“Well, I wanted to see if I could find one of the trees, so I emailed the photographer, and he told me where he found them. So I decided to get a taxi and go there.”

“Holy shit, Holly, are you crazy? You shouldn’t be traipsing around in the woods alone! Why didn’t you ask me to go with you?”

I shrug and clasp my hands together. “I don’t know,” I admit, and I really don’t, other than I’m used to doing everything alone. “I didn’t even think about it. I just kinda went.”

Her face takes on a disapproving look, much like my mother’s. “You have to be careful.”

“I was very careful.” I decide not to tell her about the masked man jumping out of the tree. “Anyway, I walked for a little while on the path, and I found a tree, and it was beautifully decorated and magical, just like I knew it would be!”

She raises her eyebrows at me, and I can tell she will never appreciate my love of Christmas trees.

“And then there was a man by the tree, with a Santa hat on, singing Christmas songs.”

“Singing? In the woods? With a Santa hat on? Holly…” Her eyebrows rise, and she scratches her head. “Are you sure about all this?”

“Yes,” I insist. “Then Poppy came running, and he went right up to the guy with the hat, and they walked away together. I was literally just stunned.”

“I know the feeling,” she says, falling back onto the couch. “You do realize this sounds crazy? Like I legit think you may have hit your head and just stolen someone’s dog.”

“I did not. I’m totally serious.” My eyes burn with tears of frustration. I need her to believe me and not think I’m crazy.

She puts her hands up. “All right, don’t get upset. I’m sorry. It just sounds like a crazy coincidence, that’s all. Tell me what else happened.”

“Well…” I try to recall where I was in the story, and I wish she hadn’t interrupted me when she knows sometimes it’s hard for me to remember things when I’m talking. “Then I walked some more. And I found a little house in the woods, and Poppy was there—and so was the prince.”

“Holly, you have to stop calling him that. This is real life now.”

“But he’s real.”

She scratches her head and thinks for a moment. “Do you mean Tyler Grace?” she finally asks. “The guy who found you in the woods and killed that douchebag loser pedophile?”

“Yes. I think he’s had Poppy ever since.”

“Just…wow,” she says as I sit on the floor to play with Poppy. “I can’t believe you actually just…stumbled on him. And he’s the Forest Santa? That’s a lot of what-the-fuck going on with him.”

My guard rises. “Feather, he’s not what-the-fuck. He’s just very…special, I think.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” She checks her cell phone real quick and then puts it back down. “What else happened? Was he surprised to see you? Because I’m pretty sure he was thinking ‘what the fuck’ when he saw you.”

“He didn’t say a word,” I say quietly. I wish he had talked to me—acknowledged me in some way other than yawning and shrugging. He hurt my heart, and he probably doesn’t even know it.

“Did he see you?”

I roll a tennis ball across the floor and watch Poppy chase it happily then plop down with it in his mouth. “Yes…I talked to him. He just didn’t talk back.”

Sensing my sadness, she backs off a little and doesn’t shoot another sarcastic comment at me. “So what are you going to do now?” she asks.

I look up from Poppy. “What do you mean?”

“You can’t keep him, Holly. There’s a no-pet policy here.”

My heart slams in my chest, and the tug-toy I’m holding falls from my hand. “No-pet policy? What’s that?”

“It means we can’t have any cats or dogs. We can have fish tanks, but that’s it.”

“No,” I say, my hands shaking. “They have to let me keep him. This is my home, so it’s his home too.”

“I don’t think so, Holly. Rules are rules. Hang on, I’ll be right back.” I pull Poppy into my arms while she goes into her bedroom. I stroke his head, not remembering anyone ever saying we couldn’t have pets here. I’ve never seen any of the other patients or residents with a pet, but maybe it’s just because no one has one. That doesn’t mean I can’t keep Poppy, though.

“I won’t lose you again,” I whisper. “I won’t. I love you. It’s going to be okay.”

Feather returns with a small booklet in her hand. “It says right here, pets are not allowed to live on the premises. Patients and residents are permitted to have one ten-gallon fish tank. Certified therapy pets are permitted only on a special case-by-case basis.”

“Can’t Poppy be a therapy pet?”