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She almost told me I'm handsome. And I can't decide how I feel about that. I don't know if I should rub it in her face or let her pretend like it never happened.

"Let's take two separate cabs then," Valerie said as we walked out of the hotel and headed towards the street. "That way, we won't have to squeeze together in one."

"Sure. Then I guess Poppy and Josh should share a cab," Jamieson said.

"Wait, why?" Valerie frowned in confusion.

Poppy and I glanced at each other but she blinked away first, adjusting the strap of her purse on her shoulder.

"Well, they have to coordinate and plan everything, Valerie. Plus, we're the photographers, so we should probably discuss everything as well," Jamieson shrugged and then faced Poppy and me. "That's fine, right?"

I nodded once. "Of course." So then we stopped two separate cabs, Poppy and I got in one while Jamieson and Valerie took another one. As the cab started driving, I couldn't help but notice how unlike herself Poppy was being. I paused and then shifted a bit closer to her. "Embarrassed, are you?" I whispered.

She turned to look at me, a bit startled. "What?" She blinked in confusion.

"You're awfully quiet," I said, moving back to my seat.

"Am I? Hmm well, I think it's just the fact that I don't like speaking to you. You annoy me."

"Oh, is that so? Because I'm handsome?"

She scoffed and then let out a dry laugh. "I never said you were."

"You almost did," I argued.

"Yeah, but I didn't. And clearly, it's gotten to your head without it even happening."

I took in a breath, looking out the window. "Poppy Valentine thinks I'm handsome? Wow," I taunted.

"You dick," came her reply.

I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye, a smile tugging at my lips. I didn't say anything for the rest of the drive until we reached the museum where we got out after paying.

Both of us standing at the entrance, she cleared her throat and without looking at me, asked, "We should wait for Jamieson and um, Valerie, right?"

"Should we?" I questioned, glancing at her. "It's not like they photograph us," I mumbled under my breath.

"They left right after us, shouldn't they be here by now too?" Poppy huffed, holding up a hand to block out the sunlight.

Hesitating as I watched her, I released a breath and walked around her, taking a small step forward so that I blocked the sunlight.

Don't ask why, just don't.

She blinked in confusion while lowering her hand and then glanced up at me but I quickly looked away before her eyes met mine. "I guess we should go inside then. I'll uh, text Jamieson and tell him to find us inside once they get here," she said, taking her phone out of her purse. She sent a quick message and then put the phone back inside before nudging my arm gently. "Come on then. Let's go."

I fell into step behind her and once we bought the tickets, we were let in after being told that pictures are allowed but only without flash and no videos were permitted. "Do we have to look at all their collections and exhibits?" I asked as we made our way towards the antique collection.

"I guess not," she replied, glancing at me. "It would take too long if we do that. If we want to leave by one o'clock for lunch then we can skip some collections."

As we wandered around looking at all the pieces out for display, I came to the realization that I don't like museums. Or maybe just this one. Really though, it's just the process of walking around a place looking at the same things over and over again. I wasn't big on art. Sure, I respected it but if it were up to me, we wouldn't be here, we'd be doing something else today.

Looking at Poppy though, it was obvious that she enjoyed museums, galleries, anything of that sort. She was having so much fun strolling around here, looking at all the paintings and photographs and antiques. Eventually, she stopped in front of one painting and just stared at it for a while. "You don't like art a lot, do you?" she asked, glancing at me.

"I'm not the biggest fan, no. I understand creating it but this... feels like a bit of a waste of time," I admitted.

"Well, since you're here anyway, what do you think about all the pieces here?" She took a step back, away from the painting, and stopped once she stood beside me.

I shrugged, pocketing my hands. "Nothing. I'm looking at them but I don't feel anything if that's what you're asking."

"Not even this one?" she asked, nodding towards the one we stood before.

I read the plaque. The painting was titled 'Louisiana Bayou' and was made by Harold Rudolph. It was an oil painting of a setting sun behind trees with a lake reflecting the sunlight with a dimming blue sky right above the warm sunlight.

"That took four years to make," she said. The plaque read 1873 - 1877.

"Long process," I stated with a soft sigh.

She paused for a moment and glanced at me before facing ahead again. "You know, this used to be my Mom's favorite painting. I know this has nothing to do with you and I have no reason to tell you but people come to museums to talk. Usually, about things and feelings that art invokes in them. But," she sighed, folding her arms across her chest, "since you don't feel anything, I'll talk."

"Of course, you will," I replied.

She scoffed softly in response.

I looked at her out of the corner of my eye again. "Why did your Mom like this painting so much then?"

"She didn't have a real reason. But whenever I asked her, she always said it made her feel warm. Looking at the sunset, at the lake right there. My Mom really liked New Orleans. She'd come down here every few years with my Dad. They came here on their honeymoon since they met here too."

I watched her as she watched the painting. "Is that why you wanted to come to New Orleans?"

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "No, not really," she shook her head. "New Orleans has its own charm and allure to me, it's not all about my parents. I miss them but I can't dwell on them... What about you? Your parents?"

I didn't want to answer her, but no matter how hard I looked, I couldn't find a reason not to tell her.

I mean, she was telling me about her past, why shouldn't I do the same?

And surprisingly enough, talking to her about it didn't feel as wrong or strange as I half expected it to. Despite the fact that I've never told anybody about my past, telling her felt okay, it felt... almost right. "They're as good as dead to me," I told her.

"But they're not dead, are they? There's a huge difference."

I sighed, "No, they're not dead. I cut them off after college when I moved to New York. We don't get along. None of us do. My parents and me, Jenny and my parents, Jenny and me. None of us."

"Do you want to get along with any of them?" she questioned.

"For Blake's sake, I tolerate Jenny," I answered. "But I don't have any interest in reconciling with anybody."

"That makes sense. You seem like you're comfortable where you are. Are you?"

"Maybe. It's more just the fact that I don't have space for anybody in my life anymore."

She paused. "You don't have space or you don't want to create any?"

I glanced at her. "A little bit of both... Am I that easy to read?"

She laughed softly, "No. Not at all, not even close. You're a book that's sealed shut. I'm just guessing here."

"You're very good at guessing then," I mumbled.

"Mm, I don't know. Sometimes, I just feel like we're not so different."

"Excuse me? I'm offended."

She rolled her eyes, giving me a shove. After a long pause, she asked, "You don't miss them then? Your parents?"

I shook my head without even thinking about it. "Nope. You do, right?"

She hesitated, "I miss my mom, of course. And I miss my Dad too even though he's still here."

"Don't you see him often?"

"I do. Often enough, anyway. But things really changed in my whole family after my Mom died." She took in a shaky breath and fished out her phone, handing it to me. "Take a photograph of me, will you?"

"Sure, I'll take a photograph," I snickered as she walked over, turning her back to the painting and facing the camera. I took a step back and held up the phone, making sure I took a good angle. Looking past the phone and at her before looking at the screen again, I stared at her for a second.

She smiled widely with the dimple on her right cheek, only her right cheek since she only has one, showing. Dare I say it, she looked kind of... cute. With her perky ponytail, the dress, her stupidly annoying dimples, and smile, the genuine glimmer in her eyes, she looked adorable.

What is wrong with me? How can I say that?

"Click the picture," she whined.

I snapped out of my thoughts, turning my attention to the screen and counting down from three before I snapped the picture.

She skipped back over, taking the phone and looking at the picture excitedly. "Hey, you took a good one. Thanks. Okay, let's keep moving."

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