Five
P oppy hated travel. There was something nerve-racking about the entire process of going through security. Like she knew she wasn’t carrying contraband, but her pits were sweating as if she were a drug mule making her first run. It was ridiculous. She knew she’d decanted every liquid into properly sized containers, but as she got closer to the security checkpoint, she still worried she hadn’t removed every restricted thing from her handbag.
“You okay? You’re breathing heavy.”
Glancing at Alistair, who looked calm and cool as he shouldered his Louis Vuitton duffel bag while wearing sweats and a T-shirt, she rolled her eyes. Of course he did. Her hair, which she’d taken the time to straighten, had already started frizzing thanks to the humidity on the way to the airport in Bangor. They were on an early flight that connected in JFK before heading to London.
He hadn’t shaved and had stubble on his cheeks and jaw, but his thick hair was nicely styled. She inhaled his citrusy, fresh scent, which carried notes of grapefruit, tangerine, coriander and bergamot. She could dissect the scent because she spent so much time around leaves, oils and essences when she blended tea.
Also it had lingered on her clothes after that impulsive embrace the other night.
“Yeah, it’s all Gucci.” Except it was about as Gucci as that knockoff belt she’d gotten at Primark with two linking circles where the Gs should be.
“Remember that first time I took you on the company jet?” he asked.
She did. One comment that she’d never been to Milan, and he’d whisked her off. They’d skipped two days of class. The jet had been... Well not like this kind of traveling.
Her heart had skipped a beat or two when they’d gotten on the luxury plane with the long couch on one side. He’d held her hand as they fastened their seat belts and took off. He’d proposed to her on that trip. In the Navigli district near a picturesque canal. That was...perfect. Too perfect, it turned out, but at the time, she’d been swept off her feet.
“So different from this. I’m actually surprised you didn’t bring it here. I mean, this was totally a business trip for you.”
“I told you, I’m not officially working for the company,” he said.
“Uh, I guess I thought leave of absence was something else. What’s that about?” she asked, noticing that they were next to place their carry-on items in the security bins.
Tossing her bag of liquids in first and then the rest of her stuff. She moved on to pass through the metal detector. Alistair had distracted her, and she wasn’t even nervous now. Though she was wearing two toe rings and a belly-button piercing that she’d gotten on a dare when she’d been in sixth form.
Should she have removed them? Too late now.
The security agent assured her that she’d be fine. All that energy for nothing. She collected her stuff and watched as Alistair was pulled over for additional screening. She grabbed his bag when it came through the scanner and stood off to the side to wait for him.
“All of your worrying, and I’m the one who got stopped,” he said. “Ready for breakfast?”
“I don’t think anything is open yet,” she said. “I packed some banana-nut loaf if you want a slice. If we can find a place with hot water, I have coffee sachets too.”
“That sounds great. The lounge should have some. Let’s go.”
She’d forgotten about the lounge. She hadn’t bothered looking at her ticket either, but she suspected he hadn’t booked them in economy. They found a place in the lounge—where they did have food—but she stubbornly ate the banana loaf, as did Alistair, after bringing them both coffees. She wanted to refuse the coffee on principle but freshly brewed was so much better than the instant she’d packed. Hers had two sugars and a splash of two percent milk in it. Just the way she made it for herself.
It wasn’t a big deal that he remembered the way she liked her morning java, but she felt that warmth in her stomach all the same. “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
Silence settled between them, but her mind was running with so many questions. “Tell me about the job thing.”
“It’s just me trying to figure out what I want to do,” he said around a bite of banana bread.
“You’re a Miller. Lancaster-Spencer is what you do,” she reminded him.
“George can carry on the legacy. I’m not sure it’s for me,” he said.
“What would you do?” Genuinely curious about him, she told herself it wasn’t just because this was Alistair. She did need to go into the meeting with his family armed with knowledge.
“Beer brewing, like I told you online.”
“Oh, I thought that was a hobby. What drew you to it?”
“Remember that six weeks I did in the tasting rooms? During the first few months of my leave, I went back to partying and the like. Then stuff happened. The next thing I know, I’m stuck at home—”
“Were you confined to your house?” she interjected.
“Ha. No. COVID. I was seeing a therapist virtually who made me write a list of things I liked. Anyhow, turns out brewing and tasting were things I enjoyed. I ordered a beer-making kit, which was rudimental, but I made my first batch. I was sort of hooked.”
She was curious what else had made his list, but it wasn’t really relevant to the meeting that she was going to have on Saturday morning. “And kombucha?”
“That’s Owen’s idea. He suggested trying it after we became friends on a Reddit thread when he found out my family was in tea. That’s when I asked to join the Tea Society... I was surprised you accepted me.”
Looking down at the table, she played with the crumbs on her napkin. It seemed churlish to say she hadn’t. But she wasn’t lying to him or herself this time. “It wasn’t me. By the time I saw the request, you were a member.”
“Would you have declined?”
Shrugging, she wasn’t entirely sure how to answer that. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
A shuttered look came over his face.
“I’m glad you’re a member,” she admitted. “You’ve added a lot to the conversation. There have been a few moments when I think you’re mansplaining...but I just roll my eyes and move on.”
Alistair looked at the Breitling Superocean watch on his wrist, willing time to speed up so he could make things right with Poppy instead of sitting here torturing himself about things that he couldn’t change. Their trip to Milan still lingered in his mind. He wouldn’t have brought up the trip where they got engaged, but he remembered how nervous a flyer she’d been.
She’d been almost hyperventilating while they stood in line for the security screening. Distracting her was the only thing he’d been able to think of.
But remembering how she truly believed she loved him when he’d gone down on one knee... There was no mistaking the expression on her face when she’d put the ring on her finger and thrown herself into his arms. He’d caught her and kissed her. Getting the response he anticipated had been just a checkmark in a box.
As soon as she’d called her parents to tell them the news, he’d texted his dad to let him know that she was going to be part of their family. Her parents had been cautious and suggested they have a long engagement, but Poppy hadn’t wanted to wait to start her life with him.
Those were the words she’d used: I don’t want to wait to start my life with you.
Not that he’d paid any attention to them until she left him. On drunken nights, he could forget the fuckups of his life. But when he first went sober for a thirty-day stint—which he did frequently now—they became harder to forget. Those words, her face, they haunted him.
He had said the right words for the wrong reasons. Told a woman he hadn’t really taken the time to get to know that he loved her. Then tried to mold her into the wife his family wanted him to have.
To give her credit, she’d tried, and he hadn’t helped at all. His anger at her failures hadn’t been fair. But he’d been feeling a lot of pressure at his new executive position, and that had mingled with the guilt of not being honest with Poppy.
He’d thought he loved her, but all those doubts he’d had about himself combined with his dishonesty about the tea recipe had been a toxic cocktail for him. Making all of his good intentions disappear, leaving only anger.
No excuse for him being a dick to her.
“When did I mansplain?”
“Never mind. I don’t want to argue about it,” she said.
“I’m not going to argue. I want to know so I don’t do it again,” he said.
“When we discussed my technique for steeping new blends to test the strength and make adjustments,” she said.
Her way of blending wasn’t bad... “I was offering another way to do it. Sorry if it came across as inconsiderate.”
“Thanks. It sounded like you were the expert even though I’ve been successfully doing this for seven years now. You worked in the tasting room for six weeks,” she pointed out.
“I’ll watch my tone and words next time.”
She shrugged. “It’s no biggie.”
“It’s a biggie. Poppy, don’t do that. I was showing off. Felt I could finally contribute something to the group that’s given me so much. But I shouldn’t have done it at your expense.”
The words were ripped from somewhere deep inside of him. That kind of behavior smacked of his father’s.
“It wasn’t that big of a deal. Everyone really appreciated your comments. I think I might be too sensitive where you’re concerned.”
Leaning back in the chair, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Given our history, that makes sense.”
“Yeah, it does.”
“Should we try again? Start over? Would that make this easier?” he asked, gesturing to the both of them.
Chewing her lower lip, she fiddled with the breadcrumbs on the napkin, using the edges to move them around. “To what end?”
“Maybe I can stop apologizing for the past that I can’t change, and you could stop looking at me like I’m going to hurt you again.”
She put her shoulders back, tipping her head to the side to study him. With her hair straight, the angles of her face were sharper and her eyes more direct. She hadn’t put any makeup on to travel, so the dusting of freckles across her nose was visible. There was a freshness to this look that made him want to do whatever he could to protect her.
Except when had he ever done a good job of that?
She put her hand on his where it rested on the table. “It’s not you I’m worried about hurting me. It’s me expecting too much... Does that make any sense? Please stop blaming yourself. As you said, you apologized.”
Expecting too much.
The words lingered between them in his mind. “You can’t expect too much this time. I’m going to deliver what I’ve promised you. Whatever happens at breakfast on Saturday, I’m not walking away until you have a decent deal in place for your tea.”
“Thanks for that.”
Their flight came up on the board, and they both left the lounge. She wasn’t chatty as they waited to get on the plane, which suited him. There was a long day of travel ahead of him, and sitting next to Poppy would be torture. Her sweet vanilla-and-strawberry scent made him want to take a deep breath and close his eyes so he could relive every moment of their kiss the other night.
Not a good idea when they were flying commercial. Besides, she’d been clear about keeping things platonic. He’d do his best to live up to that, but it had been a long time since he’d struggled to keep his thoughts off of a woman like this.
The second flight, from JFK to London, was smooth. Alistair slept from Bangor to New York, giving her plenty of time to think. He’d drifted off again once they were in the air on this flight. She pulled out the journal that Sera had gifted her and started journaling. His aftershave gave her ideas for a new tea blend she wanted to try.
It was hard to be this close to him and not remember the good times.
As with any relationship, theirs hadn’t been all fighting and resentment. There had been laughter and lots of sex. Being this close to him, it took every ounce of willpower she had not to touch him. She could pretend to fall asleep, let her head fall onto his shoulder.
But she couldn’t sleep on a plane or with Alistair—that felt too intimate. Even after three glasses of champagne. Instead, she was under the provided blanket because she was chilly. The cabin crew had dimmed the lights and asked everyone to lower the window shades. The flight attendants had settled, having gone wherever they went during a flight. She was as alone as she could be on a crowded plane seated in premium economy.
Alistair yawned and stretched, turning his head to look at her. She had her headphones in and was listening to her favorite playlist on her phone. She paused it and took out one of the earpieces.
“You missed drinks. They said you could ring if you needed anything,” she said.
“I’m good with my water bottle,” he said.
There was a sleepiness to his face; he looked relaxed...soft. Ali like this was someone she just wanted to curl up next to. He scrubbed his hand over his face and then put his seat up a bit. “What have you been doing?”
“Videoing you snoring.”
“Ha. I don’t snore.” He pulled his water bottle out and took a long swallow, then ran his hands through his hair again, a curl dropped to his forehead. She reached up to push it back into place without thinking.
He went very still. Pulling her hand back and tucking it under the blanket as quickly as she could. “Sorry.”
“Nah, it’s good. Anything good on the media for this flight?”
Appreciating the change of subject, she struggled to remember what was on the screen. “Not sure. I’ve been journaling and trying to figure out some new blends for autumn. I like to have time to play around with different flavors.”
“Do you have any recipes you return to?”
“Some. I mean, I lean heavy into ginger, nutmeg and cinnamon. Pumpkin spice tea is huge for me.”
“Yeah, the Yanks love that stuff. Owen sent me a recipe for pumpkin spice ale. I’m going to try it this fall.”
“What other flavors have you tried?” This part of Alistair was new to her. It was fascinating to see him doing the very thing that he’d thought was a waste of time back when she’d worked for Lancaster-Spencer and quietly started making her own tea blends on the side and selling them on Etsy.
“Not many. I figured I should perfect a good ale before I start trying to get fancy,” he said with a laugh. “You know how I can be.”
“Yeah, I do. So have you got an award-winning ale yet?”
He blushed, and she started laughing.
“You have! Tell me about it.”
He shook his head. “No one likes a braggart.”
“I asked, so it’s not bragging.”
“I got best regional light ale for Kent,” he said.
“Nice. So now it’s time to experiment with flavors?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I’m doing that with kombucha. It has health benefits and naturally has some alcohol content. I’m going to use some champagne yeast in the second fermentation, and then I want to add some flavors.”
“What are you thinking? Kent has apples, plums, cherries... Are you brewing it for summer?”
“I’ve got a growler with kombucha fermenting now. So, yeah. I was thinking of apricot at first because I’ve got two trees on my property, and they’ve been blooming like crazy.”
“There’s a tea I love. Apricot is the dominant flavor, and they use sunflower petals and blue mallow blossoms to add depth and bring out the apricot flavor. Now, blue mallow is usually a nighttime tea, so it might not mix well with the alcohol, but the essence of it would be nice.”
“What is blue mallow blossom?” he asked, pulling out his phone and opening up the notepad app.
“It’s part of the daisy family. I think it’s pretty common. You can probably order it from a tea supplier in the UK. I can give you my supplier, but they ship from the US.”
They spent the next thirty minutes talking about tea blending and recipes. It had been a long time since she’d talked tea with anyone in person. She wrote posts and read other’s responses on the Tea Society, but this was nice. Alistair had the legacy of his family’s influence over tea drinking, but was looking at it from a beer brewer’s perspective. The kombucha experimentation was equally exciting and gave her an idea. “We should put this in the Tea Society as a challenge for the autumn after we finish the kombucha one. See what everyone comes up with.”
“Good idea. Um...do you think I could invite Owen to join? I think he’d add a lot. The guy is wicked smart about fermentation. Kombucha really requires some different skills.”
Poppy had a second of possessiveness toward the group that she’d started, but she liked Alistair’s suggestion. One of the strengths she developed after their divorce was letting go. She’d stopped trying to keep things the same, because the world was always changing. Even this conversation was something she’d never thought she’d have.
“I’ll show you my setup when we get to my place.”
“What? Won’t we stay at the hotel where the wedding is?”
“On Saturday we will, but I figured for the next few days, we’d stay at mine.”