9. Chapter Nine Poppy
Chapter Nine: Poppy
G irl, who is that in your Instagram Story? Are you pranking someone?
I snort at the text from Sabrina. Her response is the only one I’ve paid attention to, even though dozens of my non-friends back in LA instantly blew up my phone the second I posted that picture of my hand clasped in Joe’s.
It’s the next day, and I’m down on the beach.
Twenty-four hours have passed since I posted the photo and I can still feel the warmth of Joe’s palm against mine. His skin is rough with calluses, the hands of someone who works hard every single day of his life. I’ve never held anyone’s hand like that before. Not unless you count the times I held my dad’s hand as a child. His fingertips were rough and hardened from decades of playing the guitar.
But with Joe… it felt different.
I think.
Anyway, now that a full day has gone by, the Story has automatically come down. I only have about a half million followers on Instagram, given that I don’t post all that often, but that single picture definitely generated a lot of interactions.
Even now, as I pull my knees to my chest and idly scroll through the unanswered messages in the app’s inbox, I marvel at how incredibly nosy everyone can be about something that has absolutely nothing to do with them. I guess that’s kind of the point of social media, though.
Who is that!? one girl, whom I met at a party one time several months ago, sent me.
That’s not P!!! exclaimed another acquaintance.
Where even are you rn? asked someone that I don’t think even knows me personally.
I shake my head, switching back over to Sabrina’s text.
Don’t ask, I type back. It’s a long story.
If you say so… she replies a minute later. Aiden also wants to know BTW.
With a snort, I toss my phone into the sand beside me. Maybe this was a foolish decision. Of course, faux dating happens all the time in Hollywood. I know a ton of people who have gone out with various public figures to improve or otherwise draw attention to their image. It’s something that people don’t even bat an eye at.
Here in Mermaid Shores, however, things are different. Joe has never posed as someone’s boyfriend before. And, he’s a widow. He’s probably permanently heartbroken. In fact, maybe it was horribly callous of me to force him into this situation in the first place.
Except, he seemed willing enough.
I stare out at the foaming waves. It’s almost June, but the Atlantic is stubbornly gray and ice-cold. It’s nothing like the crystalline waters of Malibu, but I find that I like this version of the sea better. It feels wild and untamable, like a great beast that you can only ever marvel at from afar. I swear there’s a mystical quality to it, as if there’s a whispering voice calling out to me between the rush of the waves.
Either that, or I’m hearing things.
Up at the cottage, Joe and his staff are tearing down my staircase. I was nervous when he arrived this morning, worried that he might tell me he wants to call it off and take everything back, but he just smiled softly at me and offered me a simple good morning, Poppy.
In the sand, my phone buzzes to life with another text. I pick it up, thinking it’s Sabrina, only to see the cockroach emoji front and center.
Yesterday, a mere twenty minutes after I posted the picture, Percy reached out. I knew he would.
Nice pic , he had written. You posted that right after I left, didn't you? Trying to make me jealous, Pop?
I didn’t respond.
Now, he’s sent a follow-up.
Are you free tomorrow night? Come to dinner with me. I made reservations at a restaurant in Dennis Port.
He made reservations before even confirming that I actually want to share a meal with him. Typical.
I’m tempted to ignore him again, but I know that I need to follow the plan I came up with yesterday if I’m going to get rid of Percy once and for all.
Can’t. I already have plans with Joe, I text back.
Percy’s response comes so quickly that I wonder if he was waiting for my reply with his thumbs eagerly hovering over the keyboard.
Bring him with you. I’d like to get to know the lucky guy who’s trying to steal your heart .
“Ew,” I mutter out loud.
You want to third-wheel our date night? I reply.
Once again, his answer comes in rapidly. I’ll take any chance to spend time with you, babe.
“Ugh.”
Fine, I write back. Text me the details.
See you tomorrow, beautiful. Xoxo.
With a resigned sigh, I stand up and brush off the sand sticking to my thighs. I make my way up the beach and then head inside in search of Joe.
I find him outside in the driveway, hauling a massive ladder out of his truck. One of his guys is rummaging around in a van at the end of the driveway, but we’re otherwise alone.
“Hey,” I greet him, feeling a little awkward. Which is weird for me. I’m never awkward.
With a grunt, Joe sets the feet of the ladder down in the grass and holds it up with one hand. It looks heavy, but he handles it like it’s made of feathers.
I’m trying really hard not to openly admire his biceps.
“Hi,” he replies. “What’s up?”
“Um, well… are you free tomorrow night?”
The ladder makes a dull clunk as he stiffens in surprise. “Tomorrow? After work, you mean? I’m not sure. Why?”
“I need you to go to dinner with me.”
“You… what?”
I fidget with one of my bracelets. “Percy invited me to dinner, so I told him that I already had plans with you, and then he told me to just bring you along, and I figured it was a good opportunity to show him how smitten we are with each other. Fake smitten, that is.”
“Ah. Okay. Uh, yeah, I could probably have my mother watch the boys.”
It blows my mind that he has children. Not that fatherhood doesn’t suit him. It totally does. It’s just… it’s weird to think that, while I was frolicking around West Hollywood in my early twenties, Joe was getting married and settling down and building a real future for himself.
Then, that future was snatched away when his wife died.
And, for some reason, he’s willing to waste his time pretending to be in a relationship with me.
“Are you sure?” I ask him.
He shrugs. “No problem.”
Everything about his mannerisms tells me that this is no big deal to him. He’s being so incredibly casual about the situation that I almost don’t think he realizes what will be required of him.
We’re going to have to act like a couple in front of my ex-boyfriend. We’ll have to hold hands and be affectionate, and talk like we know each other well.
I guess it’s a good thing that Percy doesn’t think we’ve been dating for that long. Joe won’t need to know my entire life story, at least.
“Cool,” I respond, smiling brightly in hopes that it’ll make this whole thing a lot less weird. “It’s a date.”
Joe simply nods, then hoists the ladder up off the ground to carry it inside.
***
On Wednesday evening, Joe and I arrive at The Ocean House in his pickup truck. When I mentioned the place to him, his eyes widened, and he admitted he’s familiar with the place. Not because he’s ever eaten here, but because everyone knows it’s one of the nicest restaurants on the Cape.
Percy’s rental car—a silver Tesla—is already parked in the lot. Joe carefully maneuvers his large truck into a small space, then comes around to open my door for me. I grin down at him, pausing before hopping down onto the pavement.
He looks nice tonight. He ran home to shower and change after work, and returned wearing slacks, a button-down, and a dark blue tie. His dark hair is combed away from his face and there is a couple days’ worth of stubble on his jaw that makes him look so devastatingly handsome that I feel a little breathless if I think too hard about it.
Joe wraps an arm around my waist to help me down from the truck. I had to dig around in the boxes stacked in the garage for a while to come up with an outfit, but I’m pleased with what I found. A pretty red dress with a frilly hem that still had the tags on it, and a pair of strappy sandals with killer heels.
“Are you ready?” I murmur to him as we walk toward the entrance, hand in hand. “You remember everything?”
During the drive, we grilled each other on the basics. Favorite color, favorite food, childhood nicknames. Things like that.
“I remember,” Joe assures me, the corner of his mouth quirked up in a small smile.
“You look really nice, by the way.”
He opens the door for me, that slight smile deepening. His gaze drifts down the length of my body briefly and I feel my cheeks heat.
“So do you, Poppy.”
It’s fake , I remind myself. Yes, he’s handsome, but none of this is real .
Unsurprisingly, Percy waves us down the moment we walk in. I give the host an apologetic smile and point to him. Her smile back is strained, letting me know that he’s probably already made a few ridiculous requests since his arrival.
This is going to be a rough evening.
Percy rises from his seat, ignoring Joe entirely as he steps forward with a broad smile and places a kiss on my cheek. He moves too fast, yet I still try to jerk away from him at the last second.
Joe places a supportive hand on my lower back, stabilizing me as he guides me into my seat.
“It’s so lovely to see you, Poppy,” Percy says. “You look absolutely gorgeous. Is that Dolce you’re wearing?”
“Yep,” I say.
Percy is well-dressed tonight, too. Thom Browne trousers and another vintage Ralph Lauren shirt.
He forces his gaze onto Joe. “Nice tie. Is that from JC Penney’s clearance rack?”
“Percy!” I snap.
Joe simply snorts, unbothered by the comment.
Percy shrugs, feigning innocence. “It was only a question, Poppy.”
“Classism is tacky. Cut it out.”
“As you wish, beautiful.”
Joe is tense in his seat beside me, his muscles tight as a spring. It’s like he’s ready to pounce across the table and take Percy down at any second.
Maybe this was a bad idea.
Thankfully, our waiter arrives a moment later. Percy orders a bottle of white for the table, then takes the liberty of ordering appetizers without asking for mine or Joe’s opinion. Which is fine, really. I’m not here for the food.
Joe’s arm is draped casually across the back of my chair. Percy’s gaze keeps flicking toward it.
“You have to tell me everything,” Percy says to me. “How did you two fall for each other?”
To my surprise, Joe is the one who answers.
“I took one look at her and knew there was something special about her. She’s one of a kind.”
Percy’s eyes flash with annoyance. “And do you often cross professional boundaries with your clientele, Joseph?”
“You’re one to talk about boundaries,” I mutter.
He tuts his tongue at me. “Let’s not fight in public, gorgeous.”
Joe scoffs. “I’d appreciate it if you’d stop flirting with my girl.”
“Well, Joseph, you must understand that Poppy and I have a very long history together. And do you not agree that she is gorgeous? How could I possibly be expected to hold myself back from commenting on it?”
I roll my eyes. “Stop being ridiculous.”
Percy merely winks at me.
Joe’s fingertips idly stroke the bare skin of my shoulder. Percy’s gaze hones in on the movement.
“You said you’re an architect, Joseph,” Percy says. “You must have a fairly impressive house of your own.”
Showing indifference, Joe merely shrugs and leans closer to me, subtly inhaling the scent of my perfume. Goosebumps erupt on my skin.
He’s really good at this.
“I don’t need a fancy house to be content with my life,” he remarks.
“And, you know, there’s very little to be found about you on the internet,” Percy continues.
“Seriously? You googled him?”
Percy holds his hands up in surrender, ignoring the waiter as he delivers plates with tuna tartar, lobster dumplings, and calamari.
“I have to be certain that my Poppy is in good hands, don’t I?”
Does sesame-Tajin aioli stain? Because I’d love to dump this raw fish over his head right now.
Joe merely chuckles. “ Your Poppy?”
Percy smoothly plucks his fork off the table. “Apologies. Old habits die hard.”
I reach for my glass of wine. Joe leaves the appetizers untouched. Maybe he’s also trying to resist the urge to throw them across the table.
Honestly, this is worse than what I was expecting. The tension is almost unbearable. Percy is toying with both of us, pretending innocence while lobbing barbed commentary toward Joe at every opportunity.
“It is rather odd,” Percy continues, “not to have any social media. Don’t you think so, Poppy? I mean, in this day and age, it’s a red flag.”
“I’m a private person.”
“But surely your little business would benefit from it?”
“I have no trouble getting plenty of customers without an Instagram account, but I appreciate the suggestion.”
Because Joe sounds like he’s already on his last straw, I reach under the table and squeeze his knee. He looks over at me and I give him a little smile. His gaze softens.
Percy clears his throat loudly.
“Well, Poppy, surely you’ve heard about the St. Cecilia’s Foundation benefit gala they’re holding in that dinky little town you insisted on moving to?”
“Nope,” I deadpan.
“No? I’m surprised. Apparently, it’s being held at quite an impressive estate. Blakeley Manor, I think the place is called? I’ve already purchased a ticket, of course. You know me. I love charity causes.” Then, because he can’t handle not acting like a jerk for five seconds, he winks at Joe and adds, “By the way, don’t worry. I’ve already covered the bill ahead of time.”
“ Enough , Percy.”
He grins cheekily. “Anyway, Poppy, you can’t tell me you wouldn’t love to attend the gala. You love those sorts of things. Dressing up all fancy and writing big checks for good causes. Luckily, I have a spare ticket. I’m sure Joe wouldn’t mind, would he?”
I’m about to tell Percy exactly where he can shove his spare ticket, but Joe clears his throat lightly.
“Actually, I already know about the gala. It’s an annual thing.” He smiles easily. “I’m afraid you’ve ruined the surprise, Percy. I already have tickets for me and Poppy.”
I stare at him. Joe ? At a gala ?
Except, when he meets my eyes, I realize that he’s not even lying. Not completely. He knows all about the annual event, and he probably already does have tickets.
It just wasn’t me he was planning on taking as his date. Until now, I guess.
Or maybe not. Maybe I’m making too many assumptions. Maybe I’m finding it difficult to discern the truth from lies. Joe is better at fibbing than I expected him to be.
“Great!” Percy croons. “I’ll see you both there, then!”