Meant to Be (Sweetbriar Cove Book 1) Read online

  “Face cards beat numbers, right?” she echoed Cooper’s helpful advice.

  “How did you . . . ?” he spluttered, looking totally shocked.

  “Must be beginner’s luck,” she said, putting her arms out to sweep the massive stash of candy closer. “Or maybe it’s the fact you’re a terrible bluffer. Just some advice,” she added, “but try not to tap your cards like that. It’s a sure sign you’ve got nothing over sixes.”

  Riley hooted with laughter. Cooper scowled. “So you’ve been playing us all this time?” he demanded.

  “You say ‘playing,’ I say ‘letting you underestimate me.’ ” Poppy beamed. She tossed an M&M in her mouth and crunched. Delicious.

  “This is your fault,” Cooper grumbled to Riley. “You invited her.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t know she had a secret life as a Vegas hustler.” Riley looked impressed. He put his hand up to Poppy, and she high-fived him. “What are you doing next week?” he asked. “There are some guys out in Provincetown we could take to the bank.”

  Poppy laughed. “Sorry, I only play for chocolate.”

  “Too bad,” Riley grinned. “We would make a mean double act.”

  Cooper cleared his throat. “Are we going to get on with the game?” he said, frowning.

  Grayson laughed. “Game’s over, man. And you lost.” He got up, and went to the tiny kitchen in back for another beer. He brought one for Poppy, too. “To the victor,” he said, toasting her.

  She smiled. Aside from Cooper acting like a sore loser, she was having fun. She ate a couple more pieces of candy, and smiled at Cooper across the table. “What’s the matter?” she teased. “Can’t handle being beat by a girl?”

  “Sure I can.” Cooper stared back across the table at Poppy, trying not to notice how damn cute she looked. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled; she was clearly happy from her win.

  He couldn’t help but be impressed, even if his ego had taken a hit from that performance. He didn’t think she’d had it in her to bluff and play him like she had, but he’d always been a bad judge of women.

  His track record spoke to that, alright.

  “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” he said ruefully. “You’re a storyteller, right? And telling stories is just another way of hiding the truth.”

  Poppy looked thrown. “You lied, too,” she pointed out, “Bluffing a bad hand.”

  Cooper shook his head. “That’s not the same.”

  “Isn’t it?” Poppy glared at him. “So I’m the liar and you’re, what, just playing a game?”

  “Hey,” Riley interrupted. “Who wants to deal another hand?”

  Cooper shook his head, still focused on Poppy. “I’m just saying, telling stories is all fine and good, until people wake up and realize they’re in the real world.”

  They weren’t talking about poker anymore, but it was needling him how she didn’t seem to care what happened to her words once they were out in the world—those books she thought were so innocent giving people false hope and expectations. He could still remember the way he’d felt seeing that woman on the street yesterday, the sinking sense of dread when he’d thought she was Laura .

  He’d believed in happily-ever-after once, and look where that had gotten him.

  But Poppy clearly disagreed. She looked as if she was about to go to war to defend her right to sell an impossible fantasy. “For someone who hasn’t read my books, you sure have a lot of opinions about them.” Her voice was tense, and Cooper shrugged.

  “I know what it’s like to be fed a fairy tale, some happily-ever-after image of what life is going to be like. And all of that, it’s just a lie. Maybe if you told the truth about love, people wouldn’t be so disappointed in the end.”

  “Someone was disappointed with you?” Poppy snapped back. “Gee, what a surprise.”

  Her words were a kick in his gut. “Says the Queen of Hearts,” Cooper replied, before he could stop himself. “Didn’t I hear you were supposed to be getting married?” he asked. “I guess happily-ever-after isn’t working out so great for you, after all.”

  Right away, he knew he’d crossed the line. Hurt flashed across Poppy’s face, and she got to her feet.

  “C’mon, take it easy.” Riley tried to diffuse the situation. “How about we settle this on the table? Dealer’s choice.”

  Poppy shook her head. “Thanks for the game,” she said shortly. “I’ll see myself out.”

  She walked quickly to the door, and let it slam shut behind her. The sound made him flinch. He’d really blown it now.

  “You’re an ass.”

  Cooper turned to find Riley scowling at him. Even Grayson, who usually steered clear of any drama, gave him a look. “Seriously,” Riley continued. “What the hell was that? We were having a fun game, and then suddenly it’s like World War 3 up in here.”

  Cooper sighed. “Sorry, man.”

  “I’m not the one you need to apologize to.”

  Cooper’s conscience pricked uncomfortably. “I was just teasing,” he lied. “It’s not my problem if the girl can’t handle a joke.”

  “Whatever you say.” Riley shook his head, “Anyway, I guess that’s game-over.”

  “I should be getting home anyway,” Cooper said, finishing his beer. “I’ve got another early start tomorrow.”

  He said his goodbyes and headed out, but his guilt only grew. There was no good excuse for the things he’d said. He could see Poppy’s face now—the way she’d pressed her lips together in that thin line, emotion flashing in her eyes. He may have meant every word he said to her, but it wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t anything to do with her.

  Yup, he’d screwed up again.

  With a sigh, he yanked the wheel around. His place was on the outskirts of Sweetbriar, deep in the woods, but he found himself driving back along the main road in the other direction, towards the shore. He could let Poppy cool down and sleep it off, but his father had taught him never to go to bed on an argument, and he’d learned the hard way how right the old man was about that. The least he could do was apologize and offer her a ride home.

  Sure enough, as he followed the winding lane out of town, he saw a lone woman walking along the edge of the road in the dark. His headlights caught a slim figure with her arms wrapped around her. Poppy.

  He slowed to a crawl alongside and rolled his window down. “Want a ride?”

  Poppy barely glanced at him. “No thanks.”

  “Come on, it’s cold out. You’ll catch a chill.”

  “I’m fine.” She paced on, stubborn.

  “Consider it an apology,” Cooper tried again. “I’m sorry I went off on you back there. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I know,” Poppy snapped back, and despite his guilt, he had to stop himself from smiling. She hadn’t changed at all. Still as stubborn as she was at ten years old.

  “I’m trying to extend an olive branch here,” he said. “Or are you going to make me beg?”

  “Would you even know how?” Poppy’s voice was still clipped, but he could see the edges of a smile on her lips.

  “I’m a little out of practice, I’ll admit.” Cooper smiled. “Come on. I’d never hear the end of it from June if you went down with pneumonia your first week here.”

  Poppy paused, like she was assessing the road—and the chilled wind that was picking up off the ocean—then sighed. “OK. Thanks,” she added reluctantly, as Cooper stopped the truck and she scrambled up into the passenger seat.

  “There, look at us, building bridges,” he said, trying again to make her smile. He still felt bad for being such an ass earlier, but he couldn’t bring himself to explain why. Why her simple belief in happy endings and true love brought out the devil in him. He’d wanted to lash out, and she’d been an easy target.

  Poppy sat silently as he drove back towards the coast. The mile passed quickly, and the beach house appeared in front of them, the porch lights casting the house in a warm glow. Cooper pulled up outside the front
door. “Here you go.”

  Poppy reached for the door handle.

  “Wait, I’ve got that.” Cooper found himself getting out and circling round to get her door. Poppy blinked, clearly surprised he was being so chivalrous, but she let him help her down from the truck cab.

  “Thank you.”

  He walked with her up the front path. “You didn’t say how long you were staying in town,” he said, trying to make polite conversation.

  “A few weeks, maybe. I’m trying to finish one of those bullshit romance novels.” Her voice was still icy.

  He winced. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sure yours are great.”

  “Great for a lie, you mean.”

  Cooper clenched his jaw. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything, but you have to admit, it’s not exactly real life you’re writing about.”

  “So what if it isn’t?” Poppy protested, turning. “Maybe people deserve an escape.”

  “But what happens when they buy into that?” Cooper asked. “And wind up believing that’s what their lives should look like? Soulmates. True love.”

  “You don’t believe in love?”

  Cooper flinched. “Yeah, but not like it is in the books. Real love is messy, and broken, and hard. Not all fairy tales and Prince Charming.”

  “Says you.” Poppy’s gaze was determined. “If you want your life to be messy, and broken, and hard, then go right ahead. But don’t judge the people who want something different.”

  Cooper exhaled. He didn’t have an answer for that. Sure, he’d love to believe in a world like the ones in her books, but his life had shown him that was just a fantasy. In her books, your mom didn’t walk out when you were just a kid, and you didn’t have to watch your father die of cancer, and the one woman you tried to build a future with . . .

  Well, let’s just say they didn’t write a happy ending together. No, she saved that for some other lucky guy.

  “I guess we’ll agree to disagree,” he said, not wanting to fight anymore. “But I am sorry, for giving you a hard time. I’ll try not to be a total ass like that again.”

  “I won’t hold my breath,” she replied, but still, her expression softened. Cooper guessed that was about as much as he could hope for, considering.

  He’d take it.

  She climbed the front steps, then turned back, her face level with his. “What was her name?” she asked. Her eyes were illuminated in the porch light, compassionate and steady. “The woman who hurt you like this?”

  “What makes you think someone hurt me?” Cooper shot back, even as a knot twisted in his gut.

  Poppy smiled ruefully. “I like to think you weren’t always such an ass,” she said. “Although, now that I think about it . . .”

  Cooper laughed, hollow. He shouldn’t have said anything, but there was something about the way she was looking at him, like somehow she understood the disillusionment that had carved its way deep into his chest.

  “Laura.” Her name stuck in his throat. “We were . . . going to get married. Start a family. Then she made other plans.”

  “I’m sorry.” Poppy reached out and rested her hand on his arm for a moment. “Some things aren’t meant to be.”

  Her touch was light, gentle on his, and despite everything, her words slipped past his defenses. For a moment, Cooper could almost believe her. That it wasn’t his fault. That he hadn’t destroyed his own chances of happiness.

  That somehow, this was all part of a bigger story, instead of the same ending he was doomed to repeat.

  Cooper reached for her. He didn’t understand it, the instinct that suddenly surged through him. His body moved on its own, bypassing every rational thought as he stepped closer and reached to take her face between his hands.

  Poppy’s mouth fell open in surprise, but she didn’t make a sound.

  He kissed her.

  Her lips were soft, already parted, and damn, so sweet it was like a rush of pure sugar flooding his system, drowning out the darkness for one glorious moment as he reveled in the taste of her mouth, the soft touch against his hands, and the way her body swayed against him, closer, all heat and warm curves.

  It felt right. Even as his brain caught up with him, it felt too good to be holding her in his arms. She let out a breathy sound against his mouth, and then she was kissing him back—as lost to the moment as he was, as their tongues intertwined in a sensual dance and he felt every last synapse in his body come screaming to life.

  Wanting her. Wanting more.

  What the hell was he doing?

  He stepped back. Poppy looked dazed, her skin flushed and her eyes still half-closed. It was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.

  “I, uh,” Cooper coughed. Poppy Somerville wasn’t for kissing—or anything else. She’d already made it clear what she thought of him, and “incompatible” didn’t even begin to cover it. “I’m sorry,” he said gruffly. “That was . . . I don’t even know. Sorry. Forget it even happened.”

  He turned on his heel and left, before he took leave of his senses and did anything stupid.

  Like taking her to bed.

  8

  Five days later, Poppy could swear she still felt his lips on hers. It was like a dream. A weird, confusing “fallen asleep in front of the TV after eating too much Thai food” dream: one minute, she’d been arguing with him like usual, and the next?

  She’d been deep in the most sensual, bone-melting kiss of her life.

  With Cooper Nicholson.

  Poppy shook her head, trying to shift those hot, toe-curling memories. It didn’t make sense. Was it a joke? A game? Or maybe she should just chalk it up to temporary insanity—for the both of them. Cooper had made it clear he was as baffled as she was over what had just happened, and since he’d left her on the doorstep that night, he’d gone out of his way to steer clear. All week, she’d only seen him from a distance—hurrying straight to the construction site next door in the morning, or speeding past her in his truck as she browsed in town.

  She should be relieved. The more space between them, the better. No chance of any more arguments—or heart-stopping kisses, either. But every time her mind wandered, it took her right back to that kiss, and how good it felt to be wrapped in his strong arms, giving in to the burning heat—

  Nope. Poppy dragged her attention back to her laptop screen. She didn’t have time to obsess over those delicious ten seconds, not when she had thirty chapters waiting to be conjured out of thin air.

  Any time now.

  Poppy sighed. She’d done everything she could to shift this writer’s block—from brainstorms and writing exercises to rereading her older books in the series, hoping the familiar characters would take voice in her mind like they always had before. But the days were passing fast, and she was no closer to having even a hint of a book to send her editor. She was going stir-crazy from staring at her computer screen, but every time she got even a few pages of writing done, she knew in her bones it was all wrong. She hadn’t found it yet—the heart of the story, the thing she wanted to say—and until she figured that part out, it was all just empty words.

  She got up from her comfy seat in the den and went to go make dinner. It was a cloudy Sunday, overcast and spitting rain, but somehow she wasn’t surprised to see Cooper’s truck parked next door as usual, and the sound of occasional hammering coming from the bare-bones house. He definitely worked hard, even without the rest of his crew on site to lend a hand.

  She paused at the kitchen window. The ocean was stormy, the foam-tipped waves surging up against the shore. Cooper emerged from the main structure to haul some wood in from the truck, bending his head against the wind. He was bundled up in a jacket and scarf, and for a moment, she thought about inviting him in for a hot drink or some dinner. Then she remembered how his mouth had felt against hers, sure and certain, and she prickled with embarrassment all over again.

  Soup. She’d make soup. That would kill some time.

  Poppy set about pulling ingredients fro
m the fridge: last night’s chicken, celery, carrots—Aunt June’s chicken soup could solve any problem, and she didn’t even need a scribbled recipe as a guide. This one she knew by heart. Poppy had just diced the vegetables and added them to the pot when her cellphone rang. “Summer,” she smiled, lodging the phone against her shoulder so she could keep stirring. “Hey.”

  “How’s beach life?” Summer asked, her voice bright. “I’m so jealous, I’ve been working around the clock at the restaurant. Tell me how sunshine feels, all I have is those fluorescent strip lights burning down on me.”

  She smiled. Summer was a chef at a high-end restaurant back home, and for all her complaining, she loved her work. “No sun today, but you should take a break, come visit. Cash in all that vacation time you never use.”

  Summer sighed. “I wish. I booked time off for your wedding, but now . . .” She trailed off. “Whoops, sorry.”

  “It’s OK,” Poppy reassured her. “I’m not going to break down every time someone mentions marriage or weddings.”

  “I know, it’s just . . . have you been on Facebook?”

  “No, why?”

  “Nothing!” Summer said brightly.

  “Summer,” Poppy prompted her.

  “OK, don’t flip, but Owen posted a bunch of photos. From Fiji.”

  Poppy paused stirring. “He went on our honeymoon without me?”

  “Well, you weren’t exactly going to go with him,” Summer pointed out.

  “I know, I just . . . didn’t expect it. But I suppose it makes sense,” Poppy said slowly, still trying to process the news. “We managed to get our money back for the venue and catering, but those flights were non-refundable. At least the trip didn’t go to waste.”

  “Listen to you, so practical.” Summer laughed. “Ever thought about writing non-fiction? You could do a how-to guide on cancelling your wedding.”

  Poppy didn’t reply. She should be relieved that Owen had taken the honeymoon tickets; if anyone deserved a week on the beach in Fiji, it was him, after everything she’d put him through. She’d insisted on being the one to call around cancelling their wedding plans, but still, there were things they both had to take care of, like returning all the early wedding gifts to everyone, along with a polite note explaining that Owen Hendricks and Poppy Somerville were no longer due to be married.