Ten
T he summer solstice was always one of her favorite days of the year. The start of the summer season and the opening of all those gorgeous long days that held endless possibilities. The fact that her friends weren’t here with her dimmed her joy the tiniest bit.
Keeping her hands off Alistair was harder than she thought it would be. Especially on the back of his Ducati as they wove through the winding country roads that led from Kent up to Glastonbury. As a teenager, she’d begged her parents for tickets to the annual music festival, but they always said no. One, she’d been too young—whatever—and two, the tickets were too expensive. But the third reason, and probably the real reason, was simple: coed camping.
During her teenage years she’d been sort of out of control...with everything. Nothing had changed during her uni years except meeting this man she was holding on to now as the June sun beat down on her back.
As much as he intimated that she’d changed, Poppy didn’t really feel that different. It wasn’t like she’d stopped craving love and acceptance after the divorce. Perhaps she’d gotten slightly better at choosing the people she let into her heart.
“Want to stop at Stonehenge? They’ve really changed it, and you can’t get close to the stones at all now,” he said. His voice was deep and husky in her ear from the built-in microphones in their helmets.
“No, thanks for the offer,” she said. Her spiritual practice was too personal to share with anyone other than those who mattered to her. Plus, she wasn’t up to facing the crowds that showed up at Stonehenge on the solstices without Liberty and Serafina at her side. She was looking forward to a somewhat quiet ritual at the top of the Tor tonight.
“When did you get all witchy?” he asked.
“I always was,” she said under her breath, momentarily forgetting about the microphone.
“I never noticed. How did I miss that?”
“I didn’t want to scare you off, Alistair. You were pretty big stuff, and the fact that you liked me had me...” She trailed off.
It had her trying to shape herself into a woman he would fall for. A woman who would be worthy of being the wife of the second son of the eighth Earl of Winfield. It wasn’t like her family hadn’t been solidly middle class. She’d gone to a good school and been on holidays in France and erife. But Alistair had been next-level.
Still was.
Which was why, no matter how hot he made her, she was going to be smart and keep it in her pants. She wasn’t following her libido back into another ill-advised hookup. There was nothing down that path but destruction for both of them.
Yet clearly he wanted her.
Which made her want to push and see how long it would take until his control cracked. To finally exercise her power.
Would she be the first to break?
Hell no.
“Hey, I liked you, Poppy. Not someone you were trying to be,” he said.
“I don’t think I felt comfortable showing you who I was. Like when you jetted us to Vienna for the ball. I wanted to be with you. If that meant straightening my hair and wearing a ball gown, then yes, please, I’d change everything about myself I could to keep that ride going.”
“I didn’t realize,” he said.
How could he know that the life he took for granted would be so tempting to her? He wouldn’t have realized that she was still trying to mold herself. Her mum said that that was what your early twenties were for. Also for big fuckups. Poppy had scored on both counts.
Which was why she was so determined to stay firmly in the friends-with-benefits zone with Ali. Only a few more days and she’d be back home, and Ali would be out of her everyday life.
Online, he didn’t make her heart race or her blood rush through her veins. Like he did now, making her hot as she felt his hips nestled between her thighs.
Of course, once they were off this damn Ducati that would help too.
“It’s cool. So this place you booked us to stay...two rooms?”
“Of course. We agreed sleeping together had stupid written all over it. Personally, I think it had ‘explosive’ written on it, but who am I to argue with a woman?”
He wasn’t wrong. It was taking all of her willpower just to keep her arms lightly around his middle on the turns. To not let her hand snake down between his legs the way she had so many times in the past when he took her out on his bike. Being with Ali had unlocked her sensual side, and he’d always been game to try anything she fantasized about. Their time together had been hot. Nothing had been off-limits.
God, this was why she should have said no to the wedding. She should have just signed the damned Lancaster-Spencer Tea Makers deal and stayed safely in Birch Lake.
But she wanted more from life than hiding. And Lancaster-Spencer had fucked her out of control of her own tea blends once. She wasn’t willing to allow that a second time.
If that meant days of cold showers and masturbating, then she’d do it. As she’d just reminded herself, it was only a few more days.
She turned her head sideways, resenting that the helmet kept her from leaning forward and resting it against Alistair’s back.
It was odd how he still hadn’t accepted that most of his plans backfired. Having Poppy pressed against his back for over three hours had seemed like the perfect way to remind her that the attraction between them wasn’t something that should be ignored.
Partially he’d also wanted to test his own self-control, which was now at an all-time low. Each time he moved into a turn, her arms wrapped around him, and her entire being molded to him. The power of the Ducati was addicting and put him more in touch with that rebelliousness he’d been working so hard to shed. On the back of the bike it was easy to pretend he was in control leaving the past behind...except today with Poppy clinging to his back.
When he pulled into the parking lot of the Airbnb he’d booked for the night, he had to take a moment to adjust himself while she was taking off her helmet.
She shook her hair as she did, her long natural curls flying around her head. She smiled as she tried to fluff them up. “I bet I look a sight.”
One that he wanted to fill his eyes with. Staring at her wasn’t wise, because Poppy was too perceptive not to know that the entire ride had been a slow seduction for him. Her voice so soft and intimate in his ear as they talked. Her hands on his body as she clung to him on the turns and then kneading his thigh when she slipped them down his sides.
“Always a welcome one,” he said. Lame. Why was it that he had no rizz with her? He used to know just what to say.
“Thanks. You too,” she said. “How’d you find this place?”
“George recommended it. Bronte is into crystals and all that woo-woo shit.”
“Like me.”
“Just like you.” Fuck. He shouldn’t have called it woo-woo shit .
“Yeah, anyway, he brought her here for their anniversary.”
“That’s nice,” she said. “I did think it was odd you didn’t want to be fake married at his wedding.”
“We were still real married then,” he said sardonically. “Also, everyone knew we were still fighting.”
“Did they? How?”
“You posted on your private social media account about the bag of dicks you married . Bronte noticed it and flagged it up to George, who told Mum and Dad.”
“I didn’t realize,” she said.
“How could you? You are totally entitled to your feelings,” he said.
“I know, and you totally were being that when I posted. I think you wanted me to negotiate to keep my great-grandmother’s tea service.”
Yeah, not the man he wanted her to see. “I don’t like losing.”
“Believe me, I know,” she said. “So this place is close to town, and then are we taking the bike to the parking lot at the Tor or walking from town?”
“Either one. It’s a nice day, so a walk wouldn’t be bad,” he said.
She smiled as he used a code to unlock the Airbnb. They had sent their luggage on to the wedding’s hotel and just packed in two backpacks for this overnight trip. He grabbed them from the storage compartment on the bike as Poppy went inside to explore.
Taking a moment for himself, he leaned against the side of the house, in the shade, and put his head back.
He was so close to getting everything he wanted. Receiving Poppy’s understanding... Her suggestion that they put the past to bed had been more than he thought he deserved. But there was still the meeting with his parents, the contract with Lancaster-Spencer and Owen’s offer to come and work at the tavern for the summer.
All things that were tied to the woman who was singing “Flowers” off-key while she opened the windows.
It hadn’t even occurred to him that she’d actually be back in England with him despite his hope she would.
His therapist had suggested that maybe anger had burned all the charm out of him.
It felt uncomfortable, the prospect of being who his parents and brother expected him to be at this wedding. It felt like sliding into a suit that was too tight. He couldn’t move his shoulders, and the shoes pinched.
“You okay?” she asked from the doorway.
“Yeah. Just need to stand and stretch a bit after the ride,” he said.
“Me too. I found a recommendation for a couple of restaurants in town. Want me to book one for a late lunch? That will give us time to check out a few woo-woo shops in town.”
“I’m sorry I said that.”
She nodded. “I’m teasing you. One of the shops sells some of our products, so I’m meeting the owner around three. I can meet back up with you after that for dinner.”
Solange Trenton felt like a kindred spirit the moment that Poppy walked into her shop. She had a table of WiCKed Sisters’ products, which included a selection of handmade journals that Sera had sent over with instructions on how to embed the purchaser’s intention into the cover; crystals and a tarot card deck that Liberty had charged and designed; and the Amber Rapp Heartbreak Remedy tea that Poppy had made after listening to “Rhapsody for an Ex.”
“I’m so excited you are here!” Solange said. Her long red hair hung down her back, and she wore a flower wreath on top of her head that Poppy immediately loved. Her bracelets jingled as she ran around the counter and hugged Poppy.
“Me too. Thanks for welcoming me on such short notice.”
“I’m glad you were able to get here. I’m hoping to get to Birch Lake in the autumn for the real-life experience.”
“Let me know when you’re coming, and I’ll show you around,” Poppy said.
“Definitely. I’ve been using the journal you sent me at the winter solstice, and I think I manifested your visit.”
Poppy shook her head at the other woman. They’d sent a small gift set to some of the shops around the US and the UK that stocked their products as a thank-you for their support. “In what way?”
“I was so sure we’d get on, and I have been wanting to talk to you about how you got started. I’ve written a dozen emails to you, then deleted them before I hit Send.”
“You should have sent them, but I’m here now. If you have time for a cup of tea and a chat,” Poppy said.
Solange’s shop was small and reminded her of the first space WiCKed Sisters had leased before they decided to stop doing things by half measures. It had taken a lot of debates and belief in themselves before she, Sera and Liberty went to the bank and got a loan to buy the building they were in now.
Solange’s shop had two bookshelves on one wall crammed with books and journals. The scent was so familiar—books, patchouli and freshly brewed tea—it was like returning home. The table with the WiCKed Sisters products was in the center of the store, and there was another long low table that held more crystals and other magick paraphernalia. Some soft chanting music was playing in the background. It was nice and cozy.
Solange got them both some tea before she sat across from Poppy and peppered her with questions about blending teas. Poppy shared the techniques she’d been using lately and invited her to join the Tea Society.
“Really? That would be fab. Can I get a picture with you and post it? Also put it up on the wall behind the register?”
“Of course,” Poppy said, posing for a few photos for Solange. In the smallest way, she was a bit uneasy about how excited the other woman was to see her. She’d had no idea that there was anyone out there who was this into the WiCKed Sisters and the women behind it.
“My customers are all big fans of the three of you. We’ve started a small monthly group where we all do some moon rituals... Liberty sent me some guidance so I could lead them. We’ve all been using the manifesting journals, of course, and making seasonal teas. But that’s been the hardest to master. I’m not sure how you do it.”
“Which part?”
“Choosing which flavors will work best together.”
Poppy couldn’t really explain that there was a big part of blending that felt instinctive to her. She had the Kitchener journal, which she used as a reference each time she tried a new blend. Some of her earliest memories were being in the kitchen with her grandmother as she blended different teas, explaining to Poppy what she was doing the way her own grandmother had done, and every generation before her since Viola.
“Mostly it’s trial and error. Also, I make blends I like. In summer, I want something light and refreshing, so I’d probably try mint. I recommend going for classic combos that sound good to you,” Poppy said.
Solange’s fingers were moving rapidly over the keyboard on her phone as she took notes. “Great. I’m going to try mint and strawberry.”
“Nice. Let me know how it turns out.”
Poppy’s smartwatch vibrated, and she glanced down, then burst out laughing. Merle had sent the barfing emoji at her, winning their weekly competition.
“Sorry about that. Once you’re in the Tea Society, there will be a lot of experts who can give you tips. We have a seasonal challenge you can participate in. Honestly, those are really helpful and fun. Plus, you get the benefit of hearing from everyone else what worked and didn’t.”
“I’m looking forward to it. Thank you.”
“No problem. I’m always glad to meet someone else who loves making their own teas as much as I do.”
Poppy left a few minutes later. Alistair waited for her at a park near the middle of town. Her breath caught in her chest when she saw him. He’d taken his shirt off and was lying on his back in the sun. God. That man had a body that was hard to tear her eyes from.
A slow heat started low in her body and spread outward. Licking her lips, she was hungry for something that she knew she could only get from him.
Trying to be smart and safe wasn’t working. There was no way she was going to be able to keep her hands to herself much longer. All of her thoughts were on how his sun-heated body would feel on hers. If she lifted the skirt of her sundress and straddled him as he pulled her into his arms. She might spontaneously combust.
Spotting her, he lifted his hand and waved.
Fuck. Keep it cool.
Like that was going to happen.