Twenty
A ugust was a heady month. Usually, the end of summer was full of sun and fun. This year was, well, uncommon with Alistair by her side. He’d shown up at her place at 5:00 a.m. with his Ducati—he’d bought one here and taken her for a ride up around the countryside, ending at Hanging Hill.
They were holding hands at the top as they watched the sunrise. Releasing her hand, he bent over to the bag at his feet and pulled out a thermos filled with her magic courage tea and mugs for both of them.
Typically, August was the month of maturity and gratitude for earthly sustenance. For the first time, Poppy felt that she was leaning into her own maturity.
When Ali had come clean about his leave of absence that night one week ago, something within her had been unstoppered. There was a lightness to her bones that wasn’t there before. As if she’d released the weight of the past, even though she thought she exorcised all of that when she signed her divorce papers.
“Nice. It’s not the Tor, but I hope it will do,” Ali said. “One of the books I was reading on the ritual of tea spoke of welcoming the sun each day and taking time to be present in the day.”
“This is a great way to start it.” She took a leisurely sip from her mug, taking a deep inhale of the fortifying steam. “I’ve been working on a new tea blend for you.”
The more time they spent together, the easier it was for her to figure out which leaves and essences to blend to create one as unique as he was. It would have to have heat, so she started with the huang pian sheng pu’er that she used in the mix for Liberty. It was strong like Alistair.
She added in bergamot because of his heritage and lineage. But she also wanted the new flavors to represent the man he was becoming. That was the tricky part.
She wanted to use something that represented the Kent coast where he brewed his beer. Summer flavors of brambleberries and strawberries. But they were too delicate for the harshness of the sheng pu’er, so she’d had to scrap it and start over.
“I’m intrigued. What will it include?” he asked.
“That’s the problem. You’re a bit of an enigma. I thought I’d use some Kentish flavors and a strong fiery base. But the sheng pu’er I started with is dominating the tea,” she said. This was the first time she’d brought up brewing around him, she realized, other than the kombucha they were working on together.
The one time she’d tried to talk to him about unique blends when they were married, he’d mansplained tea blending to her and told her that her flavors weren’t going to work. He’d been wrong. The blend he didn’t think was good enough was the first one she’d made and sold at markets and her online shop. It was still popular.
She called it FUAM. A lot of people assumed it was some mashup of a region or her just trying to sound exotic. But it was simply Fuck You Alistair Miller . It had been the first step toward WiCKed Sisters.
“You’re smiling.”
He slid his hand into the back of her hair, his fingers massaging her scalp as he leaned forward and kissed her. He’d been very touchy-feely lately, always reaching for her when they were together. It suited her, because as much as she felt they were good and solid, fear sort of crept around them, reminding her of the last time everything had fallen apart with Alistair.
“Just remembering the last time we talked about tea blending.”
He shook his head, pulling back from her. “Fuck me. I was an ass. I’m sure I told you you were doing it wrong.”
“You were, and you did,” she said, unable to stop the grin from spreading across her face. “But it worked out for me. FUAM is one of my top sellers.”
“Does everyone know what it means?”
“Just Liberty and Sera,” she said. “So my way back to tea is now for you, not in spite of you.”
“Yeah. Well, my favorite is black tea,” he said.
“I didn’t know that. You always drink oolong.”
“Just to annoy Dad because he insisted we have Earl Grey at home,” Alistair said.
So black tea. “Black tea is a nice base. What else do you like?”
She’d made a lot of assumptions about Ali. Spent a lot of time dwelling on all the ways he’d never seen her, mainly because lately, he seemed to really see her. Not realizing that she’d never really tried to see him either.
She’d had an idea of him. Howard Miller’s second son, bad boy, player, reckless. The tabloids’ favorite fodder. He’d been all of that during their courtship and marriage. And to be fair, he was still those things, but she saw depth to him now.
That one-dimensional image of what she thought he was... One of the hardest things to accept was that she’d been just as culpable in the downfall of their relationship. She wasn’t going to take the blame entirely, but there was a lot she was doing differently this time that never occurred to her before.
“Vanilla and strawberries,” he said. “Those are two of my favorite flavors.”
“Really? Strawberries make you break out if you eat too many of them,” she pointed out.
“Thanks for the reminder. But yeah, they remind me of you,” he admitted. The alarm on his watch pinged.
“Ah, that’s sweet that you’re willing to risk skin irritation for me,” she said.
He shrugged. “I can be sweet, you know.”
“I do know. I like it. It’s just unexpected.”
“Good. I like keeping you off-balance.”
“You do? Why?”
“Because that’s how I feel around you, moon fairy. Only fair to try to keep things even.”
But they weren’t even at all. She was falling for him. Although her mind was going to figure out a way to keep her heart safe from him again, every part of her being wanted to be with him.
Alistair dropped Poppy off at her place and headed back to his apartment. The beer festival had gone off without a hitch, and Owen was now talking about brewing some autumn ales and doing an Oktoberfest if Alistair wanted to stay.
He did want to stay, but he had obligations in the UK. His own place and brewing business that he’d started. He also needed to go to the board meeting in September to relinquish his voting rights in the company. Though George had mentioned Poppy’s voting rights, she’d already given those all to Ali in the divorce. All she’d asked him for in return was that he made no claim on anything involving WiCKed Sisters.
So was he going to stay? If he did, he needed to find a real house. This apartment was okay, but it wasn’t anything special. And he’d like to have Poppy at his place once in a while, so when he was alone...he wouldn’t be, not really.
George had sent him an email with the offer that they were sending to Poppy today. Ali had read it, and it looked pretty fair to him. But he saw a few places that he suspected she’d argue and a few that he knew she could get them to back down on.
He’d been toying with offering her his advice, but the truth was, it was her deal. He wasn’t even sure George should have sent it to him.
Which made him feel edgy and tense. So he ditched the Ducati, changed into running clothes and went for a long run. As his feet pounded the pavement, his mind wandered through scenarios. Each one had a different outcome.
It had been years since he’d felt this calm when it came to making a decision. He knew his therapist would be pleased. He was going to have to call her when he was back in the UK. He wanted to have one more session and get her take on everything with Poppy.
Poppy.
She was really what had him in this scenario mode. He thought he loved her. Honestly, he had no real stick to measure love by. He cared for his mum. A lot. He liked George and Pickle. But these emotions he held for Poppy were deeper and more consuming. As if there was a part of him that no longer belonged solely to himself.
Was that love?
Or was he just obsessed with his life in Birch Lake? It was easy and almost relaxing here. It was nice to show up for his shifts at the tavern or stop by Poppy’s and end up playing D tourists usually had headed back to their rooms, and locals were home or at the tavern. It was sort of a magical time of day for Poppy when the doors were closed and she and Liberty and Sera sat down to just talk.
Lately, with how busy summer could be, they hadn’t had time for this. Most days, one or all of them needed to be somewhere else. But tonight it was just the girls, and Poppy needed this. The final offer from Lancaster-Spencer had dropped in her inbox an hour ago. They’d already gone back and forth with different versions a few times until they got to this point. She’d skimmed it while making pots of tea for her customers.
Taking a moment to get the antique coupe glasses that her mum had given her when Poppy moved to Maine, she set three of them on the table and then went to check on the Mo?t she’d put in the fridge in the back. Sera and Wes had officially announced their wedding date...the first Wednesday in January, the day they met. It was also the anniversary of Ford’s death, and they were going to honor him.
Ford, Wes’s grandfather, had been Sera’s mentor in bookbinding and restoration. The two of them had met when Ford passed away and left Sera a box of books that Wes wanted. It had been a bit dicey at first but they’d worked together and fallen in love.
Liberty and Merle had officially moved in together. For some reason, Merle had been oddly stubborn about it, until Liberty told him that she liked his nerdiness and to stop being afraid.
Lancaster-Spencer had come in with a very generous offer that more than matched the offer from Willingham of Hampshire. Poppy had also received an amended contract regarding the Earl Winfield blend, which would now be labeled Kitchener’s Earl Winfield, and the rights were only licensed to Lancaster-Spencer and would revert back to Poppy’s family in fifty years’ time.
As much as she had never expected it, she was contemplating a relationship with Alistair as well. Something felt settled deep inside her. But hesitation still seemed to be her vibe around him. At times, she was frustrated with herself for not just trusting him, but she hoped that would come in time.
“All right, celebration time,” Liberty said.
“What’s the good news?” Sera asked as she joined them.
“All three of us have something to celebrate,” Poppy said, sitting down next to her friends after pouring them each a glass of champagne.
“We do? Are you and Alistair serious?”
Her cheeks got so hot, she was pretty sure it looked as if she’d been baked in the sun. “I don’t know. I meant your official engagement, Liberty moving in with Merle and the really nice offer I got from Lancaster-Spencer.” Really, it would have been better to lead with that. No questions or guessing what the celebration was about.
“Nice! Have you accepted it?”
“Of course not. It’s a WiCKed Sisters product, so we all have to decide,” Poppy said. Her sense of fairness wouldn’t let her cut her friends out of success that had been earned by all three of them. Amber Rapp didn’t just love the tea but the entire experience.
“It’s tea, so whatever you decide is fine with me,” Sera said.
“Yeah, same,” Liberty chimed in.
“Really? What if the bagged tea product means people don’t come here? What if our business slows?” Poppy asked. “I don’t want to be the source of anything like that.”
Liberty shook her head. “Business will slow. Amber will release a new album in a few months, and something else is going to engage her fan base. We will still be here doing what we did before she stopped in.”
“Yeah, our success isn’t tied to Amber. It’s all down to the three of us,” Sera said. “I think putting our products in shops is a nice next step. That business class I’ve been taking on Skillshare was talking about that.”
“So I should do it?” Poppy asked.
“If it’s a good deal. No underhanded clauses like whatever happened when you married Alistair,” Liberty said. “I can read it if you want me to.”
“I’d love that. Both of you, actually. It looks good to me. I was clear that there would be no option or first right of refusal on any other blends I produce,” Poppy said.
“Perfect. Champagne time,” Sera said.
“To magical journals, intuitive tarot readings, tea that warms the heart and soothes the soul,” they all said together, clinking their glasses and taking a sip.
As they laughed together, Poppy reflected that this here was the closest she’d found to a home. These two women, this shop, the men and parents and friends they’d drawn to them. Poppy wanted to believe that this was all she needed, but she knew that in her heart, she was including Alistair in the mix.
He wasn’t even really here for longer than the summer. Could she have fallen for him again without any thought to the consequences?
That was one hundred percent a yes.
He’d changed. But change alone wasn’t going to make them suddenly live in the same country or want the same things.
His dreams... She didn’t know what they were. He was determined not to return to Lancaster-Spencer, which she totally approved of. But what was next for him?
Was she going to just wait for him to tell her? Or was it time to ask him and tell him that she wanted more?
“Can we go to Hanging Hill on Monday night? It’s the seasonal blue moon,” Poppy said.
“Of course, why?” Liberty asked.
“Alistair.” No use pretending there was any reason other than that man.
“Definitely. Want to talk?” Sera asked.
“It’s nothing bad. I just don’t know what to do. He’s here for the summer. I mean, I knew that when he came back. But my heart is starting to count on him. To expect to see him every day... It’s so much more than it was before.”
She was rambling, but that was how she felt about Ali right now. Just this gush of need, want, craving, all wrapped up in the joy of sharing everything with him.
“I’m scared.”
“The moon will help,” Liberty said. “I don’t know what to say. I wanted to hate him, but he’s not really a dick. I mean, I’ll totally hate him if he hurts you.”
“Thanks, Lib.”
“I like him too,” Sera said quietly. “But there is something...I can’t place my finger on. Like he’s uncertain.”
Which was what scared Poppy.