Four
P oppy sat down to write a blog for the Tea Society. They’d started a Substack, and members had been taking turns blogging about tea and brewing. Alistair was up after her. Not that he mattered, but after last night, he was on her mind.
Pickle was at her feet as she sat at her laptop trying to figure out where to start. There was a knock on her door, and she hurried to answer it.
Speak of the devil. “Hey, I need your passport number so I can confirm your flight and check you in,” Alistair said. His phone in one hand, he looked at her expectantly.
He wore a pair of shorts that she suspected were perfectly respectable but seemed really short, showing off his long runner’s legs, and a moisture-wicking T-shirt that clung to his muscles.
What had he said?
Pickle greeted him like a long-lost friend again. The dog was a traitor. She’d had a long talk with Pickle last night, reminding her that Alistair was her ex and he wasn’t going to be around long.
Poppy turned around with disgust as Pickle rolled over so Alistair could pet her belly. “I’ll grab my passport. If you want water, there’s some in the fridge.”
“Thanks.”
His voice followed her down the hall as she went into her bedroom. She opened the lockbox her mum had insisted she buy to keep all of her important documents in. About every three months, when they video chatted, Mum would insist on seeing that she still had her passport, resident visa and birth certificate secured. As if Poppy wasn’t almost thirty. But that was her mum.
Glancing at the photo of her and Mum tucked into the side of her mirror made her smile. Everyone said she was Mum’s mini-me, but while that was true as far as looks went, they were such different people. Mum wouldn’t have fallen for Alistair. Hell, she hadn’t liked him. But she’d been pretty cool when Poppy had left him, even though she’d said he was too slick.
“Poppy?”
“Coming,” she said.
He leaned against her breakfast bar, alone; Pickle had presumably gone back to her bed. Alistair still had his phone in one hand and one of the hand-thrown pottery tumblers she’d made last year in the other. It was a reminder of when she’d been trying to find something to work her aggression out on as Alistair stalled on signing the divorce papers.
Funny that he was using her IDGAF tumbler.
“Here it is,” she said, handing him her passport. She went back to the table, where she had her laptop open. Glancing down to see she had written half a sentence, and it sounded like she was trying too hard.
“Thanks. I booked a car to take us to the airport in Bangor. You still like to get to the airport early?”
“Yes. You still going to be a bitch about it?” she asked.
“Of course not. We have access to the lounge so we will be able to chill before the flight. Do you have any meal preferences?”
Never in her entire span of knowing Alistair had he intentionally cared about any of her preferences. “I sort of like the veggie options, but sometimes they’re spicy. So stick with the regular meal, because there’s usually a choice.”
“I’ll get you the veggie, and if you don’t like it, we can swap,” he said.
“Alistair, stop.”
He was trying too hard. “You don’t have to act as if you’ve had a lobotomy.”
Looking offended for about a second before he started laughing. “It’s okay for you to have your way, Poppy.”
“Oh, I know that. When did you start to?”
“I don’t want to sound like a broken record, but after you left...” He shrugged and took a long gulp of water. He wasn’t chill even though he was trying to act like it.
“You know this is just a one week thing, right?”
He walked to the sink and put the tumbler in it. “It’s more than that. I’m trying to fix things.”
“Why?”
“Karma. I can’t be the man I was anymore.”
Except he’d had years to try to fix things with her and had waited until eighteen months after their divorce to try. “Did something else happen?”
“The leave of absence was a huge wake-up call,” he admitted. “Truth is, you were on my mind before things exploded at work.”
“Exploded how?”
“Let’s just say it wasn’t pretty.”
Okay then. He didn’t have to share everything with her. There were a lot of things she would keep to herself until he asked. But he wasn’t asking about the personal stuff. Just her meal preferences for a flight to a wedding she hadn’t wanted to attend.
“If that’s all, I have to finish this blog before opening WiCKed Sisters today.”
“For the Tea Society?”
“Yes. How many blogs do you think I have?”
“Just the tea one, according to Google,” he said.
“You Googled me?”
“Yeah. Just wanted to see what you were up to.”
“Ali, be honest here, do you see us getting back together?” Maybe she was overstepping, but that kiss last night hadn’t felt casual to her. Definitely not on her side. Did he want something more? “My life is here. I’m not getting married ever again, and I like the woman I am now,” she said.
“Slow down, Pop, it was just one kiss. The wedding is a chance for me to have your back and get you on even footing with Lancaster-Spencer. Am I still attracted to you? I think I’d have to be dead not to be. But you made it clear I fucked any chance of you looking at me that way again. And despite all evidence to the contrary, I’m really not an idiot.”
“Of course you’re not, but you do act like one sometimes.”
“True. I’ll stop by the store later and confirm the time to pick you up in the morning,” he said. Then he let himself out of her house.
She stood there for too long. Watching the closed door, dwelling too much on Ali. There were hints of real difference in him. Still, she got the sense he was hiding something.
The sun was hot, something he wasn’t used to, but he enjoyed it. Alistair basked in the sun while sitting out back of the tavern and talking to Owen.
Coming to Birch Lake hadn’t just been for Poppy. His friendship with Owen had been a big part of it. But he was also doing this for himself. He needed to stop hiding from the past.
The old barn that he’d had converted into his home back in the UK was on a fair amount of acreage, and he’d started brewing out there. His therapist had pointed out that one of the reasons for his short trigger seemed to be a lack of patience, and brewing was a slow process. So he’d started it as a hobby, never expecting he’d enjoy it as much as he did.
He’d stumbled upon kombucha brewing looking for something new to try, which had led him back into Poppy’s life. He wasn’t a man to look for signs—in fact, he usually ignored them—but there was no denying that he’d felt something more than coincidence when he stumbled upon her online tea group and found advice and camaraderie in his hard kombucha experiments.
Despite her presence in the group, he treated her like a professional acquaintance. He was all about respecting her and her boundaries.
But the core of who he was couldn’t ignore that he still wanted her. He’d never stopped being attracted to her. Kissing her last night had simply reinforced that.
But this time it had to be more than sex. This was a chance that he’d never expected. One that he would make the most of. But he needed to appear cool, as if whatever she decided was fine. It was totally fine. If Poppy closed the door on them for good, he would respect it. The plan was to go with the flow.
Ha.
Right now, the flow had him hanging with his new friend, Owen. There was no reason not to enjoy this moment. Even if Owen’s first batch of hard kombucha hadn’t turned out at all.
“I’m not sure where I went wrong, but it smelled horrible. Probably bacteria. Lars wouldn’t even try it, and he’s usually up for anything,” Owen said.
“Did you?” Alistair asked.
“Nah. Decided it wasn’t worth tearing up my stomach. How’d your batch turn out?”
“I haven’t had a chance to check. I’d just brewed the kombucha when I came here. It should be ready to add the champagne yeast when I get back home. Did you use ale?”
“Yeah. I think the seal wasn’t tight and bacteria developed. I’m not sure where. Are you adding any flavors?”
He was, which was why he’d joined Poppy’s tea society. The people in that group were experts on blending and knowing what flavors worked well together. “I want something that is specific to Kent and also tasty. I’ve been exploring different blends right now. I figure I have about a week or two to make up my mind.”
“Good luck with that,” Owen said. “I’m going to stick with the original flavor for now. I think I need a new airlock for the kombucha. I didn’t want to use my ale ones, but had an odd one lying around.”
Owen was a big lumberjack of a man with thick hair and a beard that he kept well trimmed. The kind of guy that Alistair never would have talked to in the past, much less listened to advice from. What a yob he’d been.
“I hadn’t thought about that.” Pulling out his phone, he ordered some airlocks from his supplier to be delivered in two days.
“You said you had a brewing journal?”
Alistair pulled it out and handed it to Owen, who took his time going over the notes in the columns of each recipe that he’d tried. There were times when he thought that he’d gotten nothing from his years at Lancaster-Spencer, but his father had insisted that he and George work in every department. He’d picked up a lot of skills as a result.
His six weeks in the tasting department had really served him well with beer brewing. He understood the importance of sampling and making notes at different stages of the process. Each new batch of ale was stronger and better tasting.
Ali still felt like he had a long way to go. But he liked it. Even his fuckups were just chances to try again and get better.
God, if things with Poppy were like brewing a new ale, then he’d have a better understanding of what he needed to do next.
People weren’t beer. But frankly, it had been years since he’d felt like he understood anyone or anything. Beer might not be the answer, but it was pushing him closer to it.
Owen had to take a call from Lars. When he came back, he looked stressed. “Lars isn’t going to be back until tomorrow. I need to go and call around to get someone to staff the bar.”
“I can do it.” Alistair had an afternoon of trying to stay away from Poppy, which meant hanging by himself. “I’ve pulled a few pints but never worked behind the bar. So I’m not unskilled.”
“Sounds perfect to me. Can you start at noon, when we open?”
Alistair agreed and then went to change into jeans and the Bootless Soldier Tavern T-shirt that Owen gave him. The Earl of Winfield would be aghast to see his second son pulling pints. Ali was tempted to take a photo and send it to his dad just to get a reaction.
Brewing a proper cup of tea could cause arguments. There were so many ways to go about it, and everyone believed the way they made their cuppa was the proper way.
Tea brewing and blending was deeply personal. Take Poppy’s best friends and co-owners of WiCKed Sisters; for Liberty, the flavors had to be bold and brash. Poppy ordered a brick of huang pian sheng pu’er from Lao Man’E in China. The tea blend was from an old tree, and it sweetened as it steeped, much like Liberty did once you got to know her.
Serafina, on the other hand... Well, when Poppy made special blends for her, they contained black tea, which had higher caffeine and antioxidant levels to fuel Sera’s late-night reading habit, but Poppy also added in something floral and sweet, like rose petals. Though her friend’s comfort tea was Earl Grey.
For herself, she was always changing. Trying to find the brew that suited the woman she was. When she was younger, she was always on trend with her teas, like the fruit-inspired blends from France she was obsessed with at uni. Young, moldable, not really sure enough of herself as a tea drinker or maker to stand on her own.
It was only when Lancaster-Spencer Tea Makers had approached her that she’d cracked open Gran’s massive buckle book that housed every tea-blend recipe that the Kitchener family had made since 1790.
In 1790, widow Ann Kitchener took over her husband’s tea and coffeehouse on the Strand. She ran it successfully for twenty years before retiring to allow her son to take over. But it was her granddaughter Viola who first came in contact with the Earl of Winfield and his connection to Lancaster-Spencer.
While on a diplomatic mission to China, Viola’s father had heroically saved the life of a Chinese government official. He was gifted some tea and a recipe to reproduce it, which proved very popular in the family’s tea and coffeehouse. A marriage to the earl would see Viola’s family’s business merged with his. But on the eve of her wedding, she overheard him telling his investors that the long sought-after recipe was soon to be in his hands, and he’d dissolve the tea and coffeehouse her grandparents had started.
Viola confronted him, and he admitted the only reason he’d courted her was the recipe. She refused his hand, vowing that no Earl of Winfield would ever get his hands on it.
The vow had remained unchallenged until Poppy met Alistair. At the time, that first tea recipe seemed so basic and simple. Hadn’t felt flashy enough for her at eighteen. But at twenty-eight, she was starting to see the truth in simplicity when it came to tea blending. If the base was weak, the tea would be too.
Could any words be more true?
It had been almost ten years since that April morning when her dreams came crashing down around her. Confronting Alistair and learning he hadn’t been in love with her and that I love you was just something men said to get what they wanted... Well, that had been enough for her.
Leaving him was the best damned decision she’d ever made.
Now she was acting as his wife again to undo some of the mistakes she’d made. Would it be enough? Could she keep her emotions out of it this time?
Liberty had given her a crystal, which she’d charged over night for strength, and Sera, a handmade journal that she’d reinforced with the love and strength of their sisterhood. It meant more than Poppy realized when they’d both surprised her with the gifts at the end of the day after the shop closed.
Poppy needed to change her destiny and her attitude. She could go after any dream if she had a business plan, but her personal dreams—the ones that stemmed from wanting the kind of marriage and family she’d grown up around—seemed out of reach.
But it wasn’t going to happen until she made peace with her past and figured out how to be friends with Alistair.
She lifted a cup of tea she’d just blended for herself. Her magic courage blend. Using green tea as a base, she’d added hints of rose and calendula—a potted-plant type that included marigolds, but she was using a cutting taken from her mum’s greenhouse back in Wye, Kent, where Poppy had grown up. The tea was good, but it was going to take more than a cup to help her move on from the past.
She had to deal with Alistair. Too bad she hadn’t figured out a blend that could heal a broken heart or erase the chemistry between them.
That was asking a lot from one cup of tea. She smiled at Merle as he walked over to her where she stood behind the counter in the tearoom.
“Hey, cuz. Did you let your mom know you’re coming to the wedding?”
“No. Why?”
“My mom let it slip. She also knows that you’re going to be in England with Alistair. Just a heads-up.”
Before Merle was done talking, her phone was buzzing in her pocket. “I’m not even sorry that Liberty volunteered to watch Pickle, and you’re going to have to double up on your allergy meds.”
Merle just laughed as he walked away. Poppy answered the video call. “It’s late at night, Mum. Everything okay?”
“No. Aunt Regina Facebook messaged me that you are going to Gemma’s wedding with Alistair.”
“I was going to tell you. Why are you checking messages in the middle of the night?” she asked, walking through the shop to sit at one of the tables and talk to her mum.
“Dad’s in France on one of his walking trips.”
Mum couldn’t sleep when he was gone. “Okay, so we’re flying tomorrow. I sent you an email with the information in it.” That had been her way of putting off the inevitable.
“Why are you doing this?”
“Alistair thinks he can help me negotiate a better deal with Lancaster-Spencer. They are threatening to sue if I let Willingham distribute our tea blend.”
“Bastards.”
“Agree one hundred percent.”
“But Alistair?”
Poppy didn’t want to defend him only to be wrong again. How stupid would she look? “He offered. I’m cautious, but this time he seems different. And if I’m wrong, it’s just one week. I really don’t have the money to hire the kind of solicitor I’ll need to fight this.”
“Dad and I can help. The business is doing good. We could leverage it—”
“Absolutely not. You’ve done enough. I mean it, Mum.”
Her mum didn’t look happy with that but finally nodded. “Okay, but if you change your mind...”
“I will definitely let you know.”
“Want me to pick you up from the airport?”
“I’m not sure. Alistair’s taken care of all the travel arrangements. That’s why I sent the email. Let me check with him and get back to you.”
“Am I at least going to see you while you’re here?”
“I...I planned to make the trip very short. I didn’t plan on going at all. Could we do dinner on Sunday before I fly out?”
“Of course.”
Talking to her mum soothed her nerves. Seeing her parents would give her some extra strength to deal with Alistair’s family while she was in England. Especially since Sera, Liberty and Merle would all be back in Maine without her.