Seven
F eeding Poppy wasn’t something that he’d ever had two thoughts about. But spending so much time apart, staring at photos of the two of them as he’d processed through his rage, guilt and failings, had changed his perspective.
She acted as if the sausage rolls and yum yums he’d ordered from Greggs were a gourmet meal.
She caught him staring at her and blushed. “Sorry, it’s just that Americans don’t do sausage rolls... I totally miss them. Also, after the flight and nap, I’m swimming in that drunk feeling.”
“Don’t apologize. Glad I could provide them. I was surprised when you texted down to order them.”
“Yeah? Remember the first time we had them together?” she asked.
“We were hung over...or at least I was. You said they were a hangover remedy.”
“I did. Little did I realize that it was going to take more than sausage meat wrapped in pastry to cure the effects of pitchers of Aperol spritz and J?ger bombs.”
He remembered that night. He’d never really before entertained the thought of going to Greggs, the High Street staple and chain restaurant. His normal morning-after was hair of the dog—downing a pint and then an ice-cold shower. Poppy had been outraged when he made those suggestions. Her hair had been tousled from the night before, and she’d tried to tame it into the messiest bun he’d ever seen.
She’d been so cute when she grabbed her debit card and his hand and pulled him down to High Street to queue up in front of Greggs as the doors opened. She’d even turned to him when she first stepped inside, putting her hand on the middle of his chest to steady herself, and told him to take a deep breath.
“Eventually, we did start feeling better,” he said.
“Yeah. Remember, you asked me if I was going to eat the entire roll or just pick at it like a squirrel.”
He’d been humoring her, but her hangover cure had gone a long way to making him feel better that morning. Or maybe it had simply been the woman with the too-big-for-her-face dark sunglasses who put her head on his lap as they sat on a park bench to eat their breakfast. She’d kept feeding herself tiny bites of the sausage rolls and telling him that her head was going to explode.
Laughing, he shook his head. “You said that your stomach could only deal with the tiniest bit at a time.”
“You thought you were immune to it, and then yacked.” Shaking her head, she smiled over at him.
He’d forgotten about that. It was too much food when his body had been expecting alcohol. He’d been ticked, but then Poppy had sat up and patted his back, given him water to rinse out his mouth... It sounded stupid, but she’d just been kind to him. Taken care of him.
And he’d never really experienced that before. He’d been shipped off to boarding school at the age of ten, been drunk with his mates and hungover numerous times, but usually he took care of himself. He had to.
“I know I said that you shouldn’t have bought into the whole love-at-first-sight thing, but there was something special between us. I was too focused on doing what Dad wanted to see it.”
She stopped eating her sausage roll, putting it down on a napkin. “I guess if I’d been in on the plan, maybe I would have viewed everything differently.”
“Yeah? I doubt it. What woman wants to be told she’s the means to an end?”
“What man does?” she countered.
What did she mean by that? Was she using him this time? If so, kudos to her. He deserved it, and if that was what she needed, he was here for it. “Are you using me, Pop?”
“What do you think?” she asked, picking up her water bottle and taking a long sip.
Leaning back in the leather armchair after he finished his food, he studied her. There had always been something too nice about Poppy, yet she wasn’t a pushover. Even when they’d gone in to face his father and sign the contract, she’d fought and gotten concessions from the old man.
Concessions for the two of them.
She’d viewed them as a couple, whereas he’d still been thinking solely of himself.
“I bet you’re thinking about it. Using me the way I used you and making me realize what a big fuckup that was.”
“I have,” she said.
Would she go through with it? It was hard to imagine the Poppy he’d known doing that. But the way she was watching him at this moment sent a bit of a chill down his spine.
It would suck if he’d made her hardened like him. If she was willing to do and say anything just to get what she wanted. The ends justifying the means.
“I’m not planning on anything evil, Ali. I’m hoping we can become friends, or at least friendly.”
Yeah. That had been his hope too. “That’s partially why I’m sticking around the Tea Society. It’s nice to have something other than Lancaster-Spencer to talk about.”
“It definitely is. You mentioned your hard kombucha and beer brewing. Can I see your setup?”
Just like that, she’d moved them away from the past and the issues he still wanted to hash out, but he let her.
The land surrounding Alistair’s house was all rolling fields. There was a large outbuilding, and then two smaller ones on either side of it. Someone had painted Ali’s Brewing on the doors to the largest building. The two smaller ones reminded her of her shed at home, where she dried tea leaves and stored the different elements she used in her blends.
“Ali’s Brewing?”
He stood up a bit straighter as he led her to it. “I make more than I can drink, though George says that’s not necessarily true. So I started selling it to local pubs and shops. We’re close enough to Folkestone, and I have a connection with a pub on the beach there. They like to stock local ales.”
“I like it. It’s simple and classy.”
“I picked that tip up from a woman I used to know.”
She’d thought she could simply keep the past where it belonged and focus on learning what she could from Alistair. That was it. But their lives were too deeply woven together. They’d been kids when they got married, so their influence on each other was written on the souls of the people they were today.
His face showed the signs of that life, and there were moments when she caught him watching her carefully. There were those land mines that she remembered hearing mum’s favorite singer, Sting, talk about. They’d both planted them on their way out the door, and now they were navigating a dangerous minefield, hoping not to get hurt again.
“She was always too smart for you,” Poppy said with a bit of an edge. She hated remembering how much in love with him she’d been and how she’d kept trying to show him how to reciprocate that love.
“Indeed. Also, I have a hard head—everyone knows that. Just took longer for her wisdom to sink in.” A look crossed his face that she didn’t recognize...maybe regret. “Want to see the brewing operation? Or the kombucha shed?”
“Both. Since you won the right to set the challenge for the summer, I have to brew my own kombucha. I’ve never been a fan of it.”
“I’ll let you try some of the stuff I’ve brewed. See if I can change your mind.”
He led her to one of the smaller buildings, and as soon as she stepped inside, she realized that it was temperature controlled. Pulling out her phone, she opened the notes app.
“Is temperature important in fermenting the kombucha?” she asked.
“Not really. When you’re making your SCOBY and doing your second fermenting, room temperature is fine,” he said.
“The SCOBY is a starter like they use in sourdough?”
“Yes. It’s the base for the kombucha. It usually takes about seven to twelve days, but I’ve heard of some people who let it go a lot longer,” he said.
“Then the first thing I need to do is grow the SCOBY?”
“Yes. The next steps all take about a week and half to two weeks. So you should have enough time to do it before the deadline,” he said. Then he showed her the kombucha he’d put into the new bottle with the airlock while she’d been sleeping.
When she worked with Alistair at Lancaster-Spencer for those few disastrous months, he’d been impatient and bossy. Here, he took his time showing her all the steps he took to make his concoctions and how he fermented them.
Her questions—which were probably basic to him—were answered. All of them. He even shared his own experience with the mistakes he made and how he learned from them.
“Thanks. I’ll probably be DMing you while I do this at home.”
“Feel free. I can send you a list of supplies I use... It’s the least I can do after you helped me out with the flavors,” he said.
A part of her wanted to say he didn’t owe her, but they weren’t lovers or even friends. They were friendly acquaintances, which meant that he could owe her. No denying it felt good to ask him for something and not feel guilty. “Sure. I’m ready to see the big operation.”
“Ha. Dad calls it my ‘lockdown hobby’ and is insistent I start working again,” he said as he led her out of the shed.
“Don’t let him do that. Your beer is something you worked hard to make,” she said.
He stopped walking, leaning against the side of the beer barn before opening the door. It seemed like he wanted to say something.
She put her hand on his arm to stop him from moving. “Your dad is a bully. Sera would say he probably didn’t get to go after his own dreams, so he crushes everyone else’s.”
“Maybe. What’s that got to do with me?”
“Don’t be like him. Do your thing if that’s what you want. Is this why you took your leave of absence? It must tick him off to know you don’t want to be his little clone,” Poppy said.
“It does. But he’s still got George,” Alistair said, opening the barn door and leading her inside.
There were three big vats, and she knew they were for different stages of the fermenting and brewing process. He took her to a tasting table and went to get some samples for them before she realized he hadn’t actually told her the reasons behind his break from the family company.
It had always been important to Alistair that he be the heir to Lancaster-Spencer along with George. He had so much pride in his family’s legacy and his place in it. Was this something he was doing to distract himself from what he’d lost?
But then he was back, holding a couple of glasses in his big hands. He set them on the table in front of her and straddled the stool next to her.
“This one is my favorite. I was going for something that tasted like summer,” he said.
She took a sip, aware that he waited for her reaction. The beer was good, and she could taste the notes of the fruit he’d used to flavor it. As they talked more about the beer, she realized this didn’t feel like something he was doing simply to bide his time.
Since his main repertoire of meals consisted of omelets and ramen, Poppy had suggested dinner out instead of ordering in, and he’d made a reservation at a nice pub near his place.
“Can we walk?” Poppy called from her bedroom.
The clouds from earlier had cleared away. “If you want to. The restaurant is probably twenty minutes from here,” he said.
“Great. I need to move after all the time on the plane and then sleeping,” she said. “Am I okay?”
She stepped out of her room, and he glanced over at her. She was trying to kill him. The dress she had on was summer weight, a slim-fitting sheath with thin little straps. Due to the heat, she had her hair up, which drew his eyes to her neck. He wished he’d kissed her there, and his fingertips tingled from remembering the feel of her skin under them.
“Great. Me?” He’d put on a button-down shirt and some shorts.
“You know you look gorgeous. You always do.”
“I don’t know,” he said.
“Yeah, right. You were the hottest dude on campus and posed with your shirt off for the calendar.”
“You’re right. I do know I look fit, but that doesn’t mean you like it.” Poppy wasn’t into giving those kinds of compliments. She’d tell him his eyes were the color of her favorite tea or that his hand in hers made her feel safe when they were out late. But physically...
It wasn’t like he needed her words; the chemistry between them had always been off the charts. So he knew there was something about him that still turned her on.
Coming over to him, she stopped when she was close enough that he could feel the soft exhalation of her breath. The bracelets on her arm jingled when she brushed a curl from his forehead. She traced the line of his jaw before placing her hand on his shoulder and rising up on her toes. Her lips brushed his. Heat burned a path from his mouth straight to his dick.
His hands trembled as he tried to keep them by his side, despite every instinct he had telling him to grab her and pull her closer to him.
He wanted to feel the curves of her body against his hardness. She was a summer sprite tonight, bubbly and light, drawing him closer to her even though he knew he should keep his distance.
He wanted her to crave him enough that she forgot about keeping things platonic.
“You look very good. Everyone in the place is going to be envious of me,” she said.
She tipped her head to the side as she winked at him and stepped back. Laughing at him. He had to join in. He’d never been the man who needed that kind of compliment. “Just seems like we should keep it fair. Like, why should only women get told they look good?” Ali asked.
“Is this your bid for feminism?”
“Ah...not what I said. I just meant...never mind. I was just playing around.”
She shook her head. “It’s okay if you weren’t. All your life, people have cultivated friendships with you because of who your father is so they could use your connections.”
“Not you,” he admitted.
“Yeah. How clueless was I?”
“It was refreshing.”
The first time they met, she got his name wrong because she’d heard Gemma call him Ali and thought his name was Adi . She’d had no clue that he was connected to Lancaster-Spencer or that his dad was titled and that Ali himself would inherit lessor property and land when his father died.
She’d treated him like any other guy. Both humbling and challenging. That worked in his favor when he courted her, because she hadn’t realized that his family had been after her family tea recipe for centuries.
“I liked you as just ‘Adi,’” she said.
“Too bad Adi wasn’t real.”
“Nah, Ali has some good qualities too. I mean, he’s real, for one.”
He followed her downstairs. He wasn’t sure that he had many good qualities back then, but in the intervening years, he’d found some. That kid who thought he was the shit had woken up to realize he wasn’t, and there was a lot he still had to learn.
It had been hard to admit that a lot of those lessons had come from Poppy after she left him. “You sure you want to walk?”
“Definitely. I’m used to walking around Birch Lake,” she said.
“How’d you end up there?” he asked. “I thought your aunt lived in Bangor?”
“She does. Mum and Dad have a rental property in Birch Lake. I am the caretaker for it, and they let me live in it rent free for six months,” she said.
“You had money. I never cut you off from the accounts,” he said.
“It was your money. Not mine. You weren’t offering the one thing I wanted, so there was nothing you had that mattered to me.” She put her sunglasses on and then started a workout on her watch. “Merle and I have a friendly competition on our watches. He pretty much just sits at his desk all night, so I think competing with me for the most steps is good for him.”
Alistair’s brows drew together. It was too easy for her to switch topics. Her words echoed from the past, stretching out to wrap around his throat. There was a residual tinge of regret that brought him back to something she’d said—or hadn’t said—earlier.
He was pretty damn sure that if the opportunity to use him presented itself, Poppy would take it.