the counter, then brought the veggies to him. He frowned, regarding the common produce with an almost wary expression. She smiled slightly, but she didn’t say anything as she left to grab a wooden cutting board and a knife. She placed them in front of him, waiting to see what he would do.

Almost hesitantly he reached for the lettuce. Peeling back the plastic, he just stared at it.

“Cut it in half, and then just slice it fine.”

He nodded, still regarding the vegetable like it was an alien life-form that might attack at any minute.

“Better get it before it gets you,” she said with a laugh, then headed back to the stove to prepare the meat. She could have showed him what to do, but she didn’t trust her body being that close to him.

After a minute, the knife began clacking against the cutting board, and she hoped it wasn’t the lettuce that won.

“Killian O’Brien,” she said, not looking at him as she spoke. “That doesn’t sound particularly Swedish.”

The cutting paused for just a second, then continued.

“No, it’s not. It’s Irish, actually.”

“So your father is Irish?”

Again the chopping paused.

“Yes. My father. He’s from, um, Dublin.”

Poppy reached under the counter for a frying pan, keeping herself busy as she talked. The tactic seemed to be working. Her wayward body was under control. Well, mostly.

“Where in Sweden did you grow up?” she asked.

The knife was silent again.

“Um, Stockholm.”

Poppy got the impression there was almost a question mark at the end of his response. But she figured she must have imagined it. After all, why would the man be uncertain about where he lived?

“Is it very different to live in the States?”

“It is,” he said, this time without hesitation.

“Do your parents still live there?”

“Yes.”

Poppy nodded as she plopped the turkey into the pan and reached for a mixing spoon to break it apart.

“I can imagine it would be a big adjustment. Especially since you didn’t want to leave.” She nearly groaned when she realized what she’d just said. She hadn’t meant to bring up anything about his reasons for leaving—and she definitely didn’t want to reveal she knew the reason.

He didn’t respond, and she glanced in his direction. He was turning a tomato over and over in his hand, a speculative look in his eyes. She wasn’t sure if that tentativeness was truly directed at the red veggie or if he was considering her words. Remembering what happened to make him leave.

“I’ve lived in Boston my whole life,” she said, deciding a shift in conversation might be the best thing.

She glanced at him again, and this time he was watching her.

“Did you always live in this apartment?”

She shook her head. “No, I got this place right after—Once Daisy moved in with me. I had a small apartment before that. But once Daisy came to live with me, I wanted a place that seemed more like a home.”

“How did your parents die?”

Again she shouldn’t have been surprised by Killian’s straightforwardness, but the question still gave her a moment’s pause.

“Maybe you’d rather not discuss it.”

“No, it’s fine.” More surprising than his directness was her desire to tell him about it. She never talked about that day. Not even to Daisy. “They were killed in a car accident. Hit head-on by a drunk driver.”

“That must have been devastating.”

She nodded, staring at the meat sizzling and popping in the pan but only vaguely aware of it. Absently, she stirred.

“It was. It was the defining moment of my life. Everything changed after that.”

“Tell me about it.”

She paused, the spoon forgotten in her hand as she looked at him. He did have an amazing ability to startle her. She returned her attention to her cooking, her thoughts swirling.

What was the point of talking about it? That had always been her philosophy. She’d never seen any point to lamenting what could have been.

But for some reason, a sudden longing to share pulled at her. She wanted to tell this man about how she’d felt that cold day almost five years ago. A day when her phone rang and changed her life forever.

“Poppy.”

She turned her gaze to him, expecting him to say she didn’t have to share. Not if she wasn’t ready or willing. But, instead, he just gazed back at her, his eyes golden and beautiful like a warm, flickering light. Drawing her in.

“I was still in grad school at BU—Boston University,” she heard herself saying. “I was in my last year, working on a doctorate in children’s literature as well as a minor in illustration. I had an apartment with …” With the love of her life, but she didn’t say that. “With my boyfriend at the time. He was a music major.”

Killian raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t understand what that response meant.

“I was actually at the library doing some research for my thesis when I received that call. Sitting among the stacks as some stranger’s voice told me I needed to come to Boston General. That my parents had been in an accident.”

Killian rose from the table then, coming over to her, stopping just in front of her. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t touch her, but his closeness seemed to urge her on.

“I rushed to the hospital, praying, just praying to God, to any god out there who would listen, that they were okay. When I got to the ICU, I was told that my father was pronounced dead at the scene. Killed on impact.

“My mother lived for four days. Four horrible days when I held it together, telling Daisy we would be okay. Telling myself we would be okay. Telling myself my mother would be fine. She’d survive. And never quite believing any of it.”

She pulled in a shuddering breath, all that pain coming back as crystal clear as if it had just happened again today.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low, his eyes searching hers.

Killian touched her then. Just a hand reaching out to capture hers. Her fingers burned, icy against the heat of his palm. Aching like warmth coming back into a frostbitten limb.

She snatched her hand away, not looking at him, staring down at her fingers instead.

She couldn’t deal with this. She didn’t want to feel this.

Pulling in a deep breath, she straightened. She braced herself, pushing the memories away. Pushing those emotions back, back to the recesses of her mind where they belonged. Where they couldn’t hurt her.

“Oh, my,” she said, her voice sounding far more calm and controlled then she would have imagined possible. “The meat is burning.”

She turned then, retrieving the spoon to tend the ground turkey, focusing all her thoughts on the task.

Killian watched Poppy for a moment. Man, if he thought he had the power to control thoughts and feelings, he had nothing on the slight woman in front of him.

He’d seen the anguish on her face. Pain that was so deep it cried out to him. And then, within the blink of an eye, she’d shoved the emotions away. No, not away, back inside, a wall coming up like some invisible shield keeping the world at bay and her feelings guarded deep inside.

He wouldn’t begin to call himself an expert on emotions. Hell, he wasn’t even a novice, but he could see that what Poppy was doing wasn’t good for her.

Pain always needed an outlet. When angered, you yelled. When injured, you screamed. When heartbroken, you cried.

Instinctively, he knew she’d never done those things.

“So did you get the lettuce done?” she said after she rescued the meat from becoming a charred mess.

He nodded, knowing she wasn’t going to talk about her past anymore. Not now anyway.

“Sort of,” he said, returning to the table. “You did want it to look like mush, right?”

She shot him an alarmed look, then saw his smile and realized that he was teasing. Still, she came over to inspect his work.

“Pretty good.”

He smiled wider, oddly pleased by her compliment.

She crossed back to the stove before she added, “It will still taste good—even as mush.”

She shot him a quick smile, then turned back to her cooking.

Killian remained watching her for a moment, then caught himself, returning to his work too. But he had to admit there was something about Poppy that intrigued him.

Maybe he was starting to see why Daisy had made this wish for her. Poppy did deserve some happiness. She deserved to let go of that pain inside her. To move on.

And he had to keep focused on finding her that. As quickly as possible.

“Hey,” a voice called from the other room, and Killian looked away from Poppy just as Daisy entered the kitchen. But not before Daisy noticed the direction of his gaze.

Poppy turned around to see her sister, and a fond smile curled her lips. A smile she’d never bestowed on him. A smile that revealed a small dimple in her left cheek and made her dark eyes glitter with warm affection.

“Hi. Killian and I were just making dinner.”

Daisy frowned, her gaze moving from her sister to him and back again. “That’s good.”

“Is Madison with you?”

“Um, no. Her mom is home.”

“She is?” Poppy shot Killian a surprised look, saying to him, “I thought she was working tonight?”

Killian opened his mouth to tell her some excuse. An excuse he hadn’t even formulated yet, but fortunately, Daisy answered for him.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you asked me about Emma.” She laughed, smacking a palm to her forehead. “I’m totally out of it from working on that project. Emma’s mother is home—and Madison went there to eat.”

Poppy nodded, clearly accepting her sister’s excuse. Apparently, Madison hopped from friend to friend’s on a regular basis.

“Well, we’re having tacos. And Killian is joining us since Ginger is at work.”

Daisy nodded, but when Poppy turned back to the stove, she narrowed a warning look toward him.

He frowned, not understanding what had irritated her.

From the other room, a song suddenly began to play. Killian recognized it as the rapid-fire refrain of REM’s “It’s the End of the World as We Know It.”

The eighties were making a resurgence in Hell too.

“Your phone,” Daisy said to her sister.

“I hear it.” Poppy turned down the heat under the frying pan and hurried from the room. Killian heard her answer; then her voice faded as she moved into another room.

“What are you doing?” Daisy asked.

Killian shook his head, confused. “I’m befriending your sister. Like you wanted.”

Daisy studied him for a moment. “Okay, that’s good. I just didn’t expect to find you back here today.”

“Well, as you so kindly pointed out to me, I have to stay in that horrible apartment until the wish is granted. So I’m pretty inspired to get this done.” And, of course, Vepar’s appearance had also spurred him on, but he wasn’t going to mention that.

“Okay,” Daisy said. “Good. Just remember you can’t decide you’re into my sister. I want her to have a human boyfriend.”

“Believe me, I’m not going to decide I’m into your sister.” He waited for the absolute ludicrousness of that idea to hit him, but it didn’t. At least, not with the certainty he thought it would.

No, he was here to matchmake … and not himself. At least, not for real.