by Melody Grace
“Sorry,” he shrugged, trying not to smile. “Don’t worry, it’s only going to be another couple of days.”
“Couple of days?” Poppy’s voice went up an octave.
“Tomorrow,” he corrected, taking pity on her. He was used to roughing it—pitching a tent to sleep in the yard on some of his projects and living off the grid on vacation—but clearly, Poppy needed her creature comforts. “I promise, hot water will be back tomorrow. Hey, it’s not so bad,” he added. “Cold showers are good for the circulation. And it looks like you could use a little cooling off.”
Poppy grabbed her towel tighter. Her cheeks were flushed, and she was sexy as hell, her hair falling down around her bare shoulders. “What I could use is some peace and quiet to get my work done.”
“And I could use two weeks on a boat in the Caribbean,” Cooper drawled, knowing it would turn her pink cheeks even redder with rage. “But as the Stones said, we can’t always get what we want.”
He turned and left her in the bathroom before he was tempted to do something he’d regret. Like kiss the mouth that was spluttering insults behind him.
Now that would really heat things up around here.
6
Poppy decided it was better to take herself far away from Cooper and the construction site, before she picked up one of those hammers and did some damage to more than just the walls. She knew the hot water issue wasn’t a big deal—she wasn’t some kind of diva who couldn’t make it through the day without luxuriating in a bubble bath. No, it was the look on Cooper’s handsome face that made her blood boil: that infuriating smirk that got her riled up, until she was just about ready to explode.
Note to self: Cooper Nicholson was a hazard to her blood pressure. And her creativity. Because even once she’d braved the ice-cold shower, dressed, and thrown her laptop in her bag to head into town, Poppy still couldn’t get focused to write.
She took a sip of tea and let out a sigh. The coffee shop she’d seen yesterday was the perfect writing spot: a bright, modern café just off the town square, equipped with comfortable couches, cozy nooks, and plenty of outlets for her power cord. She’d been camped out there for most of the day, but how many words had she produced?
Exactly zero.
Well, two, if you counted “chapter one,” but Poppy knew that wasn’t going to cut it with her editor back home.
She looked around the room in search of inspiration. She’d already updated her author blog, checked twitter, and set up boards on Pinterest for all of her characters, so she was all out of time-wasting tactics. Unless she checked Facebook again—
No. Focus. She had everything riding on this book. She couldn’t let her readers down.
Which was the problem. Poppy had never suffered writer’s block before. She loved to write, and even on her worst days, she’d always managed to get words on the page. After all, it was only a first draft, and everyone knew first drafts were made for fixing. But somehow it felt different this time. This was the final book in the series, the ultimate happily-ever-after. She and her readers had spent years with these characters, watching them laugh, and cry, and fall in love, and she couldn’t bear the thought that anyone would close the book disappointed and wishing for more.
Not that there would be a book if she didn’t find a way to break this block and get writing. But every time she forced her hands to the keyboard and started typing, the same fears bubbled up in her chest.
What did she know about love?
It had never held her back before. Somehow, her own inexperienced heart never seemed to matter for the other books. She was writing something to believe in, a vision of the love she wanted for herself, as if by writing it down, making that dream real, she could somehow conjure it out of thin air. Even when she was dating Owen, that future vision of love remained, promising in the distance, helping fuel the last book she’d turned in, just the week before he’d proposed.
And she hadn’t written another word since.
It didn’t take a genius to realize the two were connected. The wrecked wedding plans, her break-up, and Poppy’s current writer’s block. But it didn’t make sense: she’d turned her life upside down because she believed in a true love like the ones she’d written, but now that she had distance, her fears were back in force.
What if the love in her books were just fiction?
What if she’d thrown her shot at happiness away on a fantasy?
What if, after everything, Poppy would always be alone?
She gulped. That was the worst fear of all, the one that kept her up late into the night. The lonely vast horizon, years passing one after the other, just as empty as the one before—
“Refill?”
She looked up. The server was clearing a table nearby and nodded to her empty mug. Poppy snapped back to reality. “Thanks, but I shouldn’t,” she said reluctantly. “Any more caffeine and I’ll never sleep tonight.”
The server moved off, but the woman at the next table caught Poppy’s eye with a smile. “Lucky you. I’m immune now, it takes me at least four espressos to get a decent hit.”
Poppy smiled. The woman was about her age, with curly blonde hair, wearing a funky print skirt and boots that laced up to her knees. “Not so lucky,” Poppy said. “All it takes is a slip-up from the barista, and I’m cleaning the kitchen at three a.m.”
“I’m Mackenzie,” the woman said, friendly. “You’re June’s niece, right?”
“How did you—?” Poppy stopped herself again. Of course, small-town news travelled fast. “Did she put out a news bulletin before she left?”
“Not quite,” Mackenzie smiled. “But actually, I heard about it from Riley at the pub. He said you and Cooper went a couple of rounds last night.”
“And this morning.” Poppy sighed, then caught Mackenzie’s eyebrows shooting up. “Not like that!” she yelped, blushing. “He’s working on the house next door, and it’s like he’s trying to get in my way.”
“Cooper can be . . . stubborn,” Mackenzie said. “But he’s a good guy, really.”
Poppy’s doubts must have shown, because the other woman laughed. “Really!” Mackenzie insisted. “When my roof was leaking last year, he came out and fixed it for me, in the middle of a snowstorm. He likes to act tough, but really, he’s a sweetheart.”
“We’ll see about that,” Poppy said, but she wasn’t convinced.
“So how long are you in town?” Mackenzie asked.
“I’m not sure yet. A few weeks, maybe?”
Or longer, if she didn’t get her book written and needed someplace to hide from her editor’s wrath.
“Great,” Mackenzie beamed. “This place is always so quiet before tourist season starts up. We could use the fresh blood.”
“You make it sound like you’re secretly vampires,” Poppy joked.
“Who needs blood when you’ve got caffeine?” Mackenzie cracked back. She nodded to Poppy’s laptop. “Are you working on the final book? Sorry,” she said, looking embarrassed. “I didn’t want to be a total fangirl, but I love your series. I started reading them when I got food poisoning last year, and they made it almost bearable to be vomiting on the bathroom floor.”
“That’s high praise,” Poppy laughed. “Thank you.”
“So, can you tell me what happens?” Mackenzie asked, her eyes wide. “No, wait, don’t. I want the surprise. Or maybe just a hint?”
“I’m afraid not,” Poppy lied. “My editor would kill me if I let anything slip.”
Not that she had anything yet to reveal.
Mackenzie sighed. “I totally understand. I’m just impatient. I’m always reading spoilers online about my favorite shows, and then I get disappointed that it’s not a surprise.”
“I promise, this book will stay a surprise,” Poppy swore. To the both of them, at this rate.
“You know, if you have the time, you should come by our book club,” Mackenzie suggested, brightening. “We get together every month at the bookstore. It’s basica
lly just an excuse to sit around, drink wine, and gossip, but I know the others would be thrilled to have an actual author come chat. Marcie Bringham self-published a children’s picture book about her cat,” she added. “But it’s not exactly the same thing.”
“Maybe . . .” Poppy hesitated. She loved meeting book groups and readers, but wasn’t sure what she’d have to say right now, when she was deep in a creative crisis.
“No pressure,” Mackenzie reassured her. “Think about it. If anything, you should come for the food. We put on a mean dessert potluck.”
“Well in that case . . . let me know when the next one is, I’ll see if I’m still in town.”
“Perfect.” Mackenzie beamed. “Well, it was nice meeting you. I won’t interrupt your work anymore.” She got to her feet and wrapped a long patterned scarf around her neck.
“You too, see you around.” Poppy watched her leave, glad to have made a new friend. Aunt June was always saying how friendly everyone was in Sweetbriar, and she was right. All the people Poppy had met so far had welcomed her with open arms.
Except Cooper, of course.
She flushed, remembering their run-in that morning. All the cold water in the world wasn’t enough to cool her down after how infuriating Cooper had been.
And how hot he was, too.
Poppy tried not to recall the feel of his body against hers, when he’d reached to steady her. Those strong hands on her bare arms, just inches away. The towel she’d grabbed still left her feeling completely exposed, and she’d been painfully aware of his eyes slipping over her body, his gaze like a caress on her cool, wet skin.
Why did someone so annoying have to be so handsome? As much as she hated the sight of that teasing smirk on his lips, she had to admit, it looked pretty good there.
It was just as well, because she had a feeling she’d be seeing a lot more of it.
After another hour staring at her empty screen, Poppy admitted defeat. Clearly, a coffee shop wasn’t where she needed to be to get her creative juices flowing, so she packed up and began to head for home. The sun was just starting to go down, casting the streets in a rosy dusk light, and even though it was still spring, and tourist season had yet to begin, the main street was still busy with locals, picking up groceries on their way home from work and pausing to chat on the corner.
Poppy looked around, still half-hoping inspiration would strike. Her eye caught a handwritten sign, almost buried under the foliage surrounding a squat old cottage, half-hidden down a side street.
Books, rare & usual.
This must be the store Mackenzie had mentioned. In her life, Poppy had never been able to resist a bookstore, and today was no exception. She veered across the road and ducked under the low arbor, following a paved pathway through an overgrown garden. It looked more like somebody’s house from the outside, but there was an open sign propped in the window, and when she pushed open the door, it opened with a musical ding from the bell.
She stepped inside and was immediately hit with that same sense of belonging she’d felt the first time she’d stepped into her local library as a child and found—oh, the magic!—an entire temple devoted to books. Here, the tiny rooms seemed to spill into each other in a dense warren of low doorways and hidden nooks. Creaky bookcases packed with books lined every wall, and the last of the day’s sunlight filtered through the windows and pooled on the polished wooden floors.
Poppy breathed in the scent of old books, and, just like that, her stress and deadline panic melted clean away. Now, this was heaven. She must have spent half her life browsing in bookstores just like this, but she never got tired of it. She never knew what treasures she would find—an old paperback by her favorite author, or a new title that for some reason caught her eye. She lost track of time, browsing among the stacks, until her arms were full of titles, and a voice pulled her from her reverie.
“We’re closing now.”
She looked up. There was a guy loitering in the doorway, jingling keys impatiently in his hand.
“This is your store?”
“For my troubles,” he replied. He had a gruff English accent, with messy brown hair and a thick winter beard.
“It’s amazing,” Poppy gushed, following him out to the front. “I could spend all day here.”
“As long as you buy something,” he said abruptly, ringing up her purchases. “Some people browse for hours and never spend a penny. I’ve half a mind to start charging rent.”
Okay. Poppy made a note not to get on this guy’s bad side.
Just as she was paying for her stack, the doorbell dinged, and she was surprised to see Cooper walk in, with Riley and a couple of other guys behind him. Cooper stopped when he saw her, and resignation was clear on his face.
“Should have known I’d find you here,” Cooper drawled. Poppy tried to ignore the flush that prickled across her skin from seeing him again. He still hadn’t shaved, so his strong jaw was stubbled, glinting bronze, and he was wearing a faded plaid shirt, and jeans that fit him just right . . .
Not that she should be noticing how his jeans fit. Poppy dragged her eyes back up. “Don’t tell me you’ve got a book club,” she asked. “What is it this week: How to Make Friends and Influence People?”
Riley laughed out loud as Cooper narrowed his eyes. “Poker night,” he said. “Don’t let us keep you.”
“You should stay,” Riley interrupted. “Do you play?”
“A little,” Poppy said, tempted. It looked like a fun group, and the owner was already setting up a table with snacks and beer. “But I don’t want to intrude . . .”
“Good,” Cooper said, at the same time as Riley insisted,
“No way, the more the merrier.”
Poppy knew it was a guys’ night, and any other time, she would have left them to their manly bonding, but Cooper’s smirk was still bugging her. “Sure, why not?” she said brightly. She put her books down, and headed over to the table—ignoring Cooper’s groan.
“Deal me in.”
7
An hour later, Cooper’s smirk was wider than ever. He lounged back in his seat like he owned the poker table—which he did, if the stack of M&Ms in front of him was anything to go by. Poppy should be infuriated, but this time, she didn’t mind his cocky smile.
Her plan was working.
“I’ll see your five, and raise you . . . ten.” Cooper carefully counted out from his hoard and pushed them to the center of the table.
Riley recklessly tossed in a handful of candy. “What the hell, I’ll see that bet. Grayson?”
The bookstore owner shook his head. “This is getting too rich for me.” He folded, tossing his cards down. Cooper turned to Poppy.
“Remember, face cards beat numbers,” he said, patronizing.
“Thanks.” She smiled sweetly, even though she was boiling at his tone. “I can’t believe I forgot that last time!”
“Hey, we all make mistakes starting out,” Riley said, encouraging. Poppy flashed him a quick smile, then checked her cards again. She was finally sitting on an unbeatable hand, which meant the past hour of acting totally clueless was about to pay off.
Big-time.
Maybe it wasn’t fair, acting like she’d never played before, but it was their fault for assuming she didn’t know a royal flush from a pair. Aunt June had taught her everything she knew at family holidays—and June was a card shark in goldfish’s clothing.
Poppy hid a smile, and eyed the massive stack of candy in the middle of the table. Her aunt had always told her to pick the right moment to play to win, and it looked like that moment was now.
“Any time soon would be great,” Cooper reminded her, impatience flashing in his blue eyes.
“Hmmm.” She pretended to think about it. “I guess . . . I’ll see your bet.” She pushed some M&Ms over. “And raise you . . . twenty.” Poppy counted her candy and added it to the pile.
“Are you sure you want to do that?” Riley frowned, leaning in. “If you bust now, you’
re out of the game.”
“Go big or go home,” Poppy said brightly. “What do you think, Cooper—want to fold?”
He gave her an arrogant smile. “Nope, I’m good. I’ll see you on that. And raise it, too.”
The pile of candy grew. Riley let out a whistle, and threw down his cards. “I’m out.”
“Guess it’s just me and you, pipsqueak.” Cooper grinned across the table.
“I guess so.” Poppy made sure to bite her lip and give an anxious look at her cards.
Cooper’s smile couldn’t get any wider. He must think he had this game locked down, and Poppy couldn’t blame him. She’d spent all night betting carefully—and losing every hand. But she hadn’t been paying attention to her cards, she’d been watching the other players instead, learning all their secret tells. And they had plenty. Riley scratched his beard on a bad hand, Grayson gulped his beer to hide a smile when he was on a winning streak, and Cooper?
Cooper got impatient when he was bluffing. His knee bounced, just beneath the table, and he always pushed the other players to make their move before they had a chance to figure it out.
Like now.
He made a show of sighing. “You can still fold,” he offered, like he was doing her a favor. “Keep those last chips for one more game.”
“Thanks for the advice.” She smiled again. “But I’m all in.” She pushed the last of her candy forward. “I call.”
Cooper raised an eyebrow. “If you say so.” He lay down his cards. “Four of a kind.”
“Decent.” Poppy celebrated inside. She’d been right about his tell. He’d been bluffing all along. “That would be a winning hand . . . if I didn’t have a royal flush. King, Queen, Jack, Ace. Boom!”
She laid her cards out. Jackpot.
Riley let out a whoop, and even Grayson chuckled. “You dark horse, you,” he said approvingly.
