CHAPTER 37: CHAPTER 37: IRIS QUILL, I’M NOT YOUR AUNT

Iris Quill called from the bathroom.

Declan Hawthorne stretched his legs and walked over.

The house wasn’t very big; just two steps took him to the bathroom.

It was very tidily arranged.

He glanced down at the bathroom counter and saw only three toothbrushes and two toothbrush cups.

A pink toothbrush was placed alongside a Frog Prince children’s toothbrush.

Poppy Hale didn’t use a toothbrush cup, and Declan Hawthorne knew that.

She liked to cup water with her hands for brushing her teeth, simultaneously washing her hands and face, which saved a lot of time when she was in school.

There was no fourth toothbrush.

After using the bathroom, Iris Quill went to play with Florence Lynch.

Declan Hawthorne surveyed the house.

Though the living room was small, it should be well-lit during the day, with a few pots of flowers on the balcony, probably tended by Mrs. Hale, as there wasn’t a single fallen leaf on the ground.

There were clothes for three people hanging to dry, clearly women’s clothing.

There seemed to be no traces of a fourth person living in this house.

Except for the slippers he was wearing.

Footsteps echoed through the house.

Poppy Hale came out carrying a plate of fruit and looked up to see the man standing in her bedroom, holding something and examining it.

Why did he go into her room?

Mrs. Hale pretended not to see it, took the fruit plate from Poppy Hale’s hands, and carried it toward the two children.

She looked at this young man and thought he seemed nice.

Handsome, with a somewhat intimidating gaze, but considering her daughter mentioned he was their company leader, that was understandable.

She understood Poppy Hale.

Allowing someone upstairs was already different in itself.

Mrs. Hale’s greatest wish was to remain on earth a little longer, to see Poppy Hale start a family and find someone reliable to settle down with.

Help her raise the child a bit older and then solve the issues with Mr. Hale’s company.

That would leave no regrets.

Inside the room.

Poppy Hale hadn’t previously thought the house was that small.

Until he stepped in, and the entire space seemed to shrink, the air even became solidified. Poppy stood there, reminding him, "President Hawthorne, this is my room."

The man acted as if he hadn’t noticed, "How’s the project I assigned you earlier coming along?"

What he held was the proposal Poppy Hale had prepared to submit.

"Do you want to discuss work here, President Hawthorne?"

Declan Hawthorne closed the proposal, a faint smile playing on his lips.

He looked at her.

"Is it not suitable? Or do you think, perhaps, we should discuss something else here?"

Poppy Hale subconsciously turned around.

She wanted to see if Mrs. Hale had overheard what Declan was saying.

Thankfully, the children’s voices were loud, and Declan’s voice was subdued, so Mrs. Hale didn’t turn around.

She let out a sigh of relief.

Turning back, she found the man leisurely looking at her.

There was a hint of teasing introspection in his eyes.

Poppy Hale felt a bit awkward, wanting to find a topic and immediately asked him to leave.

"You’ve used the restroom; when are you leaving?"

Hearing this, Iris Quill poked her head out, "Aunt Poppy, can I sleep here tonight? Grandma agreed."

Poppy Hale wished she could find a hole to bury herself in.

"Iris Quill, I’m not your aunt, don’t call me that."

Iris Quill had heard from Heather Underwood that he’d have an aunt only after her uncle fell in love and got married.

It only counted if the other party was willing to be with her uncle.

Seeing Aunt Poppy’s reaction, Iris guessed she probably disliked her uncle for being too stern and was unwilling.

Iris Quill, small and precocious, sighed, but with his overweight lack of a neck, the head-shaking motion looked particularly comical.

"Uncle, you should be more gentle with Aunt Poppy, or she won’t like you. You should learn from me about this."

Poppy Hale almost laughed.

Kids these days, they’re so funny.

Declan Hawthorne’s gaze fell on Poppy Hale’s face; the room was dimly lit, and there was a hint of fatigue in her eyes.

This house was small, all the rooms combined weren’t as big as the living room in Declan’s apartment.

Yet, he laughed genuinely along with her.

"Learn from you about wetting pants?"

Iris Quill covered his face, indicating he wouldn’t play with his uncle anymore.

How annoying!

Mrs. Hale’s gaze traveled back and forth between the two of them but said nothing.

Just that look made Poppy Hale itch all over.

It seemed Mrs. Hale might have figured something out.

Iris Quill was truly tired, plus both children were unwell, and after two minutes of play, they went back to sleep with Mrs. Hale.

Poppy Hale hadn’t expected Mrs. Hale to really plan on letting Iris Quill stay.

"Mom, maybe it’s not a good idea?"

"It’s no big deal. It’s too much trouble to move such a young child; it’ll be easier to take both to school tomorrow. You two, don’t talk too late, and keep your voices down, so you don’t disturb the old man next door."

Mrs. Hale really didn’t mind.

Iris Quill was just over two years old, the same age as Florence Lynch, and the two kids sleeping over for one night was no big deal.

Looking after one or two wasn’t any different for her.

But if this little plump one’s uncle did have a chance with her daughter, watching a child would be the least of her worries.

Thinking of this, Mrs. Hale took the two children to their room.

She even closed her room door.

Poppy Hale was at a loss for words.

At this point, any explanation seemed a bit pale.

Declan Hawthorne pulled Poppy Hale’s wrist, closing her bedroom door.

He explained softly, "Your mom said it will disturb the neighbors."

Poppy Hale’s cheeks flushed with a sudden blush.

The light in her bedroom was a warm orange-yellow, casting a soft, ambiguous glow.

Declan Hawthorne’s hand clasped around her wrist, and Poppy Hale heard the laughter in his voice.

"Poppy Hale," he called her name, "you’re a liar."

Poppy Hale’s heart skipped a beat, looking at him sharply.

But she could only see an unreadable emotion on his handsome face.

His eyebrows were arched, shading his eyes as he looked down at her. Those unfamiliar with him might even think Declan was intimidating.

Poppy Hale’s heart suddenly raced.

Along with her pulse, it sped up, under the warmth of his fingers.

What had he found out?

Was it about the child?

Declan Hawthorne was very smart, Poppy knew that.

She dared not think further.

Declan’s hand didn’t release her wrist; instead, he stroked her arm deliberately, asking each word distinctly, "Say again, you love your husband?"

There was an undeniable determination in his words.

There was no trace of another man’s presence in this house.

Even in Poppy Hale’s wardrobe, there were no men’s clothes.

She had hurried out this morning, leaving the wardrobe open and forgot to close it.

Declan had casually closed it for her, seeing inside.

Not much clothing, with some empty spaces.

No men’s things.

Poppy Hale was at a loss for words.

For a moment, she felt as if the man before her saw through her completely.

She bit her lower lip.

The instinctive gesture left her lips red, like a rose blooming at midnight.

Her eyes grew misty.

Her voice trembled, stammering, "I, I love..."

The rest of her words were swallowed by the man’s cool breath.

A familiar kiss descended, silencing any possible declaration of love she might have voiced for another man.

As if, if he refused to hear, it wouldn’t exist.

The kiss left Poppy Hale nearly breathless.