Poppy woke up the next morning slowly, her eyes fluttering. She checked her watch as she yawned and stopped suddenly, her eyes wide. Gently, she untangled herself from Francis' arms, standing up and heading for the bathroom.
She quickly got into the shower, washing her hair rapidly before stepping out, throwing on her clothes, grabbing her purse and jacket from the bedroom, and heading for the door.
She stopped and poked her head in the room. “Hey, darling,” she said, crossing to kiss his forehead. “I’m sorry; I’m running late.”
She squeezed his hand before pulling away and heading through the door. A few moments later, the front door closed shut.
Her reading glasses on the tip of her nose, Poppy bit her lip as she ran through the run again. Her finger slipped and she growled in frustration, plucking the strings agitatedly. She took a deep breath and tried again, her brow furrowed into concentration.
She hit the high note, her brow raised in delight, before her head cocked and she placed the cello down gently, moving through the house. She noticed him and smiled, leaning against the doorframe. "Hey, Craw."
"I was," she said, coming over to him and taking his bag from him, giving him a kiss. "But I made some dinner, if you're interested."
"Just some soup," she said self-consciously, rubbing the back of her neck. "And some bread rolls. It's not very fancy."
