Meant to Be (Sweetbriar Cove Book 1)

by Melody Grace

He leaned in to kiss her cheek, and Poppy could have sworn her stomach turned a slow pirouette.

  “Um, hi,” she stammered, and then immediately scolded herself for acting like such an idiot. “You look . . . smart.”

  “And there you were, thinking I didn’t own a razor.” Cooper flashed her a devastating smile. “Ready to go?”

  “Yes!” Poppy blurted. “Except, I don’t know where. I meant to look up some restaurants around here, but then I was writing, and—”

  “You lost track of time,” Cooper finished for her. “That’s OK, I figured you might not know the area. I have a place in mind, it’s pretty casual, but they do the best seafood around.”

  “Casual’s good,” Poppy said, relieved. “I’m not exactly dressed for anywhere fancy.”

  “I don’t know.” Cooper gave her a quiet smile that made her blood run hot. “You look beautiful to me.”

  Oh god. Poppy turned away to hide her blush, and busied herself pulling on her coat and scarf. But she couldn’t avoid his gaze for long, and soon they were in his truck, heading out along the coastal road, as Poppy tried to take deep breaths and keep her cool.

  Why was she so flustered?

  It was the rebound thing, she decided. This was the first guy she’d been out with since Owen, so of course she was nervous about doing it wrong. But even as she tried to convince herself it was totally normal to be melting down over a man’s smile, she knew this wasn’t about Owen. It was all Cooper.

  “Did you get much writing done today?” he asked, glancing over.

  “Yes, lots,” Poppy replied, ignoring the afternoon she’d spent frantically obsessing over their date. “I think I’m going to be OK—thanks to you.”

  “What do you mean?” Cooper looked surprised.

  “What you said to me the other night, about making my own fears the theme, it really helped. Unlocked something, I guess,” Poppy explained. “I’m always nervous about putting too much of myself in my books, but you made me see I have to try this time around. I need to be honest about what I’m feeling, otherwise, how can I expect my readers to really connect?”

  “That’s . . . brave.” Cooper chuckled. “I can’t imagine pouring my heart out to millions of people.”

  “The strong, silent type, huh?” Poppy asked, a teasing note in her voice.

  “I’ll take that over ‘emotionally blocked and distant,’ ” Cooper replied. He smiled, but Poppy could tell there was something behind his words.

  She didn’t push. They’d barely gotten the evening started, and her stomach was still spinning in an excited dance. Real talk could wait—until after the appetizers, at least.

  “I felt that way too, to begin with,” she answered instead. “It seemed like everyone reading my books would be judging me, thinking everything I wrote about my characters was really just about me. But it turned out to be the opposite. I guess if you call it fiction, you can get away with anything,” she added, smiling.

  “I took a look at one of them, you know.” Cooper gave her a sideways glance. “This afternoon, I figured I should know what I was getting myself into.”

  Oh god! Poppy felt her face burning up. “Which one?” she asked, wracking her brain to figure out how bad it was. Some of her romances were sweet and innocent, but some of them . . . weren’t.

  Cooper chuckled. “Let’s just say it was revealing.”

  Definitely one of the steamy ones.

  Poppy thought about throwing herself out of the moving truck to escape the humiliation. She’d never had to deal with this before. Owen was the only guy she’d really dated since her career took off, and he’d never looked twice at her books. Now memories of all the sexy scenes she’d written flashed in her mind, those sensual descriptions and heated moments. They’d seemed so safe on the page, but now she had to look him in the eye and pretend like he hadn’t just read some of her most private fantasies.

  What did Cooper think of her now?

  “So, we’re going to forget you ever said that,” Poppy announced brightly. “And just move right along. How’s the house coming along? What are the plans like? Do you have a buyer lined up?”

  Cooper grinned. “Relax. I stopped reading when I got to the good stuff. Figured you’d prefer it that way.”

  “Oh, thank god,” Poppy exhaled in a rush. “It’s bad enough knowing my mom reads it, I never really had to think about being around guys who’d read . . . you know, that stuff.”

  “No?” Cooper looked amused. “It would probably be a draw for some guys. Especially since you just said a lot of it is based on your life . . .”

  Poppy covered her face with her hands. “Let’s just forget I ever said anything!”

  She heard Cooper laugh, and then a moment later, felt the truck turn off the main highway. She lifted her head as they pulled into a brightly-lit parking lot, beside a barn-style restaurant with a sign reading Fresh Catch Daily! They parked out front, and Cooper went around to get her door. “Like I said, it’s nothing fancy,” Cooper said as he led her to the main doors. “But they do the best lobster around—and that’s saying something on the Cape.”

  Poppy stepped inside after him and looked around. It was a big, homey space set with communal-style benches, already half-full with families and other couples. There were photos of sailboats, and old anchors hung up on the walls, and the windows on the far wall looked out over the twinkling lights of the bay. Poppy’s mouth watered as she watched a waitress pass by with a massive platter of fresh-baked rolls and butter. “To tell the truth, I prefer this kind of place over fancy restaurants,” she confided, as they waited for the hostess. “My friend Summer works at a really high-end place in the city, but every time I go there, I start worrying about using the wrong fork, or annoying the snooty maître d’.”

  Cooper chuckled. “Let me guess, they serve everything with weird foam and freeze-dried shavings.”

  “Yes!” Poppy exclaimed. “Half the time, I don’t even know what I’m eating. Summer isn’t like that,” she added quickly. “She’s the most amazing chef, and her pastries . . .” She trailed off with a lustful sigh. “One day, she wants to open a bakery, but I guess she’s still paying her dues.”

  “I get that.” Cooper nodded. “I didn’t go out on my own until just a few years ago. They don’t tell you how running your own business isn’t just about the fun stuff, it’s all the extra work as well—keeping the books, and dealing with suppliers, and marketing.”

  “And you can’t play hooky, either, when you’re boss,” Poppy agreed, laughing.

  “See, I told you.” Cooper grinned. “Work ethic.”

  The hostess showed them to a table by the windows, and they got settled, the salty sea air mingling with all the delicious food smells wafting from the kitchen.

  “Can I bring you some menus?” the girl asked, and Cooper looked to Poppy.

  “Usually, I just get the platter, but if you want . . . ?”

  “No, it sounds good to me,” she agreed quickly. “And can you please bring some of those rolls? Lots of those rolls. And butter,” she added, before the waitress departed. She caught his smile from across the table. “It’s hungry work!” she protested. “All that sitting around, typing.”

  “Working up a sweat.” Cooper gave her a wink, and Poppy cringed again.

  “I said we were forgetting about that.”

  “We were,” he replied, looking amused. “But now you’re blushing so hard, it makes me wonder what I missed.”

  “That’s for me to know, and you to find out,” Poppy said, realizing too late how flirtatious the challenge sounded. But thankfully, the waitress returned with their beers, so Cooper just quirked a knowing eyebrow and let that one slide.

  Poppy sat back, trying to relax. “I still can’t believe you’re here in town. You were always so . . . restless,” she smiled, remembering him when he was younger. “I figured you’d be on the other side of the country by now.”

  Cooper gave a knowing smile. “Is that a polite
way of saying I was a loud-ass brat?”

  “Hey, take the pass,” she said, and he laughed.

  “You’re right, I couldn’t wait to get the hell out. I left for college, but then my dad got sick, and, well . . .” He shrugged. “It turned out Sweetbriar had something going for it, after all.” He toyed with his beer bottle. “They really pulled together for us, and after a while, I guess it just feels like home.”

  Poppy felt a pang. She couldn’t imagine losing a parent, especially like that. “I bet he’d be proud of you,” she said softly, thinking of everything he’d achieved.

  Cooper looked bashful. “I don’t know about that. What about you?” he changed the subject. “Where’s home to you these days?”

  Poppy hesitated. “New York, I guess. Brooklyn. At least, that was the plan. I was going to move into Owen’s apartment,” she admitted. “And then we’d start looking for a place outside the city, maybe upstate.”

  “Ah yes, the famous fiancé.” Cooper tilted his head, fixing her with an unreadable look. “So what happened there?”

  Poppy let out a sigh.

  He chuckled. “That bad?”

  “No,” Poppy quickly defended him. “He wasn’t bad at all. He was great. I just… didn’t love him,” she said sadly. “Not the way I should.”

  She couldn’t even explain why. Owen was a good guy: thoughtful and serious, kind of obsessive when it came to Star Wars movies and all the comic books he had stacked neatly in their basement, but Poppy figured she was the same with her romance book collection. Sure, he could get stressed and distant when he had a big project at work, and forget to call her when he travelled every other month, so sometimes they would spend a week barely exchanging a text, but not every couple had to coo sweet nothings over the phone every night. They were independent adults, with their own lives to lead. At least, that’s what Poppy told herself.

  “The truth is, I wanted it to be right,” she admitted, meeting Cooper’s steady gaze. “I wanted it to be him, so badly. I’d been on my own for so long before I met him, I thought, finally, this is it. Someone to be with, to share my life with. We would get married and start a family, and everything would work out. I could see it all, you know? The life I wanted more than anything. I knew deep down, he wasn’t the one for me, but I ignored it for too long.” She looked away, feeling foolish. “You probably don’t understand.”

  “I do.” Cooper’s reply was quiet. “You thought that if you just pushed through, ignored all the warning signs, you could make him the one.”

  Poppy nodded. “Until the wedding was right around the corner, and those little whispers in my head started screaming at me, and I couldn’t ignore it any more. So, I called it all off.”

  She sighed. She wasn’t proud of what she’d done, but there hadn’t been any other way. “Now I just have to hope I was right, and I didn’t throw away something good and solid, for . . . what was it you said?” she asked, remembering his scornful words when they first met. “A fairy-tale fantasy that’s only going to leave me disappointed in the end.”

  Cooper grimaced. “I’m sorry, I should never have said that.”

  “But it’s what you believe, isn’t it?” Poppy found herself hanging on his answer, hoping he wasn’t as downbeat on love as he seemed. It shouldn’t matter to her, but somehow, it did.

  Cooper paused and looked down. “I don’t know. Not like that. But either way, I had no right to be such an ass to you.” He glanced back up and met her eyes with a rueful, sincere smile. “I’m sorry.”

  “Apology accepted,” Poppy said slowly. She wanted to ask him more, about his past, too, and those glimpses of bitterness she saw still lingering at the edges, but the waitress suddenly returned, depositing two massive platters on the table.

  “Alright you guys, I have two mixed, extra rolls, extra butter.”

  Poppy took in the spread, and laughed. “Wow.”

  “Need anything else?” the girl asked.

  “A bib?” she joked, but the waitress just nodded.

  “On the table. Enjoy.”

  She dashed away, leaving Poppy to survey the feast in front of them. “There’s no elegant way to do this, is there?” she said, her mouth already watering. There were whole crabs, clams, and even lobster tail, so fresh she could smell the ocean.

  “Go crazy, I won’t judge.” Cooper grinned, handing her a plastic bib. Poppy laughed and fastened it around her neck, and he did the same.

  Cooper held up his beer in a toast. “Here’s to starting over.”

  She smiled and clinked the glass to his. “To starting over.”

  Their eyes caught, and Poppy felt a slow shiver of anticipation bubbling through her veins, the champagne promise of something sweet, just on the horizon. She’d spent all year questioning her choices, wondering if she could trust her instincts—or if they were sending her spinning off track, away from the truth. But as Poppy took a sip, she felt perfectly content. She was starting a new chapter in her life, and it was scary, but exhilarating, too, to leave her past behind and strike out in search of something more.

  Maybe there was hope for her, after all.

  12

  Dinner flew by as they caught up on the past twenty years, until the platters between them were almost empty, and Poppy didn’t think she could ever move again.

  “Save me,” she groaned, pushing her plate away. “You’ll need to roll me out of this place like a wheel.”

  Cooper laughed and took the last of the fries from her abandoned tray. “Does this mean you won’t stretch to dessert?”

  Poppy wavered.

  “They do a mean apple pie,” Cooper said temptingly. “Or chocolate, if that’s your poison . . .”

  “You’re a bad man,” she scolded him, and he laughed.

  “How about we get a portion to go? You’ll rally for round two by the time you’re home.”

  “And if I don’t, pie works great for breakfast,” Poppy agreed, as he beckoned the waitress over and gave her their order. Soon, they were packed up and back in his truck with a crisp delivery box of pie, headlights cutting through the dark night. Poppy relaxed and let the motion of the drive wash over her, soothing as the engine hummed. She’d enjoyed herself, and despite all her nerves, she and Cooper had fallen into an easy rhythm.

  If only she could forget how handsome he was.

  She breathed in the buttery scent of pastry from the box and tried to distract herself. “You were right,” she said. “I’m rallying fast.”

  He laughed. “Told you so.”

  “Why don’t you join me for a slice at the cottage?” she asked, without thinking. “I could put on some coffee, or even make some hot chocolate.”

  There was a pause. “Sure,” Cooper said eventually. “I could go for that.”

  There was silence, and Poppy realized why: she’d just invited him in. After their date. For coffee. She may have been rusty when it came to dating, but she was pretty sure that meant she’d just offered him an open invitation to come back to her place and take her to bed for a night of limitless passion.

  Or something like that.

  Poppy’s heart stopped. Oh God. She hadn’t meant it like that—had she?

  Memories of their kiss flooded her brain all over again: the sure, confident heat of his mouth and the feel of his body pressed against hers. All night, her stomach had been tied up in knots. It was undeniable; there was something between them, and even if Poppy couldn’t make logical sense of it, she couldn’t hide from the truth.

  She wanted him.

  Her heart beat faster. She snuck a look at him, illuminated in the headlights in the driver’s seat. The strong line of his jaw, the curve of his bicep under his shirt, the way his hands rested on the steering wheel . . .

  Poppy took a breath. His presence beside her was suddenly charged, the distance between them shrinking with every passing minute.

  God help her, she was getting turned on by the way the man shifted gears.

  The miles
passed, and Poppy’s anticipation grew, until by the time they turned off the highway and began to follow the winding lane down to the shore, she was certain her cheeks were flushing red from all her illicit thoughts. “Are you working early tomorrow?” she blurted, searching for something to say.

  “The regular time,” Cooper replied. “But if you need to call an early night, we can take a rain-check on that dessert.”

  Poppy gulped. Did he want to cancel? Did he want her to want to cancel?

  “No, I’m good,” she replied, fighting to keep her voice casual. “But only if you want to.”

  “I want to.”

  The quiet certainty in Cooper’s voice shot a bolt of pure electricity through Poppy’s veins. She couldn’t stop a smile curling on her lips as she glanced over again. This time, Cooper was staring straight back at her.

  Oh.

  There it was again. The heat of connection sparking between them, inexplicable. Undeniable.

  She quickly looked away. This time, her heart was racing. The shadows blurred outside the window as Poppy’s body prickled with new awareness. She was really doing this. Going home.

  With Cooper.

  The truck slowed as they reached the cottage, and Cooper pulled in to park—beside a gleaming BMW she’d never seen before. “Is June back?” she asked.

  “It doesn’t look like her style.”

  She got out, and walked up the front path, confused. The porch light was on, and as she approached the house, she could see a duffel bag on the ground by the door.

  “Hello?” Poppy called, looking around. “Is anyone here?”

  “Easy,” she heard Cooper behind her, and then he drew level, putting a protective arm in front of her. “You don’t know who it is.”

  “In Sweetbriar?” Poppy wasn’t worried. She headed up the steps and peered around the side of the porch, expecting a friend of June’s, or a local townsperson come to deliver fruit cobbler or fix the gutters. The last person in the world she expected to come strolling around the side of the house was the man she’d left a thousand miles away with a stack of wedding gift boxes and an apology.