12. Chapter Twelve Joe
Chapter Twelve: Joe
I ’ve never worn a tuxedo before.
And I’m pretty sure I never would have, if Poppy hadn’t come crashing into my life and I found my fate inextricably entwined with hers.
Even when I married Ellie, we didn’t dress with such strict formality. She wore a long white sundress that her mother had sewn for her, and I wore khakis with a white button-down. The ceremony took place in Flo’s picturesque backyard, with only a couple dozen people in attendance.
I’ve never really had any other reason to get myself all dolled up.
But here I am, standing in the parking lot of Blakeley Manor in a jacket that the sales associate assured me was the most current fashion . I tug at my collar, not used to the snug feeling of having a black silk tie around my throat.
I’m trying really hard not to show that I have no idea what I’m doing, even though we both know it’s the truth. This is Poppy’s world, all this glamour and high-society charm. Yet, just for tonight, I’m choosing to make it my world, too.
I am in over my head with this situation. I’ve crossed professional boundaries. I’ve made a few reckless decisions. I don’t really care anymore, though. I don’t care if the guys judge me. I don’t care if Flo would call me an utter fool for this.
All I care about is making sure that Poppy gets the life she came here for. A life where she doesn’t have to be plagued with image-obsessed, vain idiots like Percy Barclay. A life where she can truly start over and have the chance to find happiness and security in the cottage I’m rebuilding for her.
It’s what everyone deserves.
I glance over at Poppy. She’s already looking at me, smiling brightly.
Suffice to say, she looks incredible.
Her gown is the silvery-cream color of pearls plucked fresh from the oysters or the gleaming gray feathers of a dove soaring through the moonlight. The satin looks like liquid, spilling over her shoulders and down to the ground like molten starlight. With her fading tan giving way to a more ivory complexion and light blonde hair styled in loose curls, she looks downright angelic.
She takes my breath away, if I’m being completely honest.
I can’t be thinking things like that, though. Not when I’m just her friend, just her fake boyfriend, just her hired contractor, just some blue-collar guy from the Cape. Just, just, just .
She is so much more than me. So much brighter.
I force myself to answer her smile with one of my own, even though all I really want to do is stand there and openly gape at her beauty.
“Ready to go in?” I ask.
“Absolutely.”
The manor is buzzing with people dressed in their absolute best, and I can sense right away that they’re also the kind of people who were born knowing how to throw on evening wear and glisten as if it’s no big deal. As if shining like the stars is second nature.
I scan the ballroom as we follow the swell of gossiping attendees through the glittering, historic mansion. With Poppy’s hand tucked into the crook of my elbow, I’m not worried about losing her in the crowd, but I do notice that it’s difficult to move very far while there are so many people doing double takes in her direction, slowing their steps to get a closer look at the goddess among mortals.
I feel a strange sense of primitive, masculine pride that she’s hanging off my arm tonight.
Stop that , I remind myself.
It doesn’t take long to catch a glimpse of the person who dragged us both into this scenario.
Percy is lingering underneath one of the archways leading out of the ballroom, gaze fixed firmly on the flow of people entering. How long has he been standing there, waiting to see her? Does he truly have nothing better to do than antagonize this girl?
She must see him at the same time I do, because her grip on my elbow tightens.
“Part of me really hoped he wouldn’t show up tonight,” she murmurs.
I nod. I had secretly hoped that, too. Had hoped that we wouldn’t have to perform for him, and that I might simply be able to enjoy her company.
Seriously. Stop it, that voice in the back of my mind snaps.
“Are you alright?” I ask her.
She nods, but her eyes drift to where Percy is leaning against the wall, one hand handsomely cradling the stem of a champagne flute. He’s all charm and confidence—the exact opposite of me, if I’m being honest—and it doesn’t take a genius to deduce that his tux costs at least ten times what mine did.
As we linger by the entrance, moving out of the way as couples break off immediately for the dance floor, I notice Percy straightening and edging closer.
He’s coming over here. Who knows what nonsense he’s going to spew at Poppy? I cringe in anticipation of the blatant flirtation that will clearly make her skin crawl. She shouldn’t have to deal with that. At least, not so early in the night.
So, I blurt out the first suggestion that comes to mind. “Do you want to dance?”
She blinks in surprise. I can tell she’s torn between laughing at the suggestion and asking me if I’ve lost my mind. We might not know each other well, but she’s obviously made a correct assumption about my general willingness to dance in public settings. Or private ones.
Instead of laughing or accusing me of insanity, she grins.
“I’d love to,” she says, not even sparing another glance in Percy’s direction as I lead her out to the center of the ballroom, where guests dance along to the sweet melody pouring out of a string quartet at the head of the space.
Halfway there, however, I realize that I’m completely out of my depth. I can build an entire house from scratch and fix just about any problem with my hands, but dancing is not exactly in my skill set. And it looks like these people twirling about are following some sort of choreography. Some predetermined set of steps. A waltz, maybe?
I clear my throat, already feeling my face heat up as I confess, “I should warn you, Poppy, that I actually have no idea what I’m doing.”
She laughs softly. “Don’t worry. I’ll show you. As long as you can count to three, you’ll be fine.”
I’m just barely confident enough to know how to politely position us at the edge of the dancing throng, and then I hold myself the way they do in the movies: one of her hands clasped in mine and the other resting on the dip of her waist.
She places her hand on my shoulder.
“Follow my lead,” she says. “One-two-three. One-two-three.”
She tugs me along, showing me a surprisingly easy pattern of steps. It’s made even easier by the fact that everyone else around us is moving in the same cadence. In a matter of seconds, I feel myself getting lost in the natural ebb and flow of the dance, like I’m floating in the sea and completely at the whims of the tide.
Still, I am mostly looking down at my feet.
“Am I doing okay?” I ask, daring to lift my face to meet her gaze.
“You’re a natural.”
“Don’t lie.” I can’t help grinning, though.
It’s strange, how something so unfamiliar can also be so comfortable. It’s like I’m meant to be right here, keeping time with her.
She giggles at my sarcasm, and we fall into a natural rhythm. I can still sense Percy’s gaze every so often, like a very insistent gnat hovering around my head, but Poppy is determined to ignore him.
“So, you do this a lot, don’t you?” I ask, glancing around at the glamorous crowd. “This whole fancy scene?”
“Sometimes,” she admits. “More than I want to, if I’m being honest. I like getting dressed up, and I like having the opportunity to give so much to charity, but the social aspect of these events can be a little tiring. It’s part of my life, though, I guess. Or, it was .”
“That sounds exhausting.”
She shrugs. When a couple swirls a little too close behind her, I tug her forward ever so slightly. The distance between us closes just a little bit more. Her eyelashes flutter as her gaze roams my face.
“Did you always want to be an architect?”
The question is so unexpected that I almost stumble. Her surprisingly firm grip on me keeps me from losing the rhythm, however.
“I think so, in one way or another.”
“Really?”
“Ever since I was little, I liked to build things. I was always very tactile, and when I was in school, I realized pretty early on that I learn better when I can use my hands. Flo—my mom—thought I might go on to be an engineer, but I liked the idea of working with houses, homes , specifically. So, I chose architecture.”
“Just like that?”
“Yep.”
“And you’ve stuck with it ever since.”
It’s not phrased like a question, but I nod. “I love it.”
She smiles. “That’s good.”
“What did you want to be when you were little?” I ask.
The music picks up in pace slightly, and we shift with it, keeping in time thanks to Poppy’s effortless musical ear.
She snorts at my question and rolls her eyes. “A princess.”
I chuckle. “You basically are. You’re rock-and-roll royalty.”
Another eye roll. “Not because of any merit of my own.”
“So, you never wanted to go into music, too?”
Poppy chews on her bottom lip for a moment. I wonder if I’ve asked the wrong question, pushed the wrong button. I learned early on how sensitive she can be about her father.
She doesn’t snap at me, though.
“I don’t know,” she replies with a heavy sigh. “I mean, obviously, when you’re little, you want to be just like your parents because they’re your idols. So, there was probably a few years where I wanted to be a rockstar just like him. But I don’t carry a tune very well, and even though I can technically play four or five different instruments, I never felt as passionate about it as my dad does. Did , I mean.”
I try not to cringe at her past-tense correction.
“What about now as an adult? What do you want to do?”
It’s probably a stupid question. She’s Poppy Minton. She doesn’t need to do anything. She doesn’t need a career.
“Honestly? I loved investing in real estate back in SoCal. It was fun. I mean, I know that becoming a landlord isn’t exactly the most ethical or humanitarian path to take, but it wasn’t ever really about that. I think it’s maybe a lot like what you said about architecture. I like the idea of finding homes for people. Finding places that are beautiful but maybe need a little bit of work, restoring and redecorating them, and then finding families that will make them their safe spaces. I get excited about a good property, you know?”
I nod. “Like the cottage.”
“Exactly.” She smiles up at me, her eyes bright. “I’ve loved every part of that renovation so far. Especially the demolition part. I’ve never done a project this big, and I was afraid it might be horribly stressful, but I’m having the time of my life.”
“Well, you’re not the one who had to deal with that load-bearing wall the other day,” I joke.
She laughs. “True. But, still. It’s a rewarding process. Maybe I’ll start a vacation rental company here. An affordable one. You know, for people who aren’t wealthy, but who still deserve to experience paradise.”
She sounds almost surprised by her own words, like she’s only just now allowing herself to say them out loud. There’s something special about realizing that I’m one of the people she trusts enough to reveal something like that. How did that happen between us? Where did this connection come from, when we really shouldn’t feel like anything more than strangers?
“That sounds like a great idea,” I tell her, meaning every word. “You’d be amazing at it, really. I have to admit that some of your ideas about the cottage have been difficult to conceptualize, but it’s a rewarding challenge to meet. Honestly, you’re a visionary, Poppy.”
She blushes lightly, two rosebuds blossoming on her cheeks.
“Thanks, Joe. And who knows? Maybe if I actually make it a reality, we could be long-term business partners.”
The thought doesn’t annoy me as much as it should.
“Maybe we could.”
Her smile sparkles like the chandeliers overhead.
We continue dancing, moving to the soft rhythm of the music as our conversation settles into a comfortable rhythm of its own. I catch her glancing over my shoulder once or twice, and I don’t need to look to know she’s checking to see if Percy’s still watching. I lean in a little, keeping her attention on me.
“You know, I misjudged you.”
Poppy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh?”
“I thought you were one of those people who is always worried about what other people think of them. But you’re not.”
“I am, though.”
I shake my head. “You moved across the country because it’s what you wanted to do. You buy an outdated cottage because, even though it’s hardly glamorous, it seems like a fun project. And you actively choose to attend a gala with a random local who is totally cramping your style.”
Poppy bursts out laughing. “Are you serious? Do you have any idea how handsome you look right now, Joe? If anyone is passing any sort of judgment, it’s that they probably think you’re way out of my league.”
I snort, feeling bold enough to twirl her in a little circle. She lets out a breathless laugh as she spins away from me and then slips back into my arms.
“Thank you, Poppy,” I reply.
“For what?”
“For being yourself.”
“You can’t thank me for that. I don’t even know I’m doing it. Actually, for most of my life, I haven’t even been sure who myself really is.”
There’s a silence between us as she lets that confession hang in the air, and I realize that Poppy is just as lost as everyone else. It’s easy to think that people who live in a world of privilege have it all figured out, but that’s obviously not the case.
“You’re the only person who gets to decide who you are,” I murmur.
Her expression softens. “I think you’re the first person who’s ever said something like that to me.”
“Well, it’s true.”
She pauses, glancing away for a moment and swallowing hard.
“Thank you, Joe,” she whispers so quietly that I almost don’t hear it over the music.
“For what?”
Her eyes twinkle. “For being yourself.”
I squeeze her hand. “I don’t know how to be anyone else.”
She drifts closer to me as we keep dancing, one song blending into the next. We’ve migrated to the very center of the ballroom, staying together in the eye of the storm as other couples come and go.
The rest of the world feels miles away. I don’t even care if Percy’s still glaring at us or if I’m going to trip over my own feet any second.
I don’t care about anything right now except for her.