Meant to Be (Sweetbriar Cove Book 1)

by Melody Grace

  “Poppy?”

  The knock came at her bedroom door, followed by Aunt June’s worried voice. “Poppy, hon, can I make you some breakfast?”

  Poppy rolled over and burrowed deeper under the covers. It had been three days since Cooper had left her there at the dinner—three days of Quinn plying her with alcohol and cursing all men, Poppy hiding away from the world, and her aunt trying to feed her, as if her blueberry pancakes could heal all ailments.

  Which, usually they did. But this wasn’t any old rejection or lost job or disappointing date they were facing. Poppy’s heart was broken, and no amount of maple syrup would be fixing that wound.

  “Sweetheart?” Poppy heard the door open and lifted her head. June took a step inside. “It’s not good for you to be wallowing like this,” she said gently. “I’ll run you a nice bath, and then you can come downstairs and I’ll fix you some food.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Poppy answered listlessly, but the rumble from her stomach said differently. June brightened at the sound.

  “Blueberry pancakes it is. And extra-crispy bacon. Come on, you’ll feel better with some food in you.”

  Poppy wasn’t convinced, but she’d been wearing these sweatpants for three days straight now. Maybe it was time to get showered and changed—into a fresh pair of sweatpants.

  Slowly, she swung her legs out of bed. June pulled back the curtains and bustled around, tidying the room. Poppy froze by the window, her eyes going straight to the house next door. “Is he . . . ?”

  “Not on the site today,” June said quickly. “Haven’t seen him since, well, since the weekend.”

  “Oh.” Poppy let out a breath. She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed. She’d spent days wondering if he was just outside, working away on the house and completely oblivious to her heartbreak, just a few feet away.

  June gave her a brief hug. “And how about we get you out of these clothes?” she said, steering Poppy to the bathroom. “You take your time, maybe wash your hair too. I’ll get started on the food.”

  She bustled off downstairs, and when Poppy caught sight of her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she understood Aunt June’s determination to get her up and out of bed. Her skin was pasty, there were dark shadows under her eyes, and everything about her looked limp and defeated. Just like she was feeling inside.

  Poppy turned on the shower, and stripped to get under the hot spray. She felt like she was moving in slow motion, and had been stuck there ever since the literary festival dinner. It had been hell making it through the rest of the evening after Cooper had walked away; she forced a smile on her face, and accepted everyone’s kind words and praise, but inside, she’d been falling apart. It seemed a cruel irony to be talking about romance and happily-ever-after when her own heart was breaking clean apart in her chest. Quinn had been the one to cover for her, talking loudly and steering the conversation away. She’d grabbed a bottle of wine on their way out and stuck it in Poppy’s hand for the drive home. “Write your way through it,” she’d said, and it was more an order than a suggestion, but still, the heartache remained.

  Now, Poppy stepped out of the shower and swathed herself in a warm cotton robe. She could already smell the bacon sizzling, and her mouth began to water. She still felt like a zombie, but at least she was a clean zombie. Trust June to find a way to pull her out of bed.

  When in doubt, bacon was usually the answer.

  Downstairs, she found her aunt in the kitchen with the radio playing an oldies station, and a cup of coffee waiting for her at the table. “What time is it?” Poppy yawned. She’d been sleeping in fits and starts, writing too late, and crying in painful jags.

  “After ten,” June replied. “Now, do you want blueberries or peaches on your pancakes? No, don’t answer that. You get both.”

  Poppy inhaled the scent of sweet vanilla batter and the salty bacon, and began to feel more human again. “Thank you,” she said, giving her aunt a hug from behind. “I know I’ve been a mess. I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about.” June patted her. “I just wish I knew what turned the two of you around. You seemed so perfect together, what happened?”

  Poppy swallowed. “I honestly don’t know.”

  That was the part that killed her. An argument could be compromised. A problem could have a solution. But how do you compromise on someone walking away from you?

  June patted her arm again. “Well, there’s fresh syrup in the jug, and these are ready.” She expertly flipped the pancakes onto a plate, and pushed Poppy to the table. “Eat,” she ordered. “You’ve been wasting away. If you turned sideways, I could look straight past you!”

  Poppy took a forkful of light, fluffy pancake and chewed. The warm berries burst on her tongue, and it was like a wake-up call to her senses. She took another forkful, and then another, and before she knew it, June was whisking her empty plate away for a second helping. “That’s better,” her aunt beamed, joining Poppy at the table. “Maybe we can go into town later, get a cup of coffee or stop by the store.”

  “I don’t know . . .” Poppy wavered. There was a chance she’d run into Cooper in town, and the last thing she wanted to do right now was walk right past him, pretending that everything was OK.

  But the thought of seeing him again was like a magnetic pull, no matter what. “OK,” she said quickly. “Let go, after breakfast.”

  June helped herself to more fruit, and gave Poppy a smile. “Maybe it will all still work out,” she offered, looking hopeful. “You never know.”

  Poppy sighed. “I don’t think so. You didn’t see him,” she added. “The way he looked at me . . . He’d made his mind up. It was like we were already over and he’d just forgotten to tell me.”

  Poppy felt the grief well up in her chest again. It wasn’t just a grief for everything she’d lost—the moments they’d shared—but for the possibilities that had suddenly been cut short.

  The future she’d wanted with him, and dared to even dream.

  All this time, she’d been clinging to hope, that shot in the dark at finding someone to connect with, who would see her heart and love her for it, and now that she’d had a glimpse of what that belonging felt like, it hurt even more to lose it all.

  And she didn’t even know why.

  Poppy demolished another plate of pancakes to build her strength, then got dressed and headed into town. They shopped for groceries for dinner that night, before June got waylaid by a friend in the store. “I’ll meet you at the coffee shop,” Poppy told her, not wanting to interrupt, and left them to gossip alone. Outside, it was a warm, spring day, but Poppy felt a tremor of nerves, making her way across the square. She expected to look up any moment to see Cooper striding around the corner, or emerging from the hardware store. What was she supposed to say to him? How was she supposed to act now?

  Maybe it was a good thing she hadn’t made plans to stay for the summer. That vision of lazy beach days and long nights in his arms seemed a million miles away. Now, she just wanted to finish up her book and get back to the city, but looking around the square, with the small green park and wedding cake gazebo, she felt a pang. Sweetbriar somehow felt like home, after just a couple of months.

  A home that had her ex just up the street, she reminded herself. Cooper had lived here all his life; it was no contest who was taking Sweetbriar in the breakup.

  She remembered her earlier promise to Mackenzie, and detoured via the pottery workshop to pick up some mugs. The bell above the door rang out as she entered, and Mackenzie’s voice called, flustered, from the back. “Be right there!”

  Poppy browsed the cute ceramics, bracing herself for the onslaught of sympathy and questions, but when Mackenzie emerged—her curly hair flying out in every direction, and a smudge of paint on one cheek—she was all smiles.

  “Hey! How’s my favorite romance author?” She came to hug Poppy. “I heard you were a hit at the festival. I couldn’t make it to your panel, I was stuck on my booth all day,
but we sold out of my nautical collection and I made out like a bandit with my books, coffee, air mugs. See?” She held up a chunky blue cup with swirling white letters.

  “I love it!” Poppy examined the glaze. “I’ll take ten.”

  “Ooh, big spender.” Mackenzie grinned. “Either that, or your coffee habit has spiraled way out of control.”

  Poppy smiled. “No, I figure I should stock up on gifts before I leave.”

  Mackenzie’s head snapped around. “Leave?” she echoed, eyes wide. “You’re going back to New York? But what about Cooper?”

  Poppy blinked. She’d figured the legendary Sweetbriar gossip mill would have been working overtime, and Mackenzie was just being sweet to ignore the subject, but looking at the confusion on her face, she wasn’t so sure.

  “I’m going home,” she said slowly. “Cooper and I broke up.”

  “He did WHAT?” Mackenzie’s voice echoed. She caught her breath. “Sorry,” she said. “But I am going to murder that man.” She stripped off her apron, as if she was about to march out the door right that second.

  “No!” Poppy yelped. “Don’t, please.”

  “But what about you?” Mackenzie looked back at her. “Are you OK? When was this? What happened?”

  Poppy slowly filled her in on the (brief) details, Mackenzie shaking her head the whole time. “I knew it,” she muttered. “I knew he’d go and do something to screw this up. It’s like he’s incapable of letting himself be happy. He’s going to wind up bitter and alone, just like I said.”

  Poppy swallowed hard. The thought of Cooper alone and miserable hit her squarely in the gut. She didn’t want that for him. She wanted him to be happy.

  With her.

  “You’re taking this way too calmly,” Mackenzie added, looking at her with concern. “If I were you, I’d be breaking things right now. His things.”

  Poppy managed a weak smile. “I guess I’m still in a daze.” She shrugged. “I’ve been mostly wallowing. There was some drinking,” she added, remembering Quinn. “But overall, wallowing. June finally dragged me out of the house today. I think she was getting worried.”

  “She was right.” Mackenzie nodded. “There are seven stages to grief. First, sweatpants.”

  “I’ve definitely checked that off the list.”

  “Good.” Mackenzie gave her a smile. “That means you’re all set for stage two. Follow me.”

  She headed for the back before Poppy could argue. Curious, she set down her mugs and followed. The studio area was a chaotic mess of pottery, paperwork, and tools, but Mackenzie led her past the room and out of the back door, to where there was a small grassy yard with a table and chairs, and a shed-like structure in the back. “I keep my kiln in there, in case it overheats and something explodes,” Mackenzie explained. “And this is where I do my anger management.” She presented a corner of the yard filled with shards of broken pottery, layered inches deep.

  “You don’t seem angry to me.” Poppy looked around. There were flowers and hearts painted on the wall, and a box full of daffodils blooming cheerfully by the window.

  “That’s because I work it all out here.” Mackenzie smiled. “Try it.” She handed Poppy a vase that was chipped and misshapen. “They’re my offcuts,” she explained. “I smash them up and make mosaics.”

  “I don’t know . . .” Poppy didn’t feel like smashing things. Truth be told, she still felt like curling under the covers back at the cottage and never coming up for air. But Mackenzie was insistent.

  “It makes you feel better, I promise. Just imagine you’re throwing it at Cooper’s big, stubborn head.”

  Poppy gulped. “Don’t ask me to picture him. It hurts too much.”

  Mackenzie gave her a sympathetic look. “We’re going to need a bigger bowl.”

  She took the vase from Poppy’s hands and hurled it suddenly at the shed wall. It broke with a loud SMASH, the pieces flying out in every direction. Poppy jumped. “See?” Mackenzie beamed. “It’s very therapeutic.”

  Poppy blinked. Mackenzie found her a bowl from the collection of defective pottery and passed it over. “Just toss it right down,” Mackenzie insisted. “It feels good, I swear.”

  Poppy didn’t know what else to do, so she half-heartedly lobbed the bowl at the heap of debris. It hit the wall with a gentle thud and cracked in two before sliding to the ground.

  “Yeah, nope.” Mackenzie frowned. “We’re going to need the chardonnay.”

  “Did I hear my cue?”

  Poppy turned. It was Aunt June, with an armful of groceries. “Ooh,” she said, lighting up. “Are we throwing pots again?”

  Mackenzie grinned. “June happened to be in the store when a date cancelled at the last minute,” she explained to Poppy. “So we had ourselves some fun back here.”

  “Let me do one.” June set down the bag and limbered up, stretching. Mackenzie passed her a mug with a massive chip in it, and June hurled it at the ground. It smashed into a dozen pieces, and she clapped her hands together in glee. “It reminds me of the time my second husband was cheating,” she said with a nostalgic smile. “I took everything he owned and hurled it out the second-floor window.”

  “You didn’t!” Poppy exclaimed.

  “Oh, yes I did,” June replied. “When he came back from that hussy’s place, it was all right there on the sidewalk in ruins.”

  “Atta girl,” Mackenzie said. “Come on, Poppy. You can’t tell me you’re not a little angry right now?”

  Poppy gulped. The sad haze was wearing off a little, and she had to admit, there was a burning seam of anger running through that broken heart of hers.

  How could he just change his mind?

  Poppy grabbed a plate from the table and narrowed her eyes. This time, when she threw it, it hit the wall with a satisfying SMASH and ricocheted into tiny pieces.

  “You’re right,” she said, surprised. “It does feel good.”

  “You grab the pots, I’ll go get the wine.” Mackenzie grinned. “And we’ll have ourselves a party.”

  Four bowls, two mugs, and a misshapen lump of something Mackenzie couldn’t even identify later, and Poppy was in touch with her anger, alright. “He just LEFT,” she cried, throwing another mug at the ground in a shatter of satisfying pieces. “He didn’t try to talk, or explain, or anything. He just decided it was over, and that was it. Who does that?”

  “Men,” June snorted, and took a sip of her wine. “That’s who. Always acting like their word is law.”

  “But you don’t understand, Cooper isn’t like that. At least, he wasn’t.” Poppy’s shoulders sagged, remembering. “He was so sweet to me, nothing like how he seemed in the beginning. He helped me with my book, and fixed up that cabin . . .”

  Just as swiftly as it came, her anger left her. Poppy sat down at the table in a slump, the pain flooding through her all over again.

  Mackenzie refilled her wine glass, and nudged it towards Poppy. “I’m sorry I pushed you guys together,” she said, looking stricken. “I never thought it would all fall apart like this.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Poppy reassured her. “I wanted this. And he said he did too. But just not enough, I guess.”

  There was silence. Poppy swallowed. “Anyway, thanks for the distraction,” she offered, giving Mackenzie a smile. “What will you do with the wreckage now?”

  Mackenzie surveyed the shattered pottery. “A mosaic, maybe. Or I could glue some of the pieces together into something new. Either way, I’ll make it something beautiful.”

  Poppy felt a pang. “Got any glue for pieces of a broken heart?” she asked ruefully.

  Mackenzie gave her a quiet smile. “I’m still working on that one.”

  “At least you’ll be able to put it in a book one day,” June spoke up. “Use all of this for something creative. It’s not life,” she added with an encouraging smile. “It’s material!”

  Poppy knew she was trying to help, but she flinched at the thought of it. Channeling her hopes and d
reams into her work was one thing, but the idea of sharing all the intimate details of her relationship with Cooper would be a betrayal, no matter how it had ended. “Being blissfully in love is material, too,” she said instead. “Never mind starving in a garret somewhere, I do my best work when I’m happy and well fed.”

  Mackenzie laughed. “My kind of artist,” she grinned. “Here’s to comfortable, happy creation.” She toasted her glass to Poppy’s, but she was still a long way from happy. The afternoon with her aunt and Mackenzie may have been a welcome distraction from the empty ache inside, but it was still there: sounding like an echo only she could hear.

  “I tried calling him,” she admitted quietly. “He didn’t pick up, and I couldn’t leave a message. I didn’t know what to say. I just wanted to talk to him, maybe try to understand . . .” Tears welled up in her eyes, and she wiped at them, feeling foolish. “I don’t even know why I’m taking it so hard. I mean, I’ve barely known the man for a month. It’s not like we made any promises. He never even said he loved me—”

  Her voice cracked, and June reached out to squeeze her hand. Poppy flushed, embarrassed. “I’m making a big drama out of it, I shouldn’t even care.”

  “But you do.” Her aunt gave her a weary smile. “Time doesn’t make a difference, not when it matters. When you find your someone. Why, I’ve had affairs that lasted a week that mattered more than men I knew for years. It’s not about how long you spent together. Sharing something real, revealing your heart . . . that always matters, whether it’s for a week or a year.”

  Now Poppy really had to work to keep back the tears. Her aunt was right, she knew it in her gut. But what use was that rare connection when the other person turned around and walked away?

  “You should go there,” Mackenzie declared. “It worked last time, didn’t it? Go to him, and set him straight. Find out what he’s so scared of, and don’t leave until you figure out a way through it, together.”

  Poppy shook her head. “I can’t,” she said sadly. “Not this time. He’s made his choice, and I can’t just go chasing after somebody who doesn’t want me.”