Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Poppy stared at her meager wardrobe that evening and despaired. What was she supposed to wear?
She hadn’t packed for dating; she’d barely remembered to throw clean underwear in her suitcase along with five books, her laptop, and an extra power charger.
Back home, her closet was stuffed full of cute dinner outfits: little black dresses, or va-va-voom pencil skirts, her lucky lace bras, and those heeled pumps that made her butt look amazing.
But here? She’d packed for the cold weather and seclusion, and her array of chunky knit sweaters and comfy sports bras didn’t exactly scream, “Kiss me now, lover!”
She was doomed.
She wrapped herself in a bathrobe and started towel-drying her hair. Maybe by the time she was done, one of her slouchy gym sweatshirts would have magically transformed into a sexy fitted tank top. Her phone rang. Quinn again. This time, Poppy answered.
“You’re alive, then.” Quinn didn’t bother with a friendly greeting—she sounded stressed. “Tell me you’ve been blowing off my calls because you’re too busy writing the next international bestseller.”
“I have,” Poppy answered, and for once, she wasn’t bending the truth. “I’ll have pages for you by the end of tomorrow.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“But I mean it this time,” Poppy promised her. “Five chapters. They need fixing, but you can send them to my editor, that should keep them happy for a while.”
“Thank God!” Quinn cheered. “You had me scared for a while. I thought you’d had some kind of breakdown, and we’d be scraping your career off the bargain book section floor.”
“You and me both.” Poppy felt the relief wash over her again. It had been close, but she was out of her downward spiral and back on solid ground. “Tell them I’m sorry, and I’ll deliver on schedule, I swear. It doesn’t matter if I have to write around the clock, I don’t want to let them down.”
Quinn laughed. “They’ll live. To be honest, this might be a good thing. They’ve been getting scared you might cancel the book and leave altogether for another publisher. I’ve had three calls this week from different editors, asking if you’re back on the market.”
“Quinn, no.” Poppy knew that tone, and quickly shut her down. “I’m happy where I am. They just pushed my deadline three times because I needed it, that’s the kind of loyalty I want.”
“OK, OK,” Quinn sighed. “I’ll let them know.
Oh, before I forget, I got something inviting you to speak at this literary festival, it’s local I think .
. . hang on . . .” Poppy heard her clicking at her mouse.
“Here it is, the Cape Cod Spring Fling Festival. It’s usually more literary, you know, Franzen, Atwood, Zadie Smith, but I guess someone cancelled at the last minute, because they want you to come. ”
“I’d love to!” Poppy exclaimed, pleased. “I’ve seen the flyers here in town.”
“I’ll tell them you’re in,” Quinn said. “And then maybe we can start talking about your next deal . . .”
“Bye, Quinn.” Poppy cut her off before she could laugh—or cry. Next deal? She wasn’t even going to think about that. Not while she still had this book to deliver—and an outfit to assemble before Cooper arrived.
She checked the time. Six forty-five. Crap.
She tore through her suitcase again, and—hallelujah—found a plain black tank buried in the bottom.
It wasn’t much, but with her fitted pair of jeans, a pair of ankle boots, and a cute necklace, it would work.
She wouldn’t cut it at a hot restaurant in the city, but this was Sweetbriar Cove: a sheer layer of red lipstick was about as dressy as she needed.
Poppy gave her hair a final rumple, brushed a quick dusting of blush on her cheeks, and was throwing her keys in her bag when the doorbell sounded.
“Coming!”
She forced herself to pause. Breathe. It was just dinner, she told herself, going to open the door. Just dinner, with Cooper. A friendly dinner with no expectations and—
“Hey.”
Poppy’s jaw dropped. Cooper was standing on the porch, but not the scruffy, work-boots-and-plaid Cooper she’d seen for the past couple of weeks.
No, this man was smart and clean-shaven, with his hair brushed back out of his blue eyes, which somehow looked even brighter against the cornflower cotton of his crisp button-down shirt.
He leaned in to kiss her cheek, and Poppy could have sworn her stomach turned a slow pirouette.
“Um, hi,” she stammered, and then immediately scolded herself for acting like such an idiot. “You look . . . smart.”
“And there you were, thinking I didn’t own a razor.” Cooper flashed her a devastating smile. “Ready to go?”
“Yes!” Poppy blurted. “Except, I don’t know where. I meant to look up some restaurants around here, but then I was writing, and—”
“You lost track of time,” Cooper finished for her. “That’s OK, I figured you might not know the area. I have a place in mind, it’s pretty casual, but they do the best seafood around.”
“Casual’s good,” Poppy said, relieved. “I’m not exactly dressed for anywhere fancy.”
“I don’t know.” Cooper gave her a quiet smile that made her blood run hot. “You look beautiful to me.”
Oh god. Poppy turned away to hide her blush, and busied herself pulling on her coat and scarf. But she couldn’t avoid his gaze for long, and soon they were in his truck, heading out along the coastal road, as Poppy tried to take deep breaths and keep her cool.
Why was she so flustered?
It was the rebound thing, she decided. This was the first guy she’d been out with since Owen, so of course she was nervous about doing it wrong. But even as she tried to convince herself it was totally normal to be melting down over a man’s smile, she knew this wasn’t about Owen. It was all Cooper.
“Did you get much writing done today?” he asked, glancing over.
“Yes, lots,” Poppy replied, ignoring the afternoon she’d spent frantically obsessing over their date. “I think I’m going to be OK—thanks to you.”
“What do you mean?” Cooper looked surprised.
“What you said to me the other night, about making my own fears the theme, it really helped. Unlocked something, I guess,” Poppy explained.
“I’m always nervous about putting too much of myself in my books, but you made me see I have to try this time around.
I need to be honest about what I’m feeling, otherwise, how can I expect my readers to really connect? ”
“That’s . . . brave.” Cooper chuckled. “I can’t imagine pouring my heart out to millions of people.”
“The strong, silent type, huh?” Poppy asked, a teasing note in her voice.
“I’ll take that over ‘emotionally blocked and distant,’ ” Cooper replied. He smiled, but Poppy could tell there was something behind his words.
She didn’t push. They’d barely gotten the evening started, and her stomach was still spinning in an excited dance. Real talk could wait—until after the appetizers, at least.
“I felt that way too, to begin with,” she answered instead.
“It seemed like everyone reading my books would be judging me, thinking everything I wrote about my characters was really just about me. But it turned out to be the opposite. I guess if you call it fiction, you can get away with anything,” she added, smiling.
“I took a look at one of them, you know.” Cooper gave her a sideways glance. “This afternoon, I figured I should know what I was getting myself into.”
Oh god! Poppy felt her face burning up. “Which one?” she asked, wracking her brain to figure out how bad it was. Some of her romances were sweet and innocent, but some of them . . . weren’t.
Cooper chuckled. “Let’s just say it was revealing.”
Definitely one of the steamy ones.
Poppy thought about throwing herself out of the moving truck to escape the humiliation.
She’d never had to deal with this before.
Owen was the only guy she’d really dated since her career took off, and he’d never looked twice at her books.
Now memories of all the sexy scenes she’d written flashed in her mind, those sensual descriptions and heated moments.
They’d seemed so safe on the page, but now she had to look him in the eye and pretend like he hadn’t just read some of her most private fantasies.
What did Cooper think of her now?
“So, we’re going to forget you ever said that,” Poppy announced brightly. “And just move right along. How’s the house coming along? What are the plans like? Do you have a buyer lined up?”
Cooper grinned. “Relax. I stopped reading when I got to the good stuff. Figured you’d prefer it that way.”
“Oh, thank god,” Poppy exhaled in a rush. “It’s bad enough knowing my mom reads it, I never really had to think about being around guys who’d read . . . you know, that stuff.”
“No?” Cooper looked amused. “It would probably be a draw for some guys. Especially since you just said a lot of it is based on your life . . .”
Poppy covered her face with her hands. “Let’s just forget I ever said anything!”
She heard Cooper laugh, and then a moment later, felt the truck turn off the main highway.
She lifted her head as they pulled into a brightly-lit parking lot, beside a barn-style restaurant with a sign reading Fresh Catch Daily!
They parked out front, and Cooper went around to get her door.
“Like I said, it’s nothing fancy,” Cooper said as he led her to the main doors.
“But they do the best lobster around—and that’s saying something on the Cape. ”