Fifteen
P oppy was glad to be home. Pickle danced on her back legs and peed all over the floor when she came in the door. Liberty laughed as she hugged Poppy tight. Sera got a towel to clean up the mess and then hugged Poppy as well.
Exhausted from the flight, Poppy immediately slept a solid ten hours, only to wake up at 4:00 a.m. and go sit outside on her patio.
Ali had been on her mind all night. Dreams that were a blend of hot sex and complicated emotions. Life would be so much easier if she could say she didn’t really care for him. If he’d simply been a lover from her past that she hooked up with at a wedding.
Simple, right?
Except it was Ali, so that went straight out the door.
He hadn’t mentioned Birch Lake or working for Owen again. Perhaps it was for the best. It would be too much pressure for her if he moved here with expectations of anything other than late-night, lonely calls and hookups...which would make her feel like a loser.
Despite the time she’d spent with him and the resolution she’d found with her own part in their marriage, she still didn’t trust him. Or, to be fair, anyone else.
That was part of why she’d wanted closure. There were two—okay, three—people on the planet she trusted not to let her down. Merle, Liberty and Sera. That was it. That was enough.
Wasn’t it?
Except the wedding had made her misty-eyed and nostalgic. Watching Gemma say I do and knowing her friend had found a guy who was going to love and cherish her for the rest of her life had caused a pang in Poppy’s gut. She’d had the fancy wedding and all of the trimmings; she knew the rest of someone’s life could be six months—hell, not even—just because your spouse turned into a dick.
But the butterflies she felt in her stomach when Ali drifted into her thoughts told a different story. There was a part of her that still believed the right person could come along. Ali? That’s what had her worried. Could she trust herself enough to believe in him and them again?
Someone knocked on her door. Poppy walked through her house with Pickle barking and running around her ankles. When she opened the door, Liberty and Sera stood there. Liberty held a bag of pastries, and Sera had three coffees.
“We knew you’d be up, and we couldn’t wait to see you. You seemed a little out of it when you got home last night, so we didn’t want to press you for details,” Sera said.
“I missed you guys so much,” Poppy said.
“We missed you too,” Sera said. “We want to hear all the details. I loved your outfit for the wedding. Did it slay?”
“Yes. Thanks for the help picking it out,” Poppy said. She missed her tea shop. Her regulars, the smell of tea brewing and just glancing around and seeing her friends. “How was the shop without me?”
“Okay. Merle knows your operation so well, but having him there distracts me. I almost gave Mrs. Parson a virility blend instead of the one for her arthritis,” Liberty said in mock horror.
Sera chuckled. “She didn’t do that, but I did catch her and Merle in the backroom twice.”
“Like we haven’t all caught you and Wes back there,” Liberty said. “She’s not wrong. The energy isn’t the same without you. I’m so glad you’re back.”
Liberty hugged Poppy tight from behind. “How was England? Did the meeting with Alistair’s family go okay?”
Poppy hugged her friends back, drinking in the love and friendship that they gave her. She knew she was tired from all the travel, but the tears that stung her eyes came from a deeper place. Being at the table with Howard Miller had made her realize how far she’d come from the eighteen-year-old girl she’d been.
A lot of the woman she was today was down to these two. There was something so special about knowing that they always had her back and if she made the wrong decision, they’d still be there to support her.
“You okay?” Liberty asked, leaning forward to take her hand.
“Yes and no. I’m just feeling so much love for you two and realizing how glad I am to be home.”
“We’re glad too. How was Alistair?” Sera asked as she arranged the pastries on paper towels she’d grabbed in the kitchen.
“Ali was...”
“What?”
“Different. I mean really different. I think I might have finally found some closure with our marriage,” Poppy said.
“Good. I hoped you would,” Sera said, leading her into the kitchen. “It’s not good carrying around the resentment you had toward him.”
Was it resentment? Poppy hadn’t realized until she’d talked to him that she’d been angrier at herself for not seeing the truth. She’d let herself change to please him. That behavior was hard to swallow because she always prided herself on her strength and sense of self. To accept how easily she’d thrown it over to make a man happy was a lot to take. Though she wouldn’t do it again.
Liberty and Sera would both give her a dousing of reality to bring her back to herself if that were ever the case.
“It was that. But also coming to terms that, at eighteen, I had no idea what I wanted for the rest of my life. Ali brought his A game, and I was all starry-eyed there for the romance, never really remembering that Prince Charming pretty much does nothing to save Cinderella. She does it all herself.”
“Are you Cinderella? I always pictured you as more Mulan, with the tea and the sword,” Sera said.
“I’m Meera,” Liberty said.
“No arguments. Sera’s definitely a Belle.”
Sera laughed. “I am. But back to Poppy. Why did you think you were Cinderella? Did your mom make you do all the cleaning?” she asked. “One of my foster moms was like that.”
“No. It was more a class difference. Like I was middle class, but I had a part-time job at uni and struggled to pay for everything, and meanwhile, he’d say, ‘Let’s take the jet to Vienna,’ like it was the most mundane thing in the world.”
“That would be fun and exciting,” Sera said. “I mean, I get the Cinderella thing because I’ve felt it a lot as well. Like I didn’t fit in until I moved here. At eighteen, I couldn’t have done this.”
“Me either. That’s what I meant. That girl was still figuring out every single thing. She had no business seeing a hot guy and thinking it would last forever.”
Which really didn’t help her at this moment. Ali was more likeable now that she’d gotten to know him. He was humble, funny and still so hot that all she had to do was think of him to get turned on.
Nope, not really helping.
George showed up the day after Poppy left, just as Alistair was packing to leave for the US. Poppy’s reminder not to move for her had changed him. It was one thing to believe strongly that they were meant to be together, but another to accept that this time, he might be the only one who was vibing with it.
“Why are you here?”
“Super friendly, I see. Where’s Poppy?”
“Back in the US. You knew she wasn’t staying,” Alistair reminded his brother. George didn’t know about the divorce. Like everyone else, he believed it was just an estrangement.
Oddly fitting word since Ali felt hella strange with her gone. His house seemed imbued with her magic. He found himself standing on the front porch the past few nights, right where they’d made out, just to feel closer to her.
“I did. Is that why you’re back to being an ass?” George asked, walking to the fridge and taking out two beers. He opened them both before handing one to Alistair.
“Did I ever stop?”
“Yeah, mate, you did,” George said. “I wanted to apologize for how I was at breakfast.”
“You did like seven times when you were drunk at the wedding.” Alistair couldn’t help his smile. His older brother had started to relax since marrying free-spirited Bronte, but seeing George drunk wasn’t something he’d been prepared for. Once his friends had left and George was in his cups he’d come over to himself and Poppy.
George turned into a dreamer when he drank. He’d regaled them with all of his plans for the company, told Bronte she was the most beautiful woman in the world and apologized to Poppy for not allowing her to own the meeting. Then when the girls went to dance to a Steps song, George slung his arm over Alistair’s shoulder and told him that he should do everything in the world to get Poppy back.
George’s words were still rattling around in his head. No man should live alone once he’s been in love.
“Yeah...glad Mum wasn’t there,” George said. “So we need you back in the office if I’m going to make my move on dad.”
“I’m not going back. You know that. I will back you at the next board meeting. Mum will too, but that’s it. Then I become the silent shareholder, and you continue to vote my shares.”
“Won’t Poppy object? She gets a say too,” George pointed out, taking a long swallow of his beer.
Well, fuuuck. “Yeah. I mean, I haven’t discussed it with her. But since she’s not moving back here, I think she’ll want to let things ride.”
“Is everything okay with you two?” George asked.
It felt like this was the first time his brother had noticed something was going on with Ali. Other than that time he hulked out at the office, of course, and verbally eviscerated a coworker before punching the wall next to the poor guy’s head.
Things with Poppy had been a really bad bag of dicks. George and Bronte were about to walk down the aisle, and Stephen had pointed out that if his last name weren’t Miller he’d be fired for his poor performance at work. It had been the final straw, and Ali had lost it on Stephen. Not his finest hour, and one that should have served as a red flag, but being who he was, it had taken Alistair a few more months of drinking and drugging before he finally figured that out.
George had been the one to escort him out of the building and tell him to get help.
This was different. His brother sat across from him expectantly. “I’m...” He wasn’t sure he could do this. Open up and tell someone who wasn’t being paid to keep things confidential about his relationship with Poppy. “We’re... Fuck.”
“So that’s a no,” George said. “Bronte left me before Christmas for two weeks. I came home from India, and she was gone. The cat was gone, her clothes were out of the closet, and her mug wasn’t on the counter. I stood in the flat fucking confused for twenty minutes. She wouldn’t return my texts, and I knew better than to call. I had to track her down and wait outside her house like a creeper until she came out to go to work.”
“Why did she leave you?”
George shoved his hand through his hair, walking to the French doors that looked out on the back garden. He shook his head. “I was dictating our marriage and life. She felt strangled by the plan I put in place. When she left...I had to do whatever it took to get her back.”
“What did you do?” Ali asked. George wasn’t like him. His brother was always the smarter one, but they’d been raised by the same parents, who had their own fucked-up relationship, so this made a kind of sense.
“I thought about you and how hard you were working to figure things out to get Poppy back, and I realized it was time I did the same. The thing with how we were raised is that I felt...”
“Superior,” Alistair supplied. “Like we had manners, lifestyle and all that shit nailed.”
“Took Bronte for me to see I didn’t. I have the surface-level stuff, but after that, jack all.”
“I’m still working on me, George. But I had further to go than you. I’m glad you and Bronte are back together, and you two seem good for each other.”
“We are. But it’s a struggle some days. I keep backsliding and spending long hours at the office. I missed her exhibit at the British Library. I can’t do that. But it’s hard to balance being a Miller of Lancaster-Spencer with being her husband.”
“Why are you telling me all of this?”
“Probably should have a long time ago. I don’t express myself like you do, but we both bottle everything up. Product of our upbringing, no doubt. Bronte is slowly making me realize that there is a lot more to being a Miller than just running the company. So if you don’t want to come back, I’m not going to make it a condition for getting Poppy the deal she deserves.”
“Great. I’m sure she’ll appreciate that, especially since we’re divorced.”
“What?”
The shocked look on George’s face was oddly satisfying. Ali felt freer than he had in months, if not years. “Yeah. For eighteen months now. You figured out things a lot quicker than I did. I think there’s a chance with Poppy, but not if I slide back into the man I used to be.”
“Okay. So what can I do?”
“Nothing. This is something I have to do for myself. Actually not keeping that a secret is something my therapist has been bugging me about. I don’t have to feel like a failure.”
“You don’t,” George said. “You’re not. So what’s next?”
“I’m going to Birch Lake to curate a summer ale for a festival run by a beer-brewing mate, and I’m going to try to see if I can convince Poppy to give me a real second chance.”
Summer in Birch Lake was all big blue skies and verdant trees. Poppy loved all the seasons, but being British, there was something about a sunny day that drew her outside. She’d slathered on sunscreen before she’d left her house. Leaving her staff to handle the shop for a few moments, she brewed a peach and ginger tea and poured it over ice. It was the perfect thing to cool her down on this warm day.
Most days, she took her break in the shop’s backroom. Sometimes she sat at the picnic table behind the shop that Liberty’s mom had given them, but today she needed to walk. And think. Thinking was paramount to whatever was going to come next.
Lily at the bakery had let her know that Alistair was back in Birch Lake—her boyfriend was one of the owners of the tavern. Lily had made a joke about how surely Poppy didn’t know everyone in England, but a potentially familiar British guy was helping curate the ales for the summer beer festival they were running.
Oh, she knew that British guy. She’d thought he would let her know if he was coming, but they’d left things so open...she didn’t blame him for not saying a word.
Returning to England with Alastair had been eye-opening in so many ways. The man she’d demonized after their separation had turned out to be a shadowy image of Alistair and not who he really was. The other big bad in her life, Howard Miller, had seemed to respect her when she stood up and drew a line that she wouldn’t cross.
She’d grown in that short week in England, learning lessons she thought she already had. Her mum had quipped, Welcome to adulthood , when Poppy told her. Which was a joke they shared. Poppy often told her mum the same thing when her mum went on about the rise in council tax.
Sitting on the bench that overlooked the park, she closed her eyes, tipping her head back toward the sun.
“Want some company?”
Alistair.
She didn’t open her eyes. Maybe it was the sun-induced haze that was making her think he was here. But the breeze brought with it the scent of sandalwood and citrus: his aftershave. She put her hand over her eyes as she opened them.
“So you decided to come back.” She gestured to the spot next to her.
“I did. It wasn’t as easy a decision as I expected,” he admitted. “But in the end, the chance to grow as a brewer and to see you again swayed me.”
Obvs all she heard was that he wanted to see her again. It had taken all of her willpower to not text him as soon as she landed at JFK for her connecting flight.
“I’m glad you’re here. Want to tell me about the ales and walk me back to WiCKed Sisters?” she asked.
She’d made up her mind that if he showed back up, she’d be open to getting to know him better. This time, if they fell back into bed, they had to know each other first. Not just their messed-up past. This man who wore a collared shirt buttoned to the neck, shorts and loafers without socks was vaguely familiar to her. But the wedding week had shown her how little honesty either of them had brought to their marriage. This time, with him, she wanted more.
“Sure. I’m meeting a realtor later to try to find a place. Any recs?”
“Liberty used to live in an apartment complex on the outskirts of town that was pretty nice. Merle lives in a subdivision that has some nice houses.”
“I don’t want to live near your cousin.”
“Where do you want to live?”
“With you.”
“With me? You didn’t come here for me, right? You know we’re not—”
“Stop. Yes, I know that. But I can’t pretend that I don’t want you back.”
Want you back. Of course, her mind immediately went to Take That’s “Back For Good.”
Her heart raced, and she was already picturing him living with her in the little house she’d bought for herself. Except that was her place. And this time, she was going to be smart.
“I want to be friends,” she said, blurting it out as if she had no emotional literacy and couldn’t navigate a conversation with her hot ex.
“I want that too. I’m not pushing you, moon fairy, but I’m also not going to pretend I’d be happy in the friend zone forever.”
Moon fairy.
God, this man, when he saw her, made her feel like she was one in a million. If this was going to work, she needed to feel that way all the time. To not feel lacking.
Now if only she could believe that this was real.
Why wouldn’t it be? What could he possibly need from her now that he would use her for?
Nothing.
That was what her mind said, but her wary soul and bruised heart weren’t sure. Not yet.