Six
S tay at his. She hadn’t planned for that. Of course, he wanted to show her how much he’d changed. Maybe it was time for her to start giving him the opportunity.
Maybe that explained how she ended up walking around the converted barn that Alistair called home now. It was nothing like the stately manor house he’d grown up in. Even less like the trendy flat they’d shared in Kensington.
It was homey and comfortable. Practically inviting her to take off her shoes and curl up in the overstuffed chair that looked perfect for reading with a cup of tea while a fire burned in the large tiled fireplace.
“You can take the room at the top of the stairs to the left,” Alistair said as he completed giving her the tour of the ground floor. “You didn’t sleep on the plane, so if you want a nap, that’s cool.”
“Perfect. Don’t let me sleep more than four hours,” she said.
“I won’t.” He stood there at the bottom of the stairs as she started up them.
Tempted to invite him to join her on that double bed while tingles spread through her. Remembering the way his mouth had felt on hers the other night...
“Do we have plans?” she asked.
“No, why?”
“It’s the full moon the night of the wedding, so I was hoping to go someplace on the solstice.”
“Great. We can take my bike and have dinner at the lighthouse on the pier.”
But his body language wasn’t giving great . Tense and maybe something else that she wasn’t able to detect. “It’s okay to say no.”
“No, it’s not. All I did was turn down everything you suggested when we were together.”
“Yeah, but we’re not together now. We’re trying to be friends. Friends aren’t twins and don’t have to agree to do things they hate. That’s not how real relationships work,” she said. It had taken her friendships with Sera and Liberty to force her to see that. In the past, she’d spent so much time making sure she fit the mold of whatever someone else wanted her to be. Never again.
“Yeah, but...”
“Honestly, it’s okay. You have a great yard. I can meditate in the garden, and I’ll be happy,” she said.
“Poppy, stop. I thought we’d take the bike and head over to Glastonbury on Wednesday and spend two days there before heading to the wedding venue. I booked a room at a B and B there. The Tor is perfect for your moon ritual. I know it’s not the beach—”
She threw herself at him, and he caught her. She hugged him tightly. He couldn’t know how touched she was that he’d planned something for her. Not an activity where he needed a plus-one, but something that suited the woman she’d become. “Thank you.”
“For Glasto or catching you?”
“Both,” she said, kissing him quick because she couldn’t resist him when she was this close.
His arms around her were tight and strong. All the feels she wished she didn’t have for this man swirled around them like the gusts that stirred the surrounding open farmland. She was buffeted by the past and the present, trying desperately to find her footing in this storm so that she wouldn’t make the same mistakes.
But his hands cupped her butt, and his tongue slid over hers, and thinking became impossible. Who wanted to debate the merits of mistakes when there was a hot man holding her?
Turning so her back was against the wall near the stairs, she wrapped her legs around his waist and pushed her hands into his hair.
His hair was thick and smooth as she kneaded her fingers through it while he deepened the kiss. She sucked his lower lip between her teeth before lifting her head. This close, she could see the flecks of gold and green in his brown eyes. His lashes were long and dense. She’d always been jealous of them whenever she tried unsuccessfully to put on fake lashes.
“Uh...” It was like being around Alistair was short-circuiting her brain. All the things she’d planned to say and be around him were gone.
“Yeah,” he stepped back and let her slide down his body.
She almost let a groan slip out when she felt his erection against her thigh. And couldn’t help running her hand over the ridge of his cock, straining against his sweats. He thrust against her touch.
“Pop...you said platonic... Has that changed?” he asked, his words thready and breathy. He wrapped a strand of hair that had escaped her braid around his finger.
Shivering as his finger brushed the side of her neck, she sighed. Enough. There was no way this was part of any plan. No matter how much she wanted to act as if she could manage her feelings for him the way she steeped a cup of tea, she couldn’t.
This was Alistair. The bad boy she’d first glimpsed wearing a leather jacket and winking at her. Her favorite romantic hero come to life. Standing close to him, with his thick dick in her hand, she was getting wet just from his fingers tracing a pattern on her neck.
“Poppy?”
“What?”
“Platonic?”
Platonic.
Hell.
Fuck.
Yes. That was what she’d decided before coming to the UK with him. It took all of her willpower to let his dick go, wrapping her arms around herself. She tipped her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. Doing the deep-breathing techniques that she and Sera had learned at the yoga/meditation class they’d started taking at the community center.
But the smell of Alistair was in her nostrils, her breasts were full, and her center was humming; not ready to walk away.
Too bad—her mind was in charge now.
“Yes. Sorry. That one’s on me.”
“Wish you had been on me longer,” he said.
Opening her eyes, meeting his gaze, she couldn’t help the smile that teased her lips. “Same. But I’m trying... I need to be smart.”
“We both do. When the time is right, it will happen,” he said. “I don’t want you to have any regrets this time, Pop. Get your nap.”
The sounds of Poppy moving around upstairs as she washed up and settled in the guest room were hitting him harder than he’d expected. The walls in the house were solid, but he could still hear the faint sound of her voice as she called someone. Given that her friends and family must all hate him, he guessed that she was going to have to explain her choices.
Or given the woman Poppy was now, she might not bother. He had no right to be proud of the woman she’d become, but having known her at eighteen when she had just a shimmer of the woman she was today, he couldn’t help it.
Chances were, the impetus for that growth probably started as a big fuck you to him.
Still, that didn’t tinge the way he felt.
His own phone had been vibrating in his pocket since they landed. It took all of his willpower to wait and respond to the messages later. Part of his recovery from his anger issues was detoxing from being available twenty-four-seven for everyone.
When she was quiet upstairs at last, it took all of his control not to go check in on her. Instead, he went out to his brewery. Actually, it had started its life as a summerhouse, but he’d slowly rebuilt it over the past year to suit his brewing needs. First, he wanted to check the kombucha he’d put up before he left.
Walking toward the building, he pulled his phone out. There were three messages from his mum, two from George and one from Owen. He opened the one from Owen first.
I’m thinking of a doing a summer beer fest. Want to come as a guest brewer and make your Summer in Kent IPA? Kind of like a residency. You could stay upstairs again if you need a place.
Let me check a few things. But I like the idea. I’d get my own place. What dates?
Don’t have anything formal yet but figured I’d run it from end of June through September.
I’ll let you know tomorrow.
Owen gave the message a thumbs-up.
Birch Lake was Poppy’s place, not Alistair’s. It was a small town. But not that small. If things went wrong he’d at least have his own space. He would consult with her, see if she would be comfortable with it, before he agreed to Owen’s invitation. As it was, he was more concerned with the details of the deal he was trying to work with George to terminate his employment with Lancaster-Spencer.
He read the text from George, which just said that Dad had had a three-hour meeting with his solicitors that morning. George would update him when he had more info.
It was odd for his brother to reach out. Since he’d gotten married last year, George had been more...brotherly. Was that even a thing? There were four years between them, and they’d never really been close. But after Alistair’s explosion at work, George had been sending him messages once a week or so.
At first, Alistair had ignored them, still pissed at everyone. But at his lowest, that weekly text from George had been a lifeline. He’d never tell his brother that, but there were nights when he was pretty sure George had saved his life.
Thanks for keeping me in the loop.
His mum’s messages were all about his flight. She’d seen that his plane had landed but hadn’t heard from him. The last one, which came in while he’d been texting George, just said, hope you’re not dead.
His mum was so dramatic.
He texted back, Not dead. See you at the wedding. Love you.
She sent back a huge block of text that just told him he wasn’t funny, she’d been worried and she loved him too.
The shed where he’d stored the kombucha growler to ferment was dark and cool when he stepped inside. Though it was June, it wasn’t hot today. The sky was cloudy, and rain had fallen on their way to his place. He checked his brew and it looked pretty good. Thankfully, he’d brewed kombucha before.
It had seemed like a natural bridge between what he wanted to do and his family’s legacy. Kombucha always smelled rank to him right out of the growler, and this batch had that vinegary tang, so he figured it would be pretty good. He used a testing straw to sample it. Not bad.
Once he made some adjustments and added in flavors at the last stage, he thought he might be onto a winner.
For now, he was ready to add in the champagne yeast. He checked his watch and saw he still had a couple of hours before he had to go and wake Poppy.
Going to his workbench, he assembled everything he needed. He’d had proper plumbing installed, so he had hot and cold water, and the building was also climate controlled so that his ales and kombucha had the ideal environment to ferment.
The first thing he needed to do was make a slurry with hot water and sugar. He let the sugar and water cool before adding a teaspoon of the champagne yeast and letting it activate. He set a timer for five minutes and then stood near the door, looking up at his house.
Memories of Poppy from their marriage played in his head.
Poppy deserved to be treated with respect, unlike how she had been when he’d married her and brought her to the first board meeting. This time, he wanted to ensure that she was in charge. That Poppy got what she wanted out of this deal.
Not because of what he needed, but because of what she was owed.
He’d put so much bad karma out in the universe. Righting this one wrong wasn’t going to suddenly clear that debt, but it would give him less to worry about. Maybe he’d finally have the proof that he could be more than the playboy heir who took what he wanted.
Poppy’s room had a hardwood floor and a large Persian-style rug under a four-poster bed. There was a full-size wardrobe, with a smaller one off to one side. It had an en suite, which she appreciated, where she immediately washed her face and brushed her teeth.
She eyed the bed, but a wave of homesickness rolled over her. Was it still too early for a call back to Maine? Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she debated for about thirty seconds before messaging Merle.
He called her right away. “What’s up?”
“Nothing. Just missing home.”
“You’re British,” he said dryly.
“Ha. You know what I mean.”
“Everything okay with Alistair?”
Is it? “Yeah, he’s fine. I just...it’s odd being back here. Sorry, I know you’re working—”
“I called you. I bet it’s odd. I feel that way every time I go to a family dinner leaving my hair shaggy and not getting changed into a polo shirt. It’s like I’ve changed but the world hasn’t.”
She leaned back against the headboard. Once again, Merle seemed to know the right words to say. “That’s sort of it. There are some things that haven’t changed... I’m struggling. I made a big deal of keeping things just friends between us, but now I want more.”
“Tell him. I doubt that he’s not going to be all into it. He was watching you when we played darts, and even I could feel the heat.”
“That was because you and Liberty put on a show,” she said.
But her cousin was right. The heat between her and Ali had never been in question. It was just if she could take it to the next level and not let her emotions get messy. Sera had always been really good about keeping things physical and not emotional with the men she hooked up with, but Poppy struggled with separating her body and her heart.
If it wasn’t so early, she’d call Sera. Except there was no way to ask what she wanted to and not have it come out awkward.
“Want some unsolicited advice?”
“I did text you at, what, 4:00 a.m. your time.”
“Indeed. Just do what you need to. Stop censoring yourself and acting like if you do one thing, you’ll get better results. That’s not how life works.”
“Yeah, thanks. I already knew that,” she said. “It’s putting it into practice that’s hard.”
“Exactly. Didn’t say I’d mastered it. I mean, I still try to sneak a baseball cap on to the monthly family Zoom calls, and Liberty snatches it from my head. I don’t know if it’s like this for you, but I’ve been living with this one version of myself for so long. Trying to change that is harder than anyone’s reaction to me has been.”
When she was with Alistair, she struggled to stay in the present and not be overtaken by past expectations for herself and him. She remembered being that girl who felt as if she got the moon when he asked her out. Swept her off to a ball in Vienna and danced with her until the sun came up.
Ordinary Poppy wouldn’t get that man.
Except ordinary Poppy didn’t need big gestures; she needed truth and honesty. And a man who saw her.
“Thanks, Merle. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
She ended the call feeling much better about her choices. After the divorce and realizing how wrong she’d been about Alistair, she’d started to beat herself up about every interaction she had with someone. Was she seeing who they were or what she wanted them to be?
But her instincts had always been good. WiCKed Sisters was proof of that.
She set her alarm and then pulled her face mask on, curling onto her side to go to sleep.
Except she was restless. Filled with images of her and Alistair at the bottom of the stairs, fucking against the wall. His hands roving over her body, finding just the right spots. His mouth hot on her neck and breasts as he teased her until she craved him deep inside of her. She knew exactly how he felt inside of her, and she woke up empty and aching.
Touching herself under the covers, she jumped when there was a soft rap on the door. “I’m awake.”
“Need anything?” Alistair’s voice was a low rumble through the door.
You. Her dreams had been torrid, nothing but the two of them twisting and turning together. Every way they’d ever done it before and new ways that she’d read about and wanted to try.
“Poppy?”
“I’m getting up,” she said. Right now, the Ali in her dreams was what she needed. She hopped out of bed and walked to the door, pulling it open just enough to stick her head through. “I’d kill for a sandwich and some tea.”
“Let’s skip the murder, and I’ll order in something. What do you feel like?”
“Surprise me,” she said.
She closed the door and got dressed in a pair of jeans and a light top. Her biggest problem was trying to force her life onto the path she’d plotted. More than once, she’d been knocked off of it and the good stuff had been in the weeds.
Her problem had never been trusting the universe had a plan for her. It was trusting herself to recognize it and follow it. She knew her worth this time, so when she did end up across the table from Alistair’s dad again, she wasn’t going to just back off.
But that had nothing to do with what she felt for Alistair.
If they did hook up, she knew it would be different because they’d both changed. She liked the way he was now. Not perfect, not arrogant. Sort of more human than he’d ever been before. It could just be for the few days they were both in England.
Hopefully she could finally settle on taking that risk before she was on the plane home all alone, regretting not giving him another shot.