by Melody Grace
“Hey.” Cooper looked concerned. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Are you sick?”
Poppy glanced down. She was still in her pajamas, at two in the afternoon. “No, writing,” she said, embarrassed. “I guess I lost track of time.”
“You broke through your block? That’s great,” Cooper congratulated her.
“So far, we’ll see. I don’t want to jinx it,” Poppy added, but she couldn’t keep from beaming. After so much stress and insecurity, it was a relief just to wake up in the morning with an idea for the chapter ahead. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, it’s actually the other way around.” Cooper shifted on the doorstep. There was a boyish smile playing on his lips, like he was excited about something. “I have something to show you. But, you’ll need to get dressed first.”
“OK.” Poppy was puzzled. “Give me five minutes.”
“Take your time.”
She went back inside and upstairs, but as she headed for her bedroom, she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. No! She groaned. It was no wonder he thought she was sick: she looked a mess. Her hair was tangled, her skin had that pale zombie look about it, and was that . . . ? Yup, strawberry jam smeared across her jaw.
Poppy jumped in the shower and rinsed off in record time, then she pulled her hair up into a ponytail, dressed in jeans and a red knit sweater, and bounced back downstairs. Cooper was waiting there, out on the porch. “You must be relieved the weather changed.” Poppy said, as she sat on the bottom stair and pulled on her boots.
“It put a dent in my schedule, that’s for sure.” Cooper pushed his hair back from his blue eyes, sounding rueful. “I worked on some plans and internal sketches, but yeah, there’s only so much you can do.”
“It’s gorgeous out today.” Poppy felt the warm temperature and left her jacket on the rack. “I always love it after the rain clears, everything seems to fresh and new.”
She was babbling, she knew. And about the weather, too. How much more awkward could you get? But Cooper didn’t seem to notice, and she followed him outside and into the yard.
He led her past the construction site, to where a sandy path led away from the house, meandering along the shoreline.
“Are you sure you aren’t just leading me astray?” she joked, and then cringed again. Cooper seemed perfectly relaxed, so why couldn’t she do the same? It wasn’t like they’d had a torrid affair; it had been one kiss, weeks ago now. She should have done study abroad in France, Poppy thought. They knew how to deal with casual liaisons. That, and all the delicious cheese.
She was so busy scolding herself for her lack of chill, Poppy barely registered their surroundings, until she realized they were passing through a wooded area, with pine needles carpeting the sand underfoot. The air smelled fresher here, a mix of the tree scent and salty air, and they were far enough from the house that she couldn’t hear the construction noise over the steady swish of the waves against the shore.
“It’s beautiful out here,” she said, looking around. “I’ve been cooped up inside for so long, I haven’t even had a chance to explore the beach.”
“I figured.” Cooper still looked strangely excited—like a kid who had a secret he was just dying to tell. “I also figured you might need some peace and quiet for your writing. And since I can’t exactly give you that back at the house . . .”
He came to a stop beside what looked like an old cabin: the wooden frame nestled on the edge of the trees, overlooking the dunes and ocean. The wood was bleached and weathered, and bluebells were growing wild, half-covering the old frame with creeping vines and sprigs of blue flowers. “Surprise.”
Poppy was confused, but Cooper just chuckled. “Look inside.”
Poppy moved closer and cautiously swung the doors open. She was expecting rust and dirt, but they swung open smoothly to reveal a tiny cabin, barely thirty square feet.
“I forgot this was even standing,” Cooper explained behind her. “But I was out checking the property line the other day, and found it. I thought it could be your writing cabin.”
Wait, what?
She turned and looked at him in surprise. “This is for me?”
“If you want.” Cooper looked bashful. “I know it’s not much, but I swept it out and brought down some furniture, too. I figured, it’s away from everything, so even if we have to drill the foundations, you won’t hear the noise.”
Poppy stepped inside. It was tiny, but surprisingly homey. The walls were wooden boards, with a single window, and there was barely enough room for an armchair and an old bistro table, but Cooper had put a knitted throw over the chair, and fit a rickety bookcase in the back.
“This is amazing,” Poppy breathed, looking around. With the doors open, it was like she was right there on the beach, nothing between her and that incredible view, blue water and clear skies as far as she could see. She could drag the chair out and have her toes in the sand all day long while she wrote.
“You like it?” he asked, looking hopeful.
“I love it!” Poppy exclaimed. Cooper looked pleased. “Thank you so much,” she told him, beaming. “Seriously. I can’t believe you did this for me.”
Cooper cleared his throat. “It’s not a big deal, it was just sitting here, getting dusty. And this way, you won’t be complaining about noise all day.”
He was trying to play it off as an afterthought, but Poppy was still touched by the gesture. He’d put thought into this, and care, too, and knowing he’d done it all in secret to surprise her gave Poppy a sudden burst of confidence.
“Have dinner with me,” she asked suddenly, before she could take it back. “As a thank you, for this. Tonight?”
Cooper looked thrown, and for a moment, she wondered if she’d made a massive mistake. Her heart beat faster. Then he gave her a thoughtful smile. “OK.”
“OK,” Poppy echoed, full of relief. “Great. Pick me up at seven?”
“It’s a date.”
He said the words casually, but as they sunk in, Poppy realized for the first time what she’d just done.
She was going on a date. With Cooper.
Gorgeous, infuriating, argumentative Cooper.
And lord knows what was going to happen next.
11
What had he gotten himself into now?
Cooper spent the rest of the afternoon a daze, wondering how he’d managed to go from “keeping his distance” to “pick you up at seven” in barely ten minutes flat. So much for staying platonic. He’d managed to resist temptation last time around, only to throw that self-control out the window the minute she smiled up at him with those hopeful brown eyes and asked the same question he’d been biting back all week.
Dinner. A date. Damn, what was he thinking?
What was he thinking with, more like? He should never have fixed up that cabin for her. It wasn’t even supposed to be a big deal; he’d stumbled over it, just like he said, and for some reason, an image of Poppy had dropped into his mind: sitting out there with her laptop, curled up while the ocean breeze lifted her hair around her face. He told himself he needed to clean the place out sometime, and if he did it now, it would save him having to deal with her marching over to complain every time he needed to drill a support beam or hammer the joists in place. But sweeping out the sand had turned to polishing the window, and nailing that old shelving unit to the wall, because he was guessing she liked to have books with her wherever she went. Before he knew it, the place was all spruced up.
And the smile on Poppy’s face when she saw it had just about made his week.
Cooper knew he was playing with fire. If she was anyone else, none of this would be a problem. He wasn’t a monk—he’d had his share of flings these past years, with women who were in town for the summer, or just passing through. Casual, fun arrangements where they both knew exactly what the rules were, and nobody got hurt.
But Poppy was different. For all the red-hot chemistry between them, she was searching for the real t
hing. Cooper may not know much about women, but he knew he wasn’t it. After Laura, he’d steered clear of relationships, and for good reason. He’d screwed up the one thing that had mattered more than anything to him, and he knew that given half a chance, he’d do the same to the next woman who came along. Some people were made for togetherness, and some people were just an emotional ticking time bomb—set to detonate and destroy everything in their path. Cooper knew which he was now, and he wasn’t about to throw that grenade into anyone’s life.
No, he was the last thing Poppy needed right now. If he was a gentleman, he would just call her up right now and take it back—feign some last-minute emergency, or say he’d forgotten he already had plans. Rain-check, another time, no harm done.
“OK if we clock off now, boss?” one of his crew interrupted his thoughts. Cooper was up on the roof, hammering the last of the shingles in place. “We finished spreading the concrete if you want to check.”
“Sure, go ahead,” Cooper called down to him. With the rain gone, they were finally making some progress on construction, and had spent the day getting the exterior sealed up tight in case of another storm. “We’ll pick it up tomorrow.”
The site cleared out. Cooper always stayed later than his crew: getting some takeout and then working late into the night with nothing but the radio for company, but tonight, he clocked off with the others and headed for home. But as he passed the pub in town, he had a second thought. It was early, and still quiet, and he found Riley polishing glasses at the bar, one eye on the TV screen in the corner.
“Playing hooky?” Riley sounded surprised to see him.
Cooper snorted. “Some of us have been working since dawn.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Riley smirked. “And some of us had the sense to go into a trade that doesn’t open until noon.”
He took a glass and pulled at the tap of Cooper’s favorite ale, pouring a pint so smooth, Cooper couldn’t find it in him to offer any smart retort. He took a drink instead, and raised his glass in thanks. “You’re a mouthy bastard, but you can pour a pint.”
“My mom would be so proud,” Riley quipped. He leaned back against the counter. “So what’s this I hear about you and Poppy?”
“What?” Cooper’s head snapped up. Surely word about their date couldn’t have spread already. Sweetbriar’s gossip tree was good, but not that good.
“You were at the drive-in the other week,” Riley replied. “So says Franny, anyway.”
“Oh, that.” Cooper took another gulp. “Yeah, she was going stir-crazy at the cottage, so we went to a movie.”
“Really?”
He could hear the suggestion in Riley’s voice, but he ignored it. “Yup.”
“Huh.”
Cooper managed to last another minute of silence before sighing. “What?”
Riley smirked. “Nothing.”
He rolled his eyes. “Aren’t we kind of old for this?”
“Speak for yourself, grandpa.” Riley grinned. “I’m just hitting my prime. Like a fine wine, I get better with age.”
Cooper shook his head. “One of these days, you’re going to meet a girl who doesn’t buy your bullshit lines, and then I’ll be there to watch you fall.”
Riley laughed. “Never going to happen. But this isn’t about me. This is about you and our new resident romance writer. I didn’t think happy endings were your style.”
“They’re not. It’s not like that,” Cooper replied, even as he remembered Poppy’s brilliant smile. “We’re friends.”
Friends who kissed. Friends who were going out to dinner in an hour.
Friends who had red-hot dreams about peeling off the other friend’s clothes and doing wicked things with them all night long.
“Good,” Riley said, casually turning to clear some glasses. “So you won’t mind if I ask her out?”
Cooper tensed. “I thought she already shot you down.”
“I’m nothing if not persistent,” Riley said cheerfully. “Anyway, she hasn’t seen me go all out yet. Turn the charm on full. Show her all my assets, if you know what I mean.”
Cooper glared at him. The thought of Poppy out with Riley—laughing with him, flirting, kissing him . . . It made him want to wipe that smirk off Riley’s face and set him right, for good.
“Unless you have a problem with that,” Riley added, his smile turning sly. “Do you?”
Cooper gritted his teeth. He knew exactly what Riley was doing, pushing him to admit there was something between him and Poppy. “You do whatever you want,” he growled out in response. “It’s a free country.”
“You’re right, it is.” Riley grinned, like he could see exactly how worked up Cooper was under the surface. “And a beautiful woman like that isn’t going to stay single for long.”
Cooper downed the rest of his drink in one. “I need to get going.”
“Big plans?”
“Something like that.”
Cooper slammed down the empty glass and left, before he said or did something he regretted. Riley was trying to get under his skin—and it was working. He knew he wasn’t the man for Poppy, but it still burned to think of her with anyone else.
But why?
Outside, he turned his cellphone over in his hand, torn. He still had a chance to call it all off, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to cancel their plans. She’d looked so happy, discovering the cabin, and even opening the door in her ratty sweatpants and tangled hair, she was beautiful enough to take his breath away. Call it selfish, but he wanted another evening with her, enjoying her feisty sense of humor, and figuring out what made her tick.
All he had to do was find a way not to kiss her senseless the minute he had a chance.
How hard could that be?
Eleven.
Poppy stared at her meager wardrobe that evening and despaired. What was she supposed to wear?
She hadn’t packed for dating; she’d barely remembered to throw clean underwear in her suitcase along with five books, her laptop, and an extra power charger. Back home, her closet was stuffed full of cute dinner outfits: little black dresses, or va-va-voom pencil skirts, her lucky lace bras, and those heeled pumps that made her butt look amazing. But here? She’d packed for the cold weather and seclusion, and her array of chunky knit sweaters and comfy sports bras didn’t exactly scream, “Kiss me now, lover!”
She was doomed.
She wrapped herself in a bathrobe and started towel-drying her hair. Maybe by the time she was done, one of her slouchy gym sweatshirts would have magically transformed into a sexy fitted tank top. Her phone rang. Quinn again. This time, Poppy answered.
“You’re alive, then.” Quinn didn’t bother with a friendly greeting—she sounded stressed. “Tell me you’ve been blowing off my calls because you’re too busy writing the next international bestseller.”
“I have,” Poppy answered, and for once, she wasn’t bending the truth. “I’ll have you pages by the end of tomorrow.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“But I mean it this time,” Poppy promised her. “Five chapters. They need fixing, but you can send them to my editor, that should keep them happy for a while.”
“Thank God!” Quinn cheered. “You had me scared for a while. I thought you’d had some kind of breakdown, and we’d be scraping your career off the bargain book section floor.”
“You and me both.” Poppy felt the relief wash over her again. It had been close, but she was out of her downward spiral and back on solid ground. “Tell them I’m sorry, and I’ll deliver on schedule, I swear. It doesn’t matter if I have to write around the clock, I don’t want to let them down.”
Quinn laughed. “They’ll live. To be honest, this might be a good thing. They’ve been getting scared you might cancel the book and leave altogether for another publisher. I’ve had three calls this week from different editors, asking if you’re back on the market.”
“Quinn, no.” Poppy knew that tone, and quickly shut her down. �
�I’m happy where I am. They just pushed my deadline three times because I needed it, that’s the kind of loyalty I want.”
“OK, OK,” Quinn sighed. “I’ll let them know. Oh, before I forget, I got something inviting you to speak at this literary festival, it’s local I think . . . hang on . . .” Poppy heard her clicking at her mouse. “Here it is, the Cape Cod Spring Fling Festival. It’s usually more literary, you know, Franzen, Atwood, Zadie Smith, but I guess someone cancelled at the last minute, because they want you to come.”
“I’d love to!” Poppy exclaimed, pleased. “I’ve seen the flyers here in town.”
“I’ll tell them you’re in,” Quinn said. “And then maybe we can start talking about your next deal . . .”
“Bye, Quinn.” Poppy cut her off before she could laugh—or cry. Next deal? She wasn’t even going to think about that. Not while she still had this book to deliver—and an outfit to assemble before Cooper arrived.
She checked the time. Six forty-five. Crap. She tore through her suitcase again, and—hallelujah—found a plain black tank buried in the bottom. It wasn’t much, but with her fitted pair of jeans, a pair of ankle boots, and a cute necklace, it would work. She wouldn’t cut it at a hot restaurant in the city, but this was Sweetbriar Cove: a sheer layer of red lipstick was about as dressy as she needed. Poppy gave her hair a final rumple, brushed a quick dusting of blush on her cheeks, and was throwing her keys in her bag the doorbell sounded.
“Coming!”
She forced herself to pause. Breathe. It was just dinner, she told herself, going to open the door. Just dinner, with Cooper. A friendly dinner with no expectations and—
“Hey.”
Poppy’s jaw dropped. Cooper was standing on the porch, but not the scruffy, work-boots-and-plaid Cooper she’d seen for the past couple of weeks. No, this man was smart and clean-shaven, with his hair brushed back out of his blue eyes, which somehow looked even brighter against the cornflower cotton of his crisp button-down shirt.
