6. Colter
CHAPTER 6
COLTER
S he has her guard up, and it’s killing me. All I need is a name, and the man that bothered her will never do it again. But she doesn’t trust me. Somehow I have to earn her trust.
I’m gripping her hand like it’s a lifeline, and I have to remind myself to soften my hold. I have to remind myself to speak slowly, and I have to really think about the words. “Thank you for researching TBI and how you could help me. No one has ever done something like that for me before.”
She tilts her head to the side, and her hand on my arm lifts as she points at the croissant and pie she brought me. “Are you going to eat that?”
“Later,” I tell her.
She nods her head and puts her hand back on my arm. This should be awkward and uncomfortable, but it’s not for me. I haven’t had anyone touch me like this in a long time, and I’m reveling in the feel of it all.
I clear my throat. “How long have you worked for Glaze Bakery?”
Her face turns red. “Just over a month. I don’t know what I want to do with my life. I tried college, but I hated it.”
“You’re young, you have time,” I tell her, wondering how old she is. I could have easily hacked into her information and found out everything I wanted to know about her, but I didn’t want to do it that way.
She laughs. “I’m twenty-five, a college dropout, and I live in a one-bedroom condo that my father bought for me.”
She’s ten years younger than me. It’s not that big of a deal, relativity speaking, but why am I even thinking about it? It’s not going to happen between me and her. Reluctantly, I pull my hand from hers. Instantly, I miss her touch, but I know that it’s the right thing to do.
“So what do you want to do with your life?”
She looks at her now empty hands on the table and then pulls her arms back against herself. “I grew up with my grandma teaching me to bake, and that’s when I’m most happy.”
I point toward the truck. “Well, you’re off to a good start.”
She shrugs. “I got to bake when I first started, but now that I drive the truck, I’m more like a delivery person.”
Well, hell, she’s the most gorgeous delivery woman I’ve ever seen, but I understand her frustration. “Don’t give up. Talk to Emery. I’m sure she’d let you work some days in the shop and some on the truck.”
She creases her forehead. “You know my boss?”
“She’s married to Nash, and Nash works with Walker,” I explain, not wanting to get into the whole explanation of the Ghost Team or anything. The sun comes through a cloud, and instantly, I’m pulling my glasses off my head and putting them on my face.
“Are you sensitive to light?”
Instead of answering her, I ask my own question. “More research?”
She blushes, and I don’t know how to tell her how much it means to me that she would research my condition and want to help me.
She evades the question. “So what about you? Are you a patient here? How long are you in Whiskey Run?”
I look at the huge building behind us. “I work here. I mean, I guess I’m a patient too. Walker requires all of us to go to therapy.”
“What do you do?”
I shrug. “I work with computers.”
She knows there's more to it, but she doesn’t ask. “Do you love your job?”
I shrug. “I loved working in the field. I miss it. But yeah, this is my life now. I still get to do what I love. I’m just doing it in a different way.”
She nods and waves at her friend who’s walking back into the truck. It’s obvious she’s curious what’s going on. Hell, I wish I knew.
Poppy leans back, and I know she’s about to walk away. I put a hand out to stop her. I feel rushed, but I know if I don’t take my time and say things plainly, I’m just going to embarrass myself. “Who hurt you?”
She’s surprised I’m back at that. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“But you don’t have?—”
She cuts me off and leans over, squeezing my hand again. “I have to get back to work. What’s your favorite dessert?”
“Uh, I don’t know. Anything strawberry.”
She puts her hands on her hips. “Good to know. Thanks, Colter. And thanks for forgiving me.”
Before I can say anything, she’s walking away.
I had told myself I wasn’t going to look her up, but now I have to. I need to know everything there is to know about her. I refuse to go full-on hacker mode, but I am going to start with her social media and see what I can find out about her that way.
I grab the plate of treats and walk back toward my cabin. As soon as I get inside, I make my way to my office and start searching. I should have asked her last name to make this easier, but it only takes me a few clicks to find out that her name is Poppy Turner. When I open her Facebook page and scroll through her feed, my stomach starts to turn.
She has a boyfriend.
I don’t know why it bothers me so much. Yes, I think she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and yes, I would love to take her on a date or something, but I also know that it will never happen. She is so far out of my league, there’s not a chance in hell she’d go out with me.
So why am I so upset?
I keep looking through the feed and then click over to her Instagram. I’m looking at pictures and reading comments, and it’s when I see one that says “Nobody wants to see that” that I start to get somewhere.
I click on the profile and sit back. It’s the same man she was in all the pictures with. I start comparing dates, looking at things closer and notice that her feed in Facebook had been changed from “in a relationship” to “single.” Is this the guy that’s been bothering her?
I do some research on the guy. He’s a realtor for Whiskey Run Realty. I only have to look at a few of his posts to know he’s a conceited asshole.
I go back to Poppy’s profile and spend way longer looking through her pictures than I should. She’s an only child as far as I can tell. Her mom is not in the picture. Her dad is in a rock band and travels the country.
There’s picture after picture of her with desserts she’s baked. And when I come to her videos, I go down the rabbit hole of watching her in a small kitchen, smiling, baking, and then showing the final product. Happiness is shining on her face, and I think she’s right. Baking is what she should do. I may not have ever tasted anything she made, but I have no doubt that if it makes her that happy, then she’s going to be good at it.
I look through her pictures again and decide to focus on the ex-boyfriend. If he’s bothering her, it’s going to stop. I can at least do that for her.