16. Chapter Sixteen Joe
Chapter Sixteen: Joe
W ith the boys now fed and happily in Flo’s care at the beach, I know that I need to go back to Poppy’s. I need to see her.
As I approach 1315 Atlantic Lane, my nerves kick into high gear. I don’t usually do nervous. Today’s different, though. Will she be upset with me for sneaking out this morning?
More important than that, however, is the fact that I can’t simply ignore how much of a public figure Poppy is. That photo in the tabloid is still freaking me out. She freaks me out—but not necessarily in a bad way. Ever since I started this project, Poppy has been a thorn in my side. It’s not her fault, though. She’s headstrong. Determined. Enigmatic and magnetic at the same time.
She’s drawn me in like a moth to a flame, as cliché as that is.
I’ve spent the whole morning going back and forth, telling myself it’s not my place to pursue Poppy in a genuine way, beyond this fake boyfriend nonsense, especially if the boys could get caught in the paparazzi crossfire. She’s got her life; I’ve got mine. I’m only here to help her rebuild her cottage.
But the thought of seeing her again has my stomach in knots, and I know that it has more to do with how soft my heart has become toward her than anxiety about the tabloid stuff.
I calm my mind and turn into her driveway.
Then, with a sharp intake of breath, I slam on the brakes, causing my truck to skid in the gravel.
Two police cars are parked right in front of her house, blue and red lights flashing in the midday sun. My pulse jumps as I kill the engine, fling off my seatbelt, and leap out of my truck.
The front door is hanging wide open, so I don’t think twice before heading straight inside, my instincts overriding any sense of caution. All I know is that something is wrong, and I need to make sure she’s safe. I’m bracing myself for the worst when I round the corner into her kitchen, and what I see stops me in my tracks.
Percy Barclay is sitting on the floor, leaning back against the fresh drywall on the far side of the unfinished kitchen, pressing an icepack to his head. A trickle of blood runs down his forehead, a few droplets staining his otherwise flawless designer shirt.
Poppy is standing several feet away from him near the arch leading to the main living room, talking to an officer with her hands on her hips. She looks furious rather than scared, which is good. I think. Except, my relief is immediately swallowed by a surge of anger.
“You!” I shout at Percy, my voice loud enough to turn every head in the room. I don’t care. I can’t stop myself now. “What are you doing here?”
Percy’s head snaps up, coupled with a flinch at the sharp movement, and he glares at me with a haughty look that says he thinks he’s superior to everyone in the room even in his current position of slumped on the floor.
“Oh, great. Just what we needed. Our blue-collar hero,” he sneers.
“What are you doing here?” I repeat, voice lowering to a growl. My hands clench into fists. I stalk toward him, heart pounding so loudly that I can hear the rush of my blood in my ears.
I might not have known Poppy for very long, but I know better than to think that she invited Percy here. Between the time that I left and now, something went seriously wrong.
“Oh, please.” Percy rolls his eyes at me, wincing as he adjusts the icepack on his head. “I’m the one with issues? Poppy’s the psycho here. She hit me with a chunk of wood!”
He gestures to a two-by-four laying several feet away. It does, indeed, have a splotch of brownish drying blood on one end of it.
I hold back a snort. At least she didn’t reach for a sledge hammer in self-defense.
“I’m sure you deserved it,” I snap.
I recognize Officer Nara Fitz as she steps between us, holding her hands out to stop me from getting within kicking distance of Percy. “Mr. Mansfield, we’re handling the situation. If you’re not involved, please stand back.”
“Not involved? Nara, I’m her… contractor,” I answer rather lamely, still glaring at Percy. “I have every right to be here, contractually speaking, especially if he’s here causing trouble. He’s been bothering her for the past week. Did she tell you? This man is stalking Ms. Minton.”
Poppy moves farther into the kitchen, a soft smile tugging at her lips even while her eyes blaze with determination. “Joe, it’s fine. He’s not worth the trouble.”
“Are you okay?” I ask her, immediately turning away from Officer Fitz and the unwelcome fool. “I’m sorry I left so early. I should’ve…”
I should’ve stayed. If I had stayed, I might have been here when Percy arrived. I might have been able to prevent Poppy from needing to defend herself so forcefully.
“I’m fine,” she insists, reaching out to place a hand on my shoulder. “I can handle a little pest problem on my own.”
“Pest problem?” Percy looks like he’s about to explode, his eyes flashing with anger as his gaze drops to where Poppy’s palm has made contact with me. “We have a history, Poppy. You don’t get to just kick me out—”
“Oh, shut up, Percy,” she snaps. “You don’t get to barge into my home. We’re not together anymore. We haven’t been for a long time. Just like I told Officer Fitz, I did what I had to do when you made me feel as if I was unsafe.”
Her voice wavers just slightly on that last word, but she holds her chin high, her expression fierce. I can’t help but feel a strong sense of admiration for her, standing so calmly in the middle of this chaos. I can tell it’s wearing her down, though, the way her shoulders droop and her eyes dart between Officer Fitz, her partner, Officer Sevim, and Percy looking pathetic on the floor.
“Poppy…” I say, my voice softer now.
Nara chimes in, taking pity on my confusion. “From what we understand, Joe, Mr. Barclay forced entry. He was asked to leave and refused. At that point, Ms. Minton wielded that piece of wood, which I believe belongs to your construction site here, to defend herself.”
“That sums it up,” Poppy says, a tiny smile flickering across her lips. But the fire in her eyes quickly fades as she looks down at Percy. “You need to let this go, Percy. Trying to intimidate Joe by spreading rumors about how I’m cheating on both of you… it’s ridiculous and childish and really, desperately lame. You’re embarrassing yourself, Barclay.”
I see something break in Percy’s expression, a brief look of guilt or remorse flashing across his face. But he shakes it off quickly and stands slowly as he keeps the ice pack pressed to his forehead. It shifts slightly for a brief moment for me to see that Poppy definitely got him good. There’s a bump the size of an egg on his temple.
“This isn’t over, Pop,” he mumbles, his voice low and angry.
“Yes, it is,” I cut in, taking another menacing step toward him.
Really, I’m not an angry guy, but this idiot makes me want to chuck him into the sea and let the sirens have their way with him. As guardians of this shore, I’m sure they’re not pleased with him.
Poppy doesn’t need me to defend her, though. She drops her hand to my elbow, holding on tightly even as she maneuvers to stand in front of me.
“Yes, it is over,” she echoes. She turns to Officers Fitz and Sevim. “I’d like to press charges, please. Every charge that applies, including stalking, intimidation, and attempted defamation. And I would also very kindly ask that you please remove him from my property as soon as possible.”
The officers don’t hesitate. Officer Sevim, with his massive, surly stature, grabs hold of Percy and tugs him toward the door. Like the whimpering fool he is, Percy hisses dramatically in pain and tries to snatch his arm away. He loses the battle quickly, though, even as he starts hollering about his right to a lawyer on his way out of the cottage.
Nara lets out a long sigh and offers me a curious glance before turning her attention back to Poppy.
“Are you sure you’re alright, Ms. Minton?”
“I’m perfectly fine. Thank you, Officer Fitz.”
“Alright, then. I’ll be in touch.”
Nara heads out. The muffled sound of Percy’s protests can be heard from outside, but then the loud slamming of the police cruiser doors cuts him off.
Soon enough, the red and blue lights flashing through the kitchen windows fades away and all is silent.
Poppy collapses onto a plastic folding chair, the only furniture in here at the moment, and buries her face in her hands. I crouch down beside her, placing my hands on her knees. She’s still wearing the satin gown from last night, and even though it’s wrinkled and rumpled, she still looks unbearably angelic.
She glances up at me. Her eyes are tired, but there’s relief in her gaze.
“Well,” she murmurs, managing a wry smile. “That was an eventful morning.”
“I’m so glad you’re okay, Poppy.”
She shakes her head. “I’m sorry you even had to see all that,” she says, her voice softer now. Vulnerable. “I really never thought he’d resort to physical intimidation. Maybe I shouldn’t have hit him, but I had to think fast. He came toward me and… well, it doesn’t matter now. This town was supposed to be my escape, you know? But he just couldn’t let me go.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” I tell her. “If anything, I should apologize for barging in, too. But I saw the cops and went on autopilot. I thought something might’ve happened to you.”
Her eyes meet mine, and there’s a softness there that catches me off guard.
“Thank you, Joe. You’re a good man.”
I clear my throat, desperate to say something that might lighten the chaotic tension. “Well, just so you know, you’ll have to replace that two-by-four. Since you got blood all over it.”
She bursts out laughing. A real laugh—one that makes her shoulders shake and her eyes crinkle at the corners. “No problem, Joe.”
“Good,” I say, smiling back at her.
We stay like that for a moment, her in the chair and me on the floor beside her. In a weird way, I almost feel like a knight kneeling before his queen. But maybe that’s just the exhaustion and panic causing my brain to go haywire.
I glance around the room. Even without the lingering chaos of the altercation that just occurred between Poppy and Percy, it’s a disaster zone. We’re in the middle of the worst of the storm in terms of the renovation—that stage when everything looks awful and it’s difficult to see the light at the end of the tunnel.
If Poppy is bothered by that, though, she doesn’t show it. She simply sits in the skeleton of her new home and lets her perfect posture droop. The slender strap of her dress slips down over the bare skin of her shoulder. I politely avert my gaze, but that brings Poppy’s attention directly to her attire.
She lets out a quiet laugh. “I should probably change.”
I nod, rising to my feet. “Do you want me to go?”
“No,” she answers immediately, no hesitation. “No, you don’t have to go.”
She turns toward the back of the house, where the little nook she’s claimed as her primary living space is, but I reach for her hand to stop her. She pauses, glancing over her shoulder at me.
“I’m sorry I snuck out earlier,” I tell her.
A tender smile dances on her rosy lips. “Don’t be sorry for that. You had to go take care of the boys, right?”
“Right.”
“But you came back?”
I swallow hard. “Yeah.”
She blinks. “Why?”
I take a deep breath. We look like polar opposites. Me, in my old blue jeans and plain cotton tee. Her, in her gorgeous designer dress that seems to be melded to her perfect figure like pure silver. Me, with my callused hands and abrasive social skills. Her, with her flawless posture and graceful words.
We aren’t the type of people who are supposed to cross paths. Not in any way beyond customer and client. It’s the sort of situation that is only ever meant to be professional. Anything beyond that is too complicated.
And yet… I’m not sure I can bring myself to walk away from Poppy Minton right now. Or ever.
“Go get changed out of that dress,” I say softly. “I’ll wait out here.”
She nods, those gray-blue eyes churning like the Atlantic beyond the dunes.
“Okay. I’ll be right back.”