Three
I t was late spring; the weather was surprisingly warm, and the sky tonight was clear. The moon was full and lit the entire sky. Looking down on her without judgment. The moon understood. This gorgeous night was a balm after a very chaotic and surprisingly fun evening with Alistair and her friends.
“You’ve changed,” she said, resisting the urge to hold his hand.
“A wise woman told me that I needed to be honest and stop being so full of myself.”
“Sound advice. You took it?”
He barked out a laugh that startled her. “Not at first. You know me. I assholed up, determined to prove that I was always honest. Yeah, that didn’t go well.”
She stopped. Main Street wasn’t that busy for a Friday evening at almost midnight. “What happened?”
“You don’t want to know. Suffice it to say eventually, I had an awakening and started to heed your wisdom.”
“Glad to hear that. How does that correlate to you brewing beer?”
Being buzzed and standing outside under the stars with Alistair was making it really hard to concentrate on anything but the remembered feel of his arms around her and his hot mouth on hers. The way they’d hooked up the first time at her on-campus student accommodation, barely making it into her room before they were on each other.
It felt like this.
He felt new to her.
Not like the ex who had broken her heart and her dreams, burning down everything in her life that she’d always believed. This guy was different; she didn’t know him or what to expect, and he was housed in the body of the sexiest man she’d ever been with. The one that she had never been able to banish from her dreams.
Super bad idea. The worst.
Except it didn’t feel that way.
The thought drifted in and out of her head like a ribbon of steam from a steeping cup of tea as she leaned toward him slightly. Testing the waters.
Their eyes met for a long moment as he shifted toward her. They were next to Pollens Jewelers; the windows were dark and the street was empty.
No one would know but the two of them if anything happened. Well, only the moon, which saw everything. But there was no judgment coming from anyone. Not even her hyper-critical internal voice was loud enough to keep her from closing that gap between the two of them.
Putting her hand on his chest, she looked up.
His eyes were heavy-lidded, and his lips parted. “Poppy.”
Just her name on a low whisper made her shiver, from her core outward. Every instinct she had was muted as desire took over. It had been too long since she’d felt his mouth on hers. Tasted the one kiss that she’d never been able to forget no matter how many other men and women she’d kissed.
Maybe she was remembering it wrong. Maybe one of his changes would be that he was now a sloppy kisser, all saliva and odd noises. Maybe—
His mouth was on hers; his arms pulled her close, and her mind quieted. Her body relaxed into him as if it had been waiting for this. Images of their greatest hits played in her mind as his hand tangled in her hair. He turned so that his back was to the street, and hers was pressed against the jewelry store window.
The glass was cold through her clothes, a contrast to the heat of Ali’s body. His hands were still, but hers weren’t; kneading his chest, trying to get to his skin but not able to through his T-shirt. Until her brain kicked in, and she pulled it up, shoving her hand against his bare skin.
He was all taut muscles with a light dusting of hair. Holding his waist, she pulled him closer as she went up on her tiptoes to deepen the kiss, brushing herself against his erection.
That was a wakeup call.
Sleeping with Ali today wasn’t in her plans. She was supposed to be moving on, not acting as if nothing had happened.
Kissing him hadn’t been in her plans either, but it took her more than a minute to pull back and eventually break the kiss.
Well, darn.
Her blood was racing through her body, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She needed to be sensible, but that dreamer deep inside of her urged her to ignore the warnings. The pain of the truth of her past. That fear of making the same mistake with the same guy again.
Ali turned away, putting his hands on his thighs, breathing deeply before he shoved his hands through his hair. “That was...”
“Yeah.” She didn’t want to dissect it. They’d both stopped, so that told her he wasn’t ready either. “If I go with you to the wedding, we need to keep things platonic.”
“Platonic? Sure we can try, but with that kiss...I’m not sure either of us is going to be able to stick to that,” he said.
“We’re divorced, Alistair. That has to mean something. We tried being a couple, and it didn’t work at all. Let’s not put ourselves through that again,” she said, giving him the honesty that she’d wanted from him a long time ago.
He nodded tightly. “All that is true, but I’m a different person. You are too. If we decided to try this again, I think it would be a new start.”
“Maybe.” The pain of losing her dream of what a romantic relationship was still stung. Still, she wanted to try again... Who wouldn’t on a night like this, with Ali being so charming and hot and everything she’d always craved?
“Where’s your place?” The quiet longing on his face matched a feeling deep in her soul.
“Two blocks behind WiCKed Sisters. I’m good to go alone,” she said.
“I’m not good with that,” he said, looking around the deserted street. “So, WiCKed Sisters...”
“What about it?”
“I might not have the right, but I’m proud of what you’ve achieved. Your tea blends were always something different—special even—and I’m glad to see you being recognized for them,” he said.
He reached for her hand, and she almost withheld it, but it was such a nice moment that she couldn’t.
They didn’t talk as they finished the walk to her place, and as she stood on the threshold looking at her witch’s broom decorated with spring flowers and herbs, she was tempted to invite him in. But she was the one who’d thrown platonic out there.
Platonic.
Never in his life had he had a platonic woman friend... Well not one he wanted to fuck. This was going to be a challenge.
“So, good night,” Poppy said as she opened the door.
He heard the sound of a dog running to greet her. “Pickle?”
The miniature dachshund was on her back legs, her front ones moving up and down excitedly.
He stooped down to pet her behind her ears and then lifted her up into his arms. She was licking his neck, and he put his face down to cuddle her for a minute. He’d missed this sweet dog.
“I didn’t know you still had her,” he said as he set Pickle back inside the doorway.
The little dog just kept dancing around their legs. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I thought maybe you left her with your mum.”
“No. Pickle goes where I go.”
“I remember. She looks good for her age,” he said. The dog had been four when they inherited her from Poppy’s gran, who’d died six months before their wedding.
“She does. She’s had a few health issues, but she’s doing good now. In fact, I should get her to bed so she settles down,” Poppy said.
“Yeah, right. My cue to leave.” Which he started to do.
“I’ll go to the wedding with you.”
Glancing over his shoulder, Poppy glowed in the warm light from her hallway, Pickle at her feet. He knew this wasn’t an easy decision for her. “Thank you. I’ll do everything I can to keep Dad from suing you or forcing you to let Lancaster-Spencer produce your tea.”
“I appreciate that,” she said almost formally.
God. How did this always happen? He had no mechanism for dealing with her when it wasn’t white-hot sex or cold, hard business. He could let his guard down around Pickle, cuddle her and let her kiss him. Admit to himself that he missed that sweet little dog, but he wasn’t able to do it with Poppy.
“Good night, then.” He walked away, and this time, she didn’t try to stop him.
Perhaps it was as it should be. Things had happened too fast the first time. It was only in looking back that he’d realized how little he’d actually known about Poppy. Their chemistry had blinded him to anything but how easy it was going to be to get the tea recipe, to finally earn the job his father didn’t think he was good enough for. He’d just assumed that she would still be there afterward.
The walk back to his lodging wasn’t long enough for the thinking he had to do, so he turned left once Poppy was safely inside her home. Step one on the long list of things he needed to do, clear the past with Poppy, had been achieved.
Having her at his side was just the beginning. He was changing the man he’d been. Brewing beer, taking advice instead of having to be the smartest man in the room and making sure everyone knew it. He’d been a blowhard. That hadn’t actually been a revelation. His father was one as well. Only George, who was more like Mum, seemed not to have inherited that Miller trait.
He had already run once today and wasn’t dressed for it in jeans and trainers, but his mind was starting to swirl. Poppy under him when he’d slid into her body the first time was on repeat in his head. Running until total exhaustion was the only thing that was going to keep him from going back to her place.
So he started following the track he’d taken earlier. The pace he set for himself was punishing, and when he got back to the Bootless Soldier Tavern, Wes and Sera were making out against the brick wall near the front.
Ali didn’t linger, just went to the door that led to the stairs and his lodging above.
That could have been him. Hell, that had been him and Poppy, and in the past, they’d be at her place right now, making love on her bed. He got hard thinking about it.
He showered and took care of his erection, toweling off, he sat down in front of his laptop sending a quick update to George letting him know that their plan was a go.
They both wanted to get Dad out of power at the tea company. He was stuck in the past, and his attitude and practices were going to be the end of Lancaster-Spencer. He was classist and racist and still told jokes about women that weren’t acceptable.
He was also a bully, and it had taken years of therapy for Alistair to realize he was on the cusp of becoming one as well.
The Lancaster-Spencer motto was one cup and you’re family . But the Millers had never felt like a family until this moment, when they were poised to take on Dad.
He and George working together, instead of being pitted against each other, to achieve something they’d both be proud to be associated with. Instead of a colonialist company that was stuck in its heritage and legacy. He wanted more.
He logged on to the Tea Society Discord and saw there were two members online. Poppy and Freddie. He scrolled the chat before he joined. They were very friendly... Almost flirty. Had Poppy friend-zoned him because there was someone else in her life?
What did it say about him that he was only just now considering the possibility that she had moved on? Of course she had. They were divorced. He’d hooked up, why shouldn’t she?
Which was all good when he was being rational, but the man he was trying to shed was still inside of him. Jealous.
Identify.
That was the first step. His therapist’s voice rang loud and clear in his head. It had to be to be heard over the din of anger and regret. He was jealous.
Next, why?
Because he fucking wanted her back. He took several deep breaths and logged off the group.
Write it down.
Pulling out the Moleskine journal he’d picked up in the airport, he started writing, until he realized that his jealousy stemmed from his regret. He had to continue to change to be a better man and know that Poppy deserved love and happiness wherever she could find it.
Punctuality wasn’t a strength of hers. It didn’t bother her often, because everyone knew she tended to run ten or so minutes late. So when she walked into the backroom of Sera’s part of the shop and found Liberty and Sera both waiting for her, she wasn’t surprised. Liberty even had an iced coffee from Lily’s bakery waiting for her.
“I actually thought I might beat you two in this morning,” Poppy said, taking the drink from Liberty and sinking down on the armchair that was wedged catty-corner from the love seat where both her friends sat. Sera’s backroom was full of bookshelves and coziness, much like the way Poppy felt when she was near her friend.
“Ha. Merle had to work last night when we got home, so he was still up and woke me when my alarm went off.”
“You don’t sound annoyed by that.”
“He knows how to wake me up the right way,” Liberty said with a wink, taking a sip of her mushroom-mud that she drank every morning.
“Wes is still sleeping,” Sera said. “But his shop opens later than ours, and he’s heading to an estate auction today.”
“I love how couple-y you both are,” Poppy said. “I was feeling envious, but last night, seeing us all together fixed that. I can’t explain it but I’m sorry for it.”
“Don’t be sorry. You’re human, you’re allowed to have emotions. Just don’t act like a jerk when you do,” Liberty said with a smile. “Did you decide on the wedding?”
“I’m going. Jenny, who’s been handling the shop when it’s busy, is going to be in all days. I want to make her an assistant manager. Merle said he’ll cover for me too. What do you guys think about us all hiring someone? That way, we can start taking some time off. Sera, you’re sharing Greer with Wes and Liberty, so you don’t really have anyone.”
“I see what you’re saying, but I don’t like the idea of anyone else running our shop. What if we’re all gone at the same time?” Sera asked.
“Yeah, I’d have to find someone I trusted to take my place, and right now it’s just you two and Mom,” Liberty said.
“Just something to think about. I thought the Amber Rapp phenomenon would cool down by now,” Poppy said. Their small business in Birch Lake had gained an international spotlight after pop star Amber Rapp had been inspired to write her latest hit album after a visit. Since then there had been a steady stream of Amber’s fans to their shop wanting to have the same experience.
“I think they’re coming for us now. The exposure we got from her album turned into genuine interest in our shop and products,” Sera said.
Which was great. Their shop had moved from a small business to more of a medium-size business on the cusp of going large, but the truth was, they were still running it as they had their Etsy stores and craft-fair booths.
“Should we bring in a business consultant to help us figure out how to grow without burning ourselves out?” Poppy asked.
“I’m taking a Skillshare course on growing small businesses,” Sera said.
“Good. Let me draw a card, I want to think about this. I know you’re right, but I’m not ready for change,” Liberty said who had grown up with tarot and spells.
“And I’m going away for a week. So we have plenty of time,” Poppy said. “Can you draw a card for me, too?”
Liberty smiled at her as she reached into her pocket and pulled out her Rider-Waite deck. “Thought you might want to.”
“Want me to leave?” Sera asked.
“No. I need you here with me.”
Liberty moved to get the small folding table that Sera kept in the corner, and Poppy pulled out a candle she’d been using to help her embrace and love her true self. She put it on the counter and lit it while Sera got some crystals they’d charged at the last full moon and put them on the table. Sitting in the armchair, Liberty started shuffling the cards.
Poppy sat down next to Sera, who threaded her arm through hers.
“What do you want to know?”
There was so much she needed answered. Poppy had learned from Liberty that the card draws made more sense when she had a clear idea of what she was struggling with. Alistair was too much and she had a million thoughts and questions about him. But maybe...
“Am I making a mistake going back to England?”
“It would be better to ask, ‘what do I need to know for this trip to England?’” Liberty suggested.
Poppy knew that she’d been too specific, but a girl could dream. “Okay, that. It’s just I don’t want to be stupid again with him. You know?”
“You couldn’t be,” Sera said. “Because you’re not stupid.”
“Thanks,” Poppy said. But she knew that she could be really dumb where he was concerned.
Last night had been a near mistake until Pickle appeared. Poppy had been on the verge of taking his hand and leading him into her house. She’d missed him in her bed last night. And this morning...she woke up feeling not as great as she thought she would.
“You should draw it yourself,” Liberty said as she handed over the deck. “Don’t say what you landed on out loud. Just think about what you need an answer to in your head.”
Poppy took the deck, shuffling it herself and then spreading the cards out on the table as she’d seen Liberty do. Closing her eyes, she asked what Liberty had suggested: What did she need to be successful in England?
She moved her hands over the cards until she felt pulled to one, and drew it.
The Magician.
She took a deep breath as Liberty rocked back in her chair. “Tap into your full potential. Don’t hold anything back. So stop censoring yourself.”
But could she trust herself to do that?