October Kiss. Kristen Ethridge

unraveling the closeness she’d felt between them a moment ago.

      “How do you feel about big families? My mother loves them. That’s why I’m the middle of five boys. I’ve always wanted a big family, too. Five worked for my parents. I think it will work for me, too. What do you say?”

      Nothing. Poppy said nothing.

      This wasn’t zen.

      This was a zoo.

      “Um? Mike? Ah…you know what? Suddenly, I’m not that hungry.” Poppy stumbled over her words. She took one step back. Then two. “But maybe we could take a rain check?”

      As much as she’d meant what she’d said only moments before, she didn’t mean a word of what she was saying now. There was as much chance of her giving Mike a rain check as there was of a drought in Seattle.

      “Sure…yeah…absolutely. It’s supposed to rain next week.”

      Poppy disagreed. The forecast on any chance for romance with Mike was dry. High and dry.

      She couldn’t close the door behind her quickly enough. Poppy needed space—and a physical barrier—between her and Mike.

      That whole idea she’d had earlier about listening to Megan? Wrong. How did this stuff always happen to her?

      Adulting. Dating. Zen. Pfft. It was all for the birds. This day would go down in Poppy history as the worst ever. She shuffled her feet on the hardwood floor so that Megan would unquestionably know Poppy had returned and wasn’t going back outside.

      She wasn’t returning to Mike—or to the dating pool at all. Ever.

      “Ooh. You’re back already. Two minutes. That is a record, even for you.”

      Poppy decided to lay down the truth. “I may not know what I want, but I know what I don’t want.”

      The sound of gears shifting and tires squealing could be clearly heard out on the street.

      “What was that?” Megan turned her head and looked toward the front door.

      Poppy sat down on the tall stool at the counter with a laugh. “That was the sound of the last time I let you fix me up.”

      “His ex said he was a catch.”

      “Maybe there’s a reason she’s his ex.”

      Megan didn’t give in easily. “Or…maybe there’s a reason you don’t give anyone—or anything—a chance.”

      Poppy reached for the pitcher of water and poured herself a glass. After the last two-and-a-half minutes, she honestly could have used something stronger, but for now, water would have to do.

      Besides, water could wash away that snippy tone in her sister’s voice as well as anything could. “I give everything a chance.”

      Megan squinted her eyes, then glanced down as she transferred macaroni and cheese to a serving dish on the counter. “Really? How was the job at the dental office?”

      “Not—”

      “Not for you.”

      Poppy shrugged. She didn’t like where this was going. “I don’t like teeth.”

      “You know who that sounds like?” Megan lowered the boom.

      Totally unfair. Her sister was not playing by the rules. Poppy wasn’t going to take this lying down. She would sit up straight, here on this barstool, and defend herself.

      “Don’t say Mom.”

      “Did you read her last postcard?” Megan took a small paper rectangle with a glossy photo of a bear on the front from the fridge and handed it to Megan. “She’s in Maine on a hiking trip.”

      Gotcha, Poppy thought. She’d shut down this whole ridiculous comparison, stat. Megan didn’t even know what was really going on with their mom right now. She’d correct her older sister and that would be the end of it.

      “Oh! You’re two weeks behind. I just saw on her Facebook page that she met a bunch of tourists, and she’s joining them for a cruise.”

      “Exactly. She can’t even commit to a hike.”

      Wait. Where did Megan pull that arrow from? Her sister’s aim rang true. It pierced at Poppy’s heart.

      “Well I can commit,” Poppy said, lowering her voice slightly. “I just haven’t found the thing I’m really good at yet.”

      Megan wiped her hands on her apron. Poppy watched, feeling like Megan was wiping her hands clean of her flaky younger sister. The realization that she was twenty-eight and had no idea what she was good at—or what she should do with her life—hurt. She’d always been open to trying new things. But what if, instead of always being open to new ideas and new experiences, she should have been trying to buckle down and hone one particular craft or area of focus?

      She’d always thought of her flexibility as a strength. Clearly, it had become a liability.

      “Rob! Steve! Dinner’s ready, okay?” Megan called out to the boys, who were playing in the corner of the living room.

      Suddenly, the small Craftsman house filled with the sound of little brother struggling with big brother. It reminded Poppy of more than a few arguments she and Megan had once had.

      “Hey! No! It’s my sword,” Rob said.

      Steve lunged at the toy. “Give it back.”

      “Ugh. The dragon again.” Megan looked as over it as Poppy had felt when Mike had brought up his mother’s size-two wedding dress. And the spring wedding. And the five kids.

      So many options for why she dumped him. In fact, she could have used a fire-breathing dragon out there to drive home her point. Where were all the good dragons when you needed them? They were probably as fictional as the idea of a good man.

      Poppy grabbed a roll of aluminum foil as a grin overtook her face. She might not know how to handle weird dates or weird jobs or other weird attempts at adulting, but swords, dragons, and elementary schoolers? No sweat. “I’ve got this.”

      “Thanks, Poppy.”

      “Hey guys, what’s going on?”

      “But Aunt Poppy…Steve won’t give me his sword.” Rob explained the situation with conviction. Life was tough when your little brother dogged your every move.

      Steve didn’t care about his brother’s reasoning. “It’s not my fault you broke yours.”

      Poppy paused, then looked around the room with an exaggerated manner. “Do you guys hear that?”

      Instantly, the two boys paused. “Hear what?”

      “It’s the dragon. Breathing.” Now that she had their attention, she improvised more of the story. “While you two fight over that sword, he’s getting closer. Now, you know what’s more important than a sword when you’re defending yourself against a rogue dragon?”

      They were hooked. Poppy threw herself into selling this scenario to the boys with all the gusto of an Oscar-worthy performance.

      “No.”

      “A fireproof shield.”

      “Oh…” The boys were united in their understanding of what they needed to conquer the dragon.

      Calm had come to the kingdom. Poppy wanted to pat herself on the back, but the battle was not yet over.

      “Throw me that pillow.” Poppy caught the blue square with one hand and began to wrap it in a length of tinfoil. “Now, if that dragon breathes on you, you are toast. You’re worse than toast. You’re burnt toast.”

      Both of her nephews stared, wide-eyed. She could feel their appreciation for her story. After all of today’s craziness, it was a balm for her soul. Who knew that a fire-breathing