Pleasantly Popped: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (Love & Alliteration Book 3)

by Holly Kerr

  Her eyes are still closed and I take one look at her face and realize what I’ve done.

  “Oh, god, I’m so sorry.”

  Ruthie’s eyes flash open with a furious expression. “You’re sorry?”

  “I shouldn’t have—I’m sorry.” All I can think of is that she’s with someone else and I hate myself for breaking my most hard-and-fast rule.

  Ruthie gives a angry shake of her head and shoves away from me, stalking through the crowd without another word.

  I look around to see a good number of the partygoers are watching, including M.K. with a worried expression. I give her a rueful smile and, like a drone on auto-follow, I push through the rest of the laughing, way too happy crowd in chase of Ruthie. I find her in the kitchen, with her back to the door.

  “Ruthie,” I begin and she swirls around in flash of pink. She has a plastic glass in her hand and before I have a split second to consider moving, she throws it at me.

  Not just the liquid, but the whole cup. It hits me in the chest, with enough wine in it to soak my shirt. “Again?” I groan, plucking at my wet sweater. At least this time it wasn’t red wine.

  “You said you’re sorry you kissed me!” she cries.

  “Because I am!”

  “Why did you do it then?”

  “Because…everyone else was doing it.”

  As soon as I see her face, I know it’s the stupidest thing ever to say. Ruthie cocks her head with an expression of pure contempt.

  “Helpful hint?” she asks scornfully. “Never put any of this in your movie unless you want it to crash and burn. Because you’ve just crashed and burned.”

  Then she’s gone.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ruthie

  I wake up early on January first.

  Some people can’t sleep after a night of drinking—I can’t sleep in. Whatever time I may stumble to bed after a party or a night out dancing, I’m up at the crack of dawn.

  Of course I need a nap later in the day, but I like to nap.

  When you’re the one hosting the party, it’s not always the best to wake up early because the cleanup inevitably falls to you. But this time, the party was at M.K. and Clay’s so I wake to find Flora’s house clean and spotless.

  Or at least as spotless as Flora can be.

  At least Dean knows what he’s doing. In the week or so since I’ve been staying with Flora, I’ve seen the differences Dean has made in her life and her house. Like the brand of coffee used and how he invariably gets it ready the night before, so all it takes is a press of the button in the morning to have the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting up the stairs to wake me.

  All good things.

  In fact, I haven’t found anything about Dean that I don’t like, and it’s no secret that I have been looking. I sat back when Flora was with Thomas, when I should have said more to make her see what a jerk he’d been.

  But so far, there’s been no warning signs about Dean. He makes her happy in ways I’ve never seen. Flora’s smile has been brighter, wider, and quicker to surface these days. Her laugh is loud and proud and never-ending, and her eyes have lost the shadows of sadness. Plus, she says her creativity with the flowers is at an all-time high.

  There’s nothing about Dean not to like, other than his choice of friends.

  Because I’m the first one up, it falls on me to let Cappie out, since he’s waiting by the door with an eager expression on his smushed-in face. If his legs were long enough to cross, he’d be doing it.

  “Let’s go,” I tell him, with a last look at the coffee maker waiting patiently for me. As I clip on his leash and head out, I don’t even think about how I probably should turn it on before I leave.

  The air is fresh, the early sun weak but bright, just like a new year should be. It may be the start of a new year—a new decade—but nothing has changed for me. Even with my—albeit slightly drunken— epiphany about my mother last night, I can’t get past my habits of making mistakes.

  Trev.

  I jumped in with both feet again, and after some sweet confidences and witty banter, I rang in the new year with my mouth against his. He might have been a good kisser—really good kisser—but what was he thinking apologizing for it?

  It was the last thing I wanted to hear.

  As I start down the street, letting Cappie take the lead, I resolutely push Trev out of my head because he has no business being there. It was a moment. I’ve kissed boys, men, even a woman before with a variety of responses, but no one has ever apologized for it.

  It’s not a good feeling.

  As with any not good feelings, I push it away.

  After Cappie takes his turn around the block, I head back to Flora’s and take a moment to admire the containers outside her door filled with fragrant greens. This year, she stuck tall white branches and threaded white lights through them, adding a string of dried blueberries around the boxwood and cedar boughs.

  Thriller, filler, and spiller. I smile tightly to myself, remembering the lessons Dad gave me during my times at the nursery.

  I like working with plants; creating and cultivating. I even like the feel of dirt in my hands. But with Flora showing so much promise at such an early age, there was little I could do to catch up.

  At least according to my mother.

  No thinking of her this morning either.

  After I unclip his leash, Cappie heads straight to his water dish, even though he kept his nose buried in the new snow during the walk. All I want to do now is bury my own nose in a huge cup of coffee.

  But when I reach around to turn it on, I find that Dean didn’t work his magic last night. The pot still has the dregs of yesterday’s coffee, with the grounds still in the filter.

  I hate making my own coffee.

  I stand in the quiet kitchen, the lack of sleep weighing heavily on my shoulders. It’ll take at least fifteen minutes for coffee to be ready. Patience is not one of my virtues.

  Still wearing only my fuzzy pajama pants, my hair in a messy topknot, I grab the keys to Flora’s SUV from the hook on the wall and my coat from the back of the couch where I threw it last night. “Want to go for a drive, Cap?” I ask, heading back to the door.

  Technically, I’m not supposed to drive. I have a learner’s permit, and legally, I need to be with another licensed driver to operate a motor vehicle. But it’s never really stopped me from driving short distances, like the few blocks to M.K.’s patisserie and her really good coffee.

  Flora started teaching me to drive when I had been thirteen, letting me loose along the back roads and fields of Niagara-on-the-Lake. I’ve driven tractors and other farm equipment, thanks to a farmer’s son I once dated, and even had a few flying lessons. I’m a good driver, but over the years, I’ve never gone the extra step to get my license. Flora had promised to take me for my driver’s test seven years ago, but after Thomas came into her life, doing things for her niece had been pushed to the back burner.

  Yet another reason I can’t stand the guy.

  Back outside, Cappie trots to where Flora’s car is parked. I boost him into the passenger seat and let myself into the driver’s seat. “You’re my licensed driver this morning,” I say to Cappie, whose body is vibrating with the excitement of a car ride. “Anything happens, it’s on you.”

  A few minutes and no incidences later, I pull up in front of Pain au Chocolate. I’m a good driver.

  I tie Cappie’s leash outside and leave him panting after a Labradoodle that’s approaching. “Play nice,” I instruct with a pat on his head before I push open the door.

  The smell inside the tiny patisserie is butter and sugar and chocolate and is as warm and welcoming as sinking into bed after a bad day. The sound of a coffee grinder makes me smile as the door swings shut behind me, leaving me trapped inside this heaven.

  “Aren’t we bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this morning,” Reuben calls from behind the counter. His own bushy beard masks most of his smile.

  “Did you have
any doubt?”

  “That I did, from the way I saw ye glugging the champagne last night.”

  “Champagne should never be glugged,” I admonish. “Especially not the kind Clay had last night.”

  “Sippin’ sweetly. Is that better?”

  “Much. I’m a sweet sipper.”

  “And what would you like to sip this morning? A beautiful one it is today.”

  “It is.” I narrow my eyes at Rueben’s cheerful expression, or as cheerful as I can make out from around his fair amount of facial hair. He always reminds me of Hagrid from Harry Potter. “I guess that’s why you didn’t stay late last night. You drew the short stick to open.”

  “I offered,” he says mildly. “And truth be told, I’m not much for parties. A little bit of me goes a long way.”

  “I disagree. It’s more like you can only handle a small dose of people at a time, especially some of Clay’s baseball friends.” I make a face, thinking of Trev.

  I think I’ve done well this morning not thinking of Trev.

  “That’s an interesting way of looking at it.”

  “You can thank my mother. She’s always saying I’m a lot to take in, but I turn it around to blame other people for not being able to handle me.”

  “Can your mam not handle you?”

  I smile archly. “Reuben, do you really think anyone can handle me?”

  He laughs, sounding a bit like Santa with his chuckle. “I don’t s’pose not. The least I can do is get you your morning coffee.”

  “I’d really appreciate that.” As he moves to the complicated machine, I turn at the tinkle of the bell over the door. I’m not sure how I have both a sinking feeling in my stomach and a burble of excitement both at the same time when I catch sight of Trev’s still perfect hair at the door.

  “Ruthie.” From the expression on Trev’s face, I’d say he has the same mix of emotions as I do.

  “Hello to you, too.” He’s bundled up in a black jacket with a scarf wrapped around the bottom of his face. As he unwraps it, my gaze drifts to his mouth, his soft lips that were pressed against mine only hours ago.

  So much for not thinking about Trev this morning.

  “Well, now.” Reuben says from behind the coffee machine. “It’s like this was an agreed-upon meeting place this morning.”

  “It wasn’t.” I shift my attention away from Trev and watch Reuben as he makes my coffee.

  “I was walking by and saw Cappie outside,” Trev’s cheeks are red from the cold. “I thought it was Dean or Flora.”

  “Nope. It’s me. Sorry to disappoint you,” I say flatly.

  “It’s not—you’re not.” When he looks at my unyielding face, he shakes his head. “Morning, Reuben.”

  “Trev. A Happy New Year to ye.”

  “Same to you. Can I get a large dark roast when you’re finished with Ruthie?”

  “He’ll be a while with me,” I say darkly. “You’ll have to wait.”

  “Is this about the kiss?” Trev says bluntly. “Because I apologized for that? What else did you want me to do about it?”

  Do it again, a little voice inside me says.

  Instead, I draw myself up to my full height, wishing I had on a pair of five-inch heels to tower over him. “Your apology for kissing me makes it seem like you fell on my mouth.”

  His eyes widen. “I didn’t fall. Did you want me to kiss you?”

  “Of course I didn’t want you to kiss me.” I might sound even more irritable because it’s clearly a big fat lie.

  “Well, I didn’t want to kiss you either.” His words send a crack along my heart. “So that’s done. Let’s move on.”

  “Moving on,” I say. I wish my hair was down so I could make a grand turn with a sweep of my hair.

  “Besides,” he adds. “You have a boyfriend. Do you remember Colton Pruitt?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I muse.

  “You forget about him?”

  “No, I forgot that I broke up with him. At least I forgot to tell you. Not that it’s any of your business.”

  “You broke up with him.” Trev’s voice is strangled and might possibly sound amazed but I’m not letting him off the hook so quickly.

  “I did. Not that there was much to break up with. You must remember that, since you were with Dean when he got the inside scoop about Colton’s cheating ways.”

  Reuben breaks the silence between us.

  “Your coffee.” Reuben sets down two of the stark white mugs M.K. uses. Not the to-go cups. “You must be hungry after last night. What kin I get you?”

  “I’ll take one of M.K.’s pains au chocolat,” Trev says eagerly. He has his wallet out and gently elbows me aside. “I’ll get yours.”

  “Don’t do me any favours.”

  “It’s the least I can do.” He smiles tightly.

  “I’m not hungry,” I mutter, realizing for the first time that I forgot my wallet and therefore have no way to pay for anything.

  “Are ye sure? Because I’ve got something I think you might be fond of.” Reuben waves his hand at the glass display case filled with luscious looking French pastries. “M.K.’s put some of Clay’s cupcakes in this week, so I thought I’d try my hand at making some as well. Just a sec, it’s in the back. Take your coffee and grab a table.”

  He disappears through the swinging door.

  “Does he mean both of us?” I ask, staring after Reuben.

  “I’m not standing around to drink this,” Trev say, grabbing his cup. “And we’d look stupid sitting at separate tables when the place is empty.”

  “I’ve never seen it this empty,” I say as I take my cup and reluctantly follow Trev like some Stepford wife following her husband. I can take my coffee to go; run back to Flora’s and drink it in peace, away from good kissers who really didn’t want to kiss me.

  But it kind of seemed like Trev really wanted to kiss me. That’s why I follow him to the table by the window.

  As he pulls out my chair and waits for me to sit, something inside me stutters. “Eight-thirty on New Year’s Day?” Trev asks, sitting down across from me. “Normal people are still sleeping.”

  I take my coat off and throw it on a nearby chair, arrange my coffee—anything to avoid the moment when I have to look at Trev. “I’m not normal.” I meet his gaze, unthawing slightly. His eyes are shadowed from lack of sleep.

  He looks like he got even less than I did.

  I don’t even know what time he left the party. After the kiss that shouldn’t have been a kiss, I refused to talk to him for the rest of the night. To give him credit, he tried a few times, but gave up after I threatened to throw more wine at him.

  He lifts his cup. “Never said you were. I think that’s what I like about you.”

  “Mm.” I inhale the aroma of the coffee before taking a sip, mulling over his words.

  “Are you going to throw that at me too?” he asks warily.

  “Why would I waste coffee on something like that?”

  “But wine is okay?”

  I set my cup carefully on the table. “Do you blame me?”

  “Kind of, yes.”

  I open my mouth to retort but Reuben bumps open the swinging door from the kitchen. I smell the warm pain au chocolat for Trev before I see it. And for me—

  “What’s that?” I ask eagerly, conflict with Trev forgotten as I rise up on my chair.

  “My creation.” Reuben sets the plates on the table with a flourish. He’s brought me a cupcake, but what excited me was the smell of butter and—

  “Popcorn!” I cry, seeing the artfully placed pieces of popcorn on top of the icing.

  Reuben beams. “I thought of you, as well as the Golden Globes coming up in a few weeks. I’m a bit of an awards show fan.”

  “What’s in it? It smells so good.” I bring the plate to my nose and breathe deep. “Smells like popcorn.”

  “That’s the surprise,” he confesses. “There’s a few of those Jelly Belly beans inside every one. The butter popcorn one
s.”

  “My favourite!”

  Trev rolls his eyes. “Of course.”

  “It helps with the flavour, along with the wee bit of caramel drizzle.”

  I hold the plate reverently. “It’s looks amazing, almost too good to eat.”

  “Well, that would be a waste of all my time, wouldn’t it?” At the tinkle of the bell, Reuben gives a shuffling nod and heads back to the counter.

  “You’re going to have to eat all of that, no matter what it tastes like,” Trev says under his breath.

  “Of course! And it’s going to taste amazing.” I catch a fingerful of icing and pop it in my mouth. “Want a bite before I devour it?” I ask, my finger still in my mouth.

  “I’ll watch,” Trev says, his gaze on my finger.

  “Your loss.” I pick up the cupcake and peel the wrapper off the bottom before carefully breaking off the bottom of the cupcake.

  “What are you doing?” Trev breathes.

  “To have the most optimum eating pleasure from a cupcake, you need to have a perfectly proportioned amount of cake and icing,” I explain as I set the bottom piece onto the popcorn. Crumbs fall as I gently press down. “It’s science.”

  “I teach science. It’s really not.” Trev laughs as I close my eyes and take a bite.

  “Mmm.” My eyes pop open mid-mouthful. “Jelly bean.”

  “Colton Pruitt,” Trev says suddenly.

  “He’s not in my cupcake.”

  Trev

  I choke back a chuckle at Ruthie’s words, spoken through a mouthful of cupcake. “Why did you break up with him?”

  “Why are you so interested?” She breaks off a corner of her cupcake and leans over the table to offer it to me. “You have to try this.”

  I dutifully open my mouth and Ruthie pops the piece of cake in, effectively cutting off any chance of answering her. Not that I’d give her the satisfaction of answering. Whatever attraction/interest/fascination I’ve had with Ruthie since I met her, I made clear last night when I kissed her.

  But then I apologized for doing so and…

  My eyes widen with surprise at the taste of the popcorn flavour of the cupcake. “It’s good.”