by Melody Grace
At least, she hoped she would.
She got dressed and packed up her laptop, with a thermos of coffee and a couple of cozy knit blankets, then she set out along the beach path, eager to spend her first morning writing in her new beach hut-slash-office. The air was brisk, but the sun was out, and making her way through the fresh green of the woods, Poppy thought how lucky she was to be in Sweetbriar, instead of cooped up in her apartment back in the city, or camped out in the corner of some noisy coffee shop, wilting under the fluorescent lights. Here, it was so quiet, she could only hear the sound of the ocean, and a lazy gull circling overhead. The hut was waiting for her, sturdy on the edge of the sand, and soon she had the doors flung wide open and was snuggled up in the armchair, watching the slate blue waves break over the empty sands.
It was so inspiring, nothing but her, the ocean, and the bright horizon. How did Cooper know exactly what she needed?
Her mind drifted, and she felt that now-familiar skip in her stomach, remembering their date last night. How it had felt, sitting across the table, laughing for hours, sharing stories and old jokes, and gradually peeling back the layers of his gruff defenses until the real Cooper was revealed.
He wasn’t the man she’d thought he was. Sure, he could be prickly, and seemed to enjoy getting under her skin, but there was so much more to him, too. He was kinder than he’d ever admit, and seemed proud to be a part of the community here in town. And as for generosity . . . Poppy looked around her snug little cabin. Not many guys would conjure up a perfect writing spot out of thin air like this.
She checked her phone again. No response to her earlier message. She was terrible at texting, and had never understood how her friends seemed to carry on whole relationships through their phones, but she tried her best to think up another casual message. In the end, she snapped a picture of the sand, with her boots sticking up at the bottom of the frame.
Writing hard, thanks for the view!
She hit send, then immediately wondered if she was being too pushy. Dating felt like a minefield, especially when she wasn’t even sure if what they were doing was dating at all. Dinner, a movie, a kiss—with any other guy, she’d take them as signs he was interested. But Cooper? He played his cards too close to his chest to even tell.
Not that she had time to sit around obsessing. Poppy tucked her phone away and reached for her laptop again. She was meeting Mackenzie for her book club at four p.m., which meant she had another few hours to make some real progress on her book.
Men in real life might still be a mystery, but at least she knew exactly what would happen with the ones on her page.
Cooper was picking up groceries at the store in Provincetown when someone rammed into his cart from behind.
“Hey!” he turned, ready to give them a piece of his already-surly mind, but instead of a reckless frat bro, he found a familiar face.
“Hey, stranger.” Mackenzie beamed. “How’s it going?”
He relaxed. Mac was an old friend, but he’d been so busy lately with the construction job that he’d barely seen her around town. “Not bad,” he said, “just stocking up.”
“Me too. All the essentials.”
He glanced over. Mackenzie’s cart was filled with chips, salsa, and two cases of wine. “Things really that bad?” he asked, and she laughed.
“I’m buying up for book club,” Mackenzie said cheerfully. “You know Franny likes her tipple. What about you, cooking for one?” She peered into his basket. Cooper saw a gleam in her eye, and knew it wasn’t an innocent question.
“Last I checked,” he replied casually, but she wasn’t so easily dissuaded.
“You could invite Poppy over,” she said with a smile. “Wow her with your grilling skills, or . . . other talents.”
Cooper glared. “You mean sawing a two-by-four?”
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Mackenzie grinned. She really was impossible. Cooper fixed her with a “subject closed” look and moved down the aisle, but Mackenzie dogged him all the way to the cereal shelves. “I mean it,” she said, trailing him. “Poppy seems great, and she doesn’t altogether hate you, which is an excellent start, don’t you think?”
“Mac,” he said, warning.
“What? She’s pretty and smart, and if you got together, she might even give up June’s soup recipe, and then you can stop coming to all the town events you hate.”
“I don’t hate them,” he replied, irritated. “You, on the other hand . . .”
Mackenzie planted herself in front of him. “How long have I known you?”
Cooper sighed.
“Well?”
“Too long,” he replied.
“Sixteen years, and counting,” Mackenzie said, ignoring him. “And in that time, how many women have I tried to set you up with?”
“None.” Cooper reached past her for some Wheaties. “I always thought it was because you knew better, but somehow here we are.”
“It was because you were always too pig-headed to listen,” Mackenzie said, grabbing the cereal box out of his hand. She fixed him with a look. “And I never met a girl I’d want to inflict you on.”
“And that’s changed?” Cooper growled.
“Yes.” Mackenzie glared at him. “You’ve changed. You’re turning into a grumpy old man, one of those guys we always laughed about. Ever since Laura, all you do is work, or drink, or bang tourists who won’t be around come Labor Day. You’re better than this, Cooper. You deserve good things, and Poppy could be it.”
Cooper stared back, his bitter retorts dying on his tongue. She made him sound like a total bastard. He wasn’t that bad, was he?
Mackenzie softened. “Look, it doesn’t have to be much. Take her to dinner, see if there are sparks. Just be open to something, for once in your life.”
“I did,” Cooper found himself answering, before he could think better of it. “We went to dinner last night.”
Mackenzie lit up. “And?”
“And, nothing.” Cooper felt a twist of regret. “Everything was great, until her ex showed up. It turns out he’s less an ex and more a current.”
Mackenzie shook her head, frowning. “That’s not what I heard. She called off the wedding, practically left him at the altar.”
“Well, I left her getting cozy with him on June’s front porch.” Cooper took Mackenzie by the arms and gently moved her aside. “So thanks for the pep talk, but I gave it my shot.”
“But you can’t give up!” Mackenzie protested.
“Watch me. And it’s not giving up if you were never in the game,” Cooper corrected her. “This grumpy old man is leaving well alone.”
Her face fell, and Cooper knew how she felt.
“Fine.” Mackenzie pressed her lips together. “I have to get going, anyway. But I will say, it’s not like you to quit so easy.” She spun her cart and walked away before Cooper could have time to object.
He wasn’t a quitter.
He scowled, and finished the rest of his shopping with a cloud hanging over him. He wasn’t a quitter, and Mackenzie was wrong to imply that he was. But what was he supposed to do—make a fool of himself chasing after a woman who wasn’t his to chase? He barely knew Poppy, and a couple of polite texts didn’t make a difference. She probably felt bad for letting him down so abruptly. If she’d wanted to see him again, she’d have said so. For all he knew, she’d spent the day with Owen, making up for lost time.
Cooper felt the burn of jealousy just imagining it, but he pushed it aside. He knew all about wanting a woman who didn’t want him back. And he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.
Poppy wrote until her battery went dead, then headed back to the house to change and dig a bottle of wine from Aunt June’s cellar. She arrived at the pottery studio at the stroke of four, bearing a bottle of white, and some prosecco, too, for good measure.
“You made it!” Mackenzie greeted her happily, and whisked her inside. “Everyone, this is the famous Poppy Somerville! P
oppy, this is Franny, and Debra, and Ellie, and Bert . . .”
“Hi!” Poppy tried to keep track of everyone’s names as she went through the whistle-stop introductions, but half of them passed her by. It was an eclectic group gathered there, a few older women in their sixties and seventies, plus another girl about her age, and a lone man in a green knit sweater.
“Don’t worry, we don’t expect you to learn everyone’s name,” one of the other women—Debra, was it?—said with a wink. “Just call everyone ‘honey’ and you’ll be set.”
“Thanks for the tip.” Poppy smiled.
“And you brought booze!” Mackenzie took the bottles. “See, you’ll fit right in. Come on.”
She led her through the front space, which was set up as a gallery, displaying beautiful ceramic bowls and sculptures. One of the sets caught Poppy’s eye—the bright polka-dot design just like the ones she’d admired back at the cottage. “You made these?” Poppy asked, pausing to pick up one of the cute mugs. “June has a whole set at home. They’re adorable.”
“Thanks.” Mackenzie smiled. “They’re from my polka-dot phase, I went kind of dotty—pardon the pun. Polka-dot bowls, teacups, you name it. Now I’ve moved on to stripes, they’re more nautical,” she explained, pointing to a new set of blue-and-white bowls, painted with anchors and a ship design. “Plus, they sell like gangbusters to the tourists. I swear, I could put an anchor on a lump of unfinished clay and it would get snapped up.”
“I love it. Remind me to come back another time and browse,” Poppy said, looking around. “I know my friend back home would love this stuff. She’s a chef, so she goes crazy when it comes to kitchenware. I swear, she has more mixing bowls than pairs of socks.”
“My kind of customer.” Mackenzie grinned. “Feel free to stop by anytime.”
In the back, Mackenzie had pushed aside a workbench and potter’s wheel and arranged a mismatched assortment of chairs in a circle. She dragged a bench closer, and began to unpack various Tupperware filled with dessert. “I told you,” she said, catching Poppy’s eye. “We don’t mess around.”
“I can see that.” Poppy accepted a plate full of the famous plum cobbler and a glass of wine, and took a seat with the others.
“It’s such a treat, having a real author join us,” Franny beamed. She was one of the older women, wearing a voluminous knit caftan in bright pinks and blues. “You’ll have to tell us all about your new book.”
“Oh, I don’t want to interrupt you,” Poppy said quickly. “What book are you discussing this week?”
There was a pause, and then everyone laughed. Poppy looked around, confused. “We call it a book group, but most of the time, we just come here to natter,” Franny explained.
“Because some people can’t agree on what to read,” Debra piped up.
“You’re the one who didn’t like our last pick,” Bert complained.
“I just don’t see why we have to read another thinly-veiled story about some literature professor having a midlife crisis and seducing his students!”
Poppy caught Mackenzie’s eye. The other woman gave a rueful smile. “See what I mean?” she said. “Anyway, it’s usually safer just to steer clear. They nearly came to blows over Karl Ove Knausgård last year.”
“My money’s on Franny. She looks like she fights dirty,” Poppy said, and Mackenzie snorted with laughter.
“What about you, how is the writing going?”
“Good!” she said. “Finally. I was blocked for a while,” she explained. “But I finally figured it out. With Cooper’s help.”
Mackenzie raised her eyebrow. “Grumpy dude, yay high, sworn against romance? Are we talking about the same guy?”
Poppy laughed. “I know, I was surprised too. But he’s been really supportive. He even found me a spot to write, so all the construction noise doesn’t interrupt me.” She pulled out her phone, and showed Mackenzie photos of the cabin.
“Huh. He’s just full of surprises,” Mackenzie said, looking thoughtful. “I heard you guys had dinner,” she added.
“Wow, news really does travel fast.” Poppy paused. “Is there a flare that goes up, or a bell, like Paul Revere?”
“We move with the times.” Mackenzie grinned. “Group texts, all the way.”
She laughed. “Yes, we went out,” Poppy admitted.
“And?”
“It went great . . . until my ex showed up.” She made a face. “I had to straighten things out with him, but now I don’t know if Cooper has the wrong idea about us. I haven’t heard from him yet.”
Mackenzie sighed. “Men can be dim sometimes.”
Someone cleared their throat loudly, and Poppy turned to find Bert looking put out.
“Not you,” Mackenzie said quickly.
“Have you tried texting?” Debra asked, and Poppy realized that they’d all been listening in to the conversation.
“No, don’t text, it’s so impersonal,” Franny argued. “My grandkids are glued to their phone all day. There’s no romance about it.”
“Maybe you’re doing it wrong,” the other younger woman, Ellie, said cheekily. “Text can be plenty romantic if you know the right emojis.”
“Shakespeare would be turning in his grave,” Franny tutted. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Heart emoji, sun, winky face.”
They all laughed, but Poppy felt a little self-conscious, having everyone pitch in about her love life.
“Sorry.” Mackenzie must have seen her discomfort, because she gave Poppy a sympathetic look. “Small town. We have problems with boundaries.”
“Oh, hush you,” Debra piped up. “We want to hear more about this date with Cooper. Where did you go?”
“It can’t have been around here, otherwise we’d have already heard about it,” Bert remarked.
“He hasn’t dated in a while, has he?” Franny mused. “Not since—”
“Why don’t we talk about books!” Mackenzie interrupted. “If you can’t share what you’re working on now, how about telling us more about your career?” she prompted Poppy. “How did you get your first book published? Have you met Fabio?”
Poppy let out a sigh of relief. Normally, she didn’t like talking about herself, but it was definitely better talking fiction than spilling all the details of her real-life love life.
“Well, it was years ago,” she began, as they thankfully all turned their attention back to the wine and dessert. “I was working as a temp at an office, writing on my computer when I should have been working . . .”
The afternoon passed quickly in the warm glow of home-baked desserts, gossip, and a good few glasses of wine. By the time everyone said their goodbyes and headed off home, Poppy had promised to come back for the next meeting—and give them a mention in her acknowledgments page, too.
“Thanks for putting up with all our nosy questions,” Mackenzie said when they were alone. “And I’m sorry if we got too personal, about Cooper.”
“There’s not much to get personal about.” Poppy helped tidy away their glasses. “He still hasn’t texted me back. I guess that means he’s not interested.”
“Or, he thinks you’re holed up somewhere with your ex,” Mackenzie corrected her. “Or his phone is dead, and he hasn’t seen your messages. Or he took a boat out, and got lost in a freak storm—”
“OK!” Poppy stopped her, laughing. “I get it. But in fiction, and real life, the simplest explanation is usually the best. If Cooper doesn’t suggest picking up where we left off, it probably means he doesn’t want to.”
Mackenzie shook her head. “No way. Remember, men don’t take a hint. You need to make it clear you’re interested. Make the first move.”
She seemed strangely insistent, but maybe Poppy was just being too scared.
“You should just go over there.”
“Tonight?” Poppy blinked. “Isn’t that stalking?”
“Or a grand romantic gesture,” Mackenzie pointed out.
“I don’t know . . .” Poppy’s s
tomach tied up in knots just thinking about making the first move.
“OK.” Mackenzie shrugged. “Don’t. Wait around for him to get his head out of his ass long enough to text you back. But I wouldn’t hold my breath,” she advised. “Cooper Nicholson is one stubborn man.”
He was. Poppy’s heart sank. If he had the wrong idea about Owen showing up, then Cooper could just act like their date had never happened. The chance could slip away if Poppy didn’t take the risk and find out once and for all if their sparks added up to anything real.
Her pulse sped up. “I’m going to do it,” she said, surprising herself. “I’m going to see him.”
“Yes!” Mackenzie clapped her hands together in delight. “OK, I have his address right here. And you look great in what you’re wearing. What about your underwear?”
“Mackenzie!” Poppy exclaimed.
“What? Come on.” She grinned. “A girl has to be prepared.”
Poppy thought back to getting dressed that morning. Pale-blue, lace boy-shorts and her favorite bra. “It’s fine.”
“Then you’re good to go.” Mackenzie presented her with a scrap of paper, scribbled with an address. She grabbed an unopened bottle of wine, and the leftover cobbler container, too, and thrust them into Poppy’s arms. “For luck.”
“Thanks.” Poppy felt a nervous flutter. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. Maybe I shouldn’t. Or should I?”
Mackenzie pushed her gently towards the door. “You definitely should. One of us needs some romantic adventure, and it sure isn’t going to be me. Not unless you count the hot night I have planned with ESPN.”
“Thank you.” Poppy paused at the door. “I had a great time this afternoon.”
“Me too.” Mackenzie beamed. “Be sure to come by tomorrow and tell me how it all went!”
15
Poppy drove the main highway out to Cooper’s address, her heart racing and her head spinning with doubts. What if she showed up and he laughed right in her face? Or had another woman there? Or, worst of all, made awkward polite excuses until she turned and fled in humiliation?
