Separate names with a comma.
"Around a year by May," he answered, tilting his head.
She laughed. "You're a trophy boyfriend."
Francis frowned. "That would be a bit odd for me."
"I'm a winner," she said, "cause I have you."
He was silent for a moment, his eyes thoughtful. "Don't mess with me about that, Poppy."
She couldn't hide a smile, and leaned to give him a quick kiss. "I love you too."
He squinted at her. "I'm being serious."
She raised an eyebrow, a playful frown on her face.
He raised his handm as if surrendering in a nonchalant way. "Don't play with me, Poppy."
She watched the door, then stood up and walked over to it, her gait uneven as she waited to the side with her arms crossed.
Francis frowned. "Nope."
She folded her legs stubbornly. "Goodbye."
He ran his hand through his hair with a slight frown. "Not that I know of. No."
"Go," she said, turning her head away and crossing her arms. "Seeing as you're too good for me."
He pursed his lips. "Baby names?"
She pulled away. "I am not a winner, therefore you can leave."
"You're always jumping ahead," Francis replied, raising an eyebrow.
She kissed him again, her lips soft. "No other time, though."
Francis tilted his head. "We decided May."
She grinned. "The only reason this loss is okay is because I get to kiss you."
