Meant to Be (Sweetbriar Cove Book 1) Page 6

  “Poppy?” Summer asked, and she realized she’d been silent a while. “I’m sorry, it’s too soon to be joking about this stuff. I know it hasn’t been easy on you.”

  “It’s OK,” Poppy said. “I’m doing fine. And I mean it,” she insisted. “I probably should be more devastated. I mean, we were together nearly two years. But mostly, I just feel . . . relieved.”

  Relieved she wasn’t on her honeymoon as planned, with a ring on her finger and that sick feeling still heavy like a stone in her stomach. The fact that she hadn’t even missed Owen once since getting on her flight said it all. She’d been so caught up in her deadline panic, she’d barely thought of him at all, not even when Cooper kissed her.

  Cooper had kissed her.

  Poppy remembered it all over again—in glorious Technicolor. She’d already been making out with another man, not three weeks after breaking her fiancé’s heart.

  Poppy groaned. “I’m a terrible person!”

  “You’re not!” Summer protested. “You did the right thing. And Owen will see that too, one day.”

  “I hope so.” Poppy felt a pang. “I never meant to hurt him.”

  “Well, a week in a luxury resort getting waited on hand and foot probably helped soothe the blow,” Summer said. “Hell, I’d call off a wedding if it got me out of the kitchen before seven. On a weekend.”

  “You love it,” Poppy teased. “You’ll be the youngest executive chef in town if you keep this up.”

  “I don’t know.” Summer sounded tired. “These hours, all the petty kitchen in-fighting . . . Anyway, listen to me, this is supposed to be your pep talk!”

  Poppy laughed. “I told you, I’m fine.”

  “You’re better than fine,” Summer insisted. “You’re amazing, and you’ve done the right thing. Now both you and Owen get to find the person you’re supposed to be with, instead of spending years trapped in an empty marriage resenting every time he chews too loudly.”

  “Well, when you put it like that . . .”

  “Anyway, I better get back to work,” Summer said. “I’m trying to plan the menus for next week, and I’m running short on inspiration.”

  “How about chicken soup?” Poppy suggested. Her pot was simmering nicely now, filling the kitchen with the delicious smell of herbs and broth. “Didn’t I read somewhere that comfort food is the new big trend?”

  Summer laughed. “I wish. If I dared serve that at Chez Andre, they’d probably throw down their silver spoons and storm out. But maybe a deconstructed coq au vin . . .” she mused. “With rosemary and gorgonzola soufflés . . .”

  “There you go.” Poppy smiled. “Good luck!”

  “You too, babe.”

  She hung up and moved the pot off the flame. Outside, the spatter of rain had turned to a steady drizzle, and the clouds were darkening fast. Poppy paused at the window. Cooper’s truck was still parked there, but with all the tarps flapping about where his roof was supposed to be, he couldn’t be getting much shelter from the rain. It would be the neighborly thing to invite him in. After all, she had plenty of soup.

  But he’d kissed her.

  And insisted it was a mistake that meant nothing, she reminded herself. If he could pretend like it never happened, then she could, too.

  As she deliberated, there was a rumble of thunder in the distance. The skies opened, and the drizzle became a deluge, pouring down and battering the bare construction frame next door. She saw a flash of movement, and then Cooper came hurrying through the storm towards his truck.

  Poppy opened the back door. “Cooper!” she yelled, waving across the yard. “Come inside.”

  She beckoned, and he paused for a moment. Then the thunder rumbled again, and he changed direction, and veered across the yard towards her. He sprinted up the back steps and inside just as the sky flared with lightning.

  She closed the door fast. Cooper was dripping wet, his hair plastered to his head and water running in rivulets over his cheeks. “You’re soaked!” Poppy exclaimed, trying to ignore the fact he looked like some kind of Gothic romance hero, striding in out of the rain. “Here, let me get you a towel.” She found one in the clean laundry pile and handed it to him, taking his wet jacket in return. She hung it by the door, and then moved some newspaper underneath to catch the drips of water. “Boots?” she demanded, and Cooper pulled them off. A smile played on the edge of his lips.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

  She groaned. “God, don’t ma’am me. I’ve got another ten years of ‘miss,’ I swear.”

  Cooper toweled off his wet hair and face. Even under his jacket, his clothes looked soaked. Poppy beckoned for them. “Let me put those in the dryer, before you catch a cold.”

  Cooper raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Trying to get me naked? At least buy me dinner first.”

  Poppy flushed. “I’ll find you a bathrobe, or something to wear.” She scurried out before he could see her cheeks burning red. She suddenly realized that for all her neighborly good intentions, she’d just invited the wolf through her door. The handsome, sexy wolf.

  And told him to take all his clothes off, too.

  Poppy ignored the slow flip in her stomach, and busied herself tracking down dry clothes for him to wear. Even her slouchiest clothes would be way too small for him, but buried in the closet in one of the guest rooms, she hit the jackpot: an old Indiana State T-shirt and some men’s sweatpants, sized large.

  “Success,” she said, entering the kitchen with her bounty. She was braced for some kind of tension or awkwardness, but instead, Cooper was by the stove, with a spoon already dipping into the pan of soup. He paused, looking so much like a guilty schoolboy, she couldn’t help but laugh. “Go change,” she said, “I’ll fix us a couple of bowls.”

  “Angel.” Cooper flashed her a smile on his way out, so bright Poppy was thrown off balance.

  Wow.

  It was a good thing he was so grumpy, she thought. Otherwise that smile could do some serious damage. As it was, she had time to pull herself together—setting out two bowls, and a board with some hard cheese and the crusty loaf she’d bought in town the day before. When Cooper rejoined her, dressed in the sports gear, she didn’t even notice the way the T-shirt pulled over his muscular torso, or how the loose sweatpants inexplicably hugged his ass.

  Didn’t notice for long, at least.

  “That smells amazing,” Cooper said, eyeing the soup hungrily. His hair was damp and rumpled, dark strands in his eyes, and Poppy felt an inexplicable urge to push it back.

  Down, girl.

  “You have good timing, it’s just ready.” She ladled it between their bowls, then took a seat at the old kitchen table. He cleared a stack of magazines off the other chair and joined her.

  “Thanks. For the shelter, and the soup.” Cooper said. He shot Poppy a rueful smile. “I don’t know what I was thinking, trying to work through this. Everyone said the rain was coming.”

  “But you thought you knew better?” she said, half-teasing.

  “Something like that.”

  They started to eat. Cooper devoured his first bowl, barely coming up for air, then went to fix another. This one, he ate slower, sopping up the juices with bread. “Damn, nothing beats Aunt June’s soup,” he said, sounding satisfied. “I talked her into bringing it to a town potluck last year, I swear I stood guard by the table all night, making sure everyone only took one helping.”

  Poppy smiled. “Once, my college boyfriend dumped me in the middle of finals, and she shipped me a jar of it, wrapped up in tissue paper so the glass wouldn’t break.”

  He laughed. “I keep asking for the recipe, but she says it’s family only.”

  “Really?” Poppy arched an eyebrow. “Then you better be extra-nice to me.”

  “I can do that.”

  Cooper caught her eye with a roguish smile, and just like that, Poppy forgot what they were even talking about. Her stomach turned a slow flip, and she felt her cheeks flush.

  She knew ho
w those lips felt, soft against hers.

  She looked away. “Are you done?” she said, her voice coming out high-pitched. She got up and reached for his empty bowl, but Cooper waved her hands away.

  “I’ve got this.” He cleared their things, and ran hot water to do the dishes. “Coffee?” he offered.

  “Thanks. The pot is—”

  “Right here. You go put your feet up,” he ordered her lightly. “Consider it my thanks for dinner.”

  “OK.” Poppy didn’t know quite what to do with herself, so she went to the living room and curled up on the couch. The worst of the storm had passed, but rain was still drumming lightly on the porch roof, and it felt warm and cozy inside. She pulled a blanket down and tried to relax, but it was impossible with the awareness humming through her body. She could hear Cooper moving about in the kitchen, and wondered if he felt it too. Or maybe he’d meant what he’d said the other night, and the kiss really didn’t mean a thing to him. So why had he leaned in and claimed her lips like that?

  And why had it felt so good?

  Poppy was still puzzling when he emerged a few minutes later with two steaming mugs. “Milk and sugar OK?” he asked, handing her one.

  “Great. Thank you.” Poppy wrapped her hands around the mug, as Cooper casually sat down on the other side of the couch. He stretched his legs out in front of him and yawned.

  “I hope this doesn’t last all week,” he said, looking out the window. “We need to get the roof on, or we’ll be way behind schedule.”

  “Your client cracking the whip?” she asked.

  “Something like that.” Cooper looked over. “It’s my place,” he told her. “For now, anyway. I figure I’ll fix it up, then find some rich summer people to take it off my hands.”

  Cooper seemed to be working too hard for it to just be a flip project, but Poppy didn’t push. “Sounds like a plan,” she said instead. “You shouldn’t have any problem finding a buyer. I’ve been here a week, and already I never want to leave.”

  Cooper grinned. “Even with all the noise?”

  She tossed a cushion at him. “Don’t. The next time my agent calls demanding pages, I’ll sic her on you.”

  “How’s the writing going, anyway?” he asked, taking a sip of his coffee.

  She let out a pitiful groan. “It’s not.”

  “What do you mean?

  “I’m blocked,” she admitted sadly. “Completely and utterly blocked.”

  Cooper seemed amused. “Hazard of the trade, right?”

  She shook her head. “Not to me. Not like this. It’s the most important book of my career, the one everyone’s waiting for, but all I can do is sit at my computer screen and panic.” Poppy could feel it all over again, the crushing weight of expectations pressing down on her chest. “And then I beat myself up for panicking, and feel guilty for letting everyone down, and then the whole feedback loop starts again.”

  “Whoa there.” Cooper looked surprised. “Is this what you’ve been doing all week, just sitting here in your loop?”

  She nodded. “Sometimes I go to the café in town and sit and panic there, too. I’m a failure,” she said. “And an imposter, too. Maybe you were right before,” she added, looking over at him in defeat. She’d been fighting her doubts and insecurities all along, but maybe it was time to admit the truth. “What do I know about happily-ever-after?” she said. “I mean, just look at me. I’ve written a dozen romance novels, but I don’t have any clue what I’m doing when it comes to my own love life.”

  Poppy cringed to hear the words out loud. “God, I’m such a cliché—the romance author who’s never been in love.”

  Cooper quirked an eyebrow, and Poppy braced herself for the questions about what happened with Owen, but instead, he suddenly got to his feet. “You’ve been sitting in this house way too long,” he announced. “We need to break this cycle. Come on.”

  “What? Where?” Poppy blinked. “It’s storming out there.”

  “Not anymore.” Cooper paused, listening, and Poppy realized he was right. The steady drum had stopped, but it was still dark out, and late now, too.

  “I don’t know . . .” she said reluctantly. “I figured I would just curl up with a book. Is anything even open on a Sunday night?”

  Cooper grinned. “Ye of little faith. Come on, grab your coat and let’s get out of here. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

  Poppy hesitated. It wasn’t the cold and dark she was worried about, it was the man standing in front of her: tall and broad-shouldered, and looking way too tempting. But Cooper flashed her that irresistible smile, and she knew, she didn’t stand a chance. Between Cooper and another night in staring at a blank screen, there was no contest.

  “Fine,” she agreed, and got to her feet. “But don’t think this will win you Aunt June’s secret recipe.”

  Cooper laughed. “You’ll change your tune by the time I’m through with you.” He winked, and Poppy felt her stomach turn that slow, delicious arabesque.

  The problem was, she would.

  9

  Cooper started the engine, waiting for Poppy to get herself together. His clothes were dry, his belly was full, and he was feeling something he never expected to for his infuriating new neighbor.

  Sympathy.

  He’d thought her tantrums over the construction noise were just some kind of prima donna routine, but watching the sadness and fear in Poppy’s eyes as she described her writer’s block, he realized it went much deeper than that. She was cracking under a ton of pressure—and he’d been making it worse. One more thing to add to the list of things he needed to make amends for, right below picking fights at poker games, and kissing her on the front porch.

  That kiss . . .

  Cooper paused. He’d been trying to banish it from his mind all week, but somehow, it always came back to him. The feel of her lips, soft and yielding. The look in her eyes, dazed with desire . . . He’d lost his mind even reaching for her in the first place, but damn if it hadn’t been the best ten seconds of temporary insanity he could remember.

  “OK, I’m all set.” Poppy climbed up beside him into the truck. She was bundled up in a red winter coat now, her hair peeking out from under a knit cap; cheeks flushed from the cold. She looked over expectantly. “What’s this big outing you’ve got planned?”

  “Wait and see.” Cooper put the truck in drive. The truth was, he didn’t have a plan yet, he just knew he needed to get Poppy out of that house. It looked like she’d been holed up there all week, going stir-crazy as she battled that blank page. She needed something to snap her out of it and make her loosen up a little. The question was what.

  Sweetbriar on a Sunday night didn’t exactly have many options. Most stores had shut hours ago, and even Riley didn’t keep the pub open past nine. Besides, he and Poppy didn’t have the best track record when it came to pleasant conversation, so they needed something distracting . . . noisy . . . preferably in a public place where he wouldn’t be tempted to go kissing her again . . .

  He had it.

  Cooper drove up through town then turned onto the highway, heading towards Wellfleet, just a few miles away. Poppy turned the stereo on beside him, and his CD of old classics started to play.

  “I love Elvis.” She sounded surprised.

  “My dad used to play these CDs in the car all the time,” he explained. She turned the volume up a little and sang along. He tried to hide a smile, but she caught it.

  “I’m terrible, I know,” Poppy said cheerfully. “I swear I’m tone deaf.”

  “You’ll fit right in at karaoke,” Cooper grinned.

  “There’s a karaoke place in Sweetbriar?” Poppy asked. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “Riley got a system, a couple of years back. If it were up to me, I’d smash the thing, but he says it’s good for profits. People need a couple of extra beers before they get up the courage to sing,” he explains.

  Poppy laughed. “Smart guy.”

  “He can be.” Cooper nodded.
Riley was a good friend, but sometimes Cooper wondered what the guy was doing sticking around someplace as small as Sweetbriar. He’d made his fortune in tech and social media, and now he was killing time pouring beers, but Cooper would never ask. Just like Riley didn’t ask about his past, there were some things guys just kept to themselves.

  Cooper saw the turn up ahead, and pulled off the main highway. The neon sign loomed up above them, bright against the dark sky: Wellfleet Drive-In.

  “Oh my god!” Poppy exclaimed, seeing the lettering. “I didn’t think this place would still be running!”

  “It’s a Cape institution,” Cooper said. He’d remembered seeing her there as a kid, when a parent would pile them all in the back of a car, and they’d run riot, fueled by popcorn and candy. He’d figured she might enjoy it again, and seeing the grin on her face, he’d chosen right. “I’m not sure what’s playing tonight, so don’t hold it against me if it’s nothing but Disney cartoons.”

  “Let’s see . . .” Poppy peered out of the window at the display board. “It’s an oldie night. Vertigo.”

  “Works for me.” Cooper paid the five bucks entrance fee to the kid at the front gate, and then slowly drove into the field that doubled as the drive-in lot. There was a screen set up at the far end, and a few rows of cars already parked in place. He picked a spot in the middle of a row and pulled in. “You want popcorn?” he asked, turning off the engine.

  “We just ate!” Poppy laughed.

  “And?” Cooper reached to open his door, but Poppy acted first.

  “I’ll go,” she said, hopping down. “Sweet or salted?”

  “Surprise me.” He could have sworn she blushed, but maybe that was just the headlights.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  He watched Poppy head across to the concession stand, her red coat bright in the dark. He hadn’t planned on spending his evening like this, but he had to admit, he was having fun. An old movie, some conversation—there were worse ways to pass the time. As long as he kept his head and stayed in control this time, there wouldn’t be any repeat of the madness of last week.