18. Wyatt
18
Wyatt
T he smell of baking hits me the moment I enter the house, warm and comforting like a hug, welcoming me home.
But I’m not prepared for the multitude of cookies covering every inch of counter-space when I enter the kitchen.
“Wow,” I murmur, bending to pet Sugar as she brushes against my legs.
Poppy glances across, her face flushed, her hair loose, a spatula in one hand and that apron hugging her curves. I love how wild she gets when cooking, but something about her energy seems off. Bailey’s words from a few weeks ago come back to me— she stress-bakes huge batches of cookies when something is wrong —and I cross the room, taking the spatula carefully from Poppy’s hand and setting it down on the counter.
“What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” she says, in a voice that is too high and tight to be genuine. “I felt like baking.”
I cast my gaze to the countertop. “You felt like baking hundreds of cookies?”
She lifts a shoulder, glancing away. “Why not? I figured you could take some to work for the crew, or something.”
Hell, they’d love that, but I know she’s not telling the truth.
“Poppy.” I take her chin gently in my hand, tilting her face to mine. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
She grimaces, dropping her gaze. “I got fired.”
I lower my hand in shock. “What? Why?” What could she possibly have done to get herself fired? I can’t begin to imagine.
“It wasn’t my fault,” she says, then grimaces again. “God, I really didn’t want to tell you…”
An alarm bell goes off in my head. “Tell me.”
She swallows. “Apparently, a customer came in yesterday after my shift and complained about me. Dave wouldn’t give me the details, but whatever I supposedly did was bad enough to get me fired.”
“A customer ?” I repeat. Because I have a feeling I know exactly who it was.
Poppy nods, still not meeting my gaze.
“It was him, wasn’t it?”
“I think so,” she whispers. “I don’t know for sure, but I asked Dave to describe him, and yeah, it sounded exactly like him.” She looks up at me. “I thought I’d seen him outside a while ago, but then I figured I was being paranoid.”
“No.” Anger ignites in my veins, and I pace the kitchen as I speak, Sugar chasing my heels. “Never ignore your intuition. If you thought he was there, then he was.”
She drops her head into her hands. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Mat— Wyatt.”
I spin on my heel and stride over to her, gently taking her hands away from her face. “You have nothing to apologize for. You’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing.”
She nods, straightening up. “You’re right. I know that.”
“Could we talk to your boss? Explain about Kurt?”
“I tried, but Dave said he had to listen to the customer. They were threatening to post on social media…”
“Right.” I can see why her boss would have done what he did. Poppy hasn’t been there long enough for him to feel any loyalty to her, and a bad review going viral can sink a small business. “Anyway,” I add, thinking aloud, “I wouldn’t want you working there anymore. Not now that he knows where to find you.”
“Yeah,” she agrees. “I just… I hate that he’s won. Again .”
My heart clenches at her despondent tone, and I grind my teeth. “He hasn’t won. I won’t let him get away with this.”
Her brow wrinkles. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure yet, but I’ll think of something.” I flex my fist, and Poppy’s gaze follows the motion.
“He’s not worth it.” She sighs wearily. “Let’s just forget it.”
“ Forget it?” I stare at her, incredulous. How can I possibly forget what that prick has done to her?
“Yes. The best thing I can do is move on.”
I splutter in disbelief. “He needs to have his ass kicked,” I grate out. “I’d be more than happy to do the honors.”
A small laugh huffs out of her, and her eyes meet mine, flashing with gratitude. “Yeah, he does, but it will only cause more trouble. Let’s just forget it,” she repeats.
“I don’t know if I can let this go.”
“Well… I’m asking you to.” She searches my face, like she’s trying to read something I’m hiding. “Please promise me you won’t do anything.”
“I…” My breath gusts out as I take in her words. I want nothing more than to track Kurt down and make him pay for all the hurt he’s caused her, but if she doesn’t want me to, then I have to listen. I have to respect her wishes. “Fine,” I agree at last, against every fiber of my being.
“Good.” She lifts her chin, gaze hardening with defiance. “Anyway, I won’t let him stop me. I refuse to let him defeat me.”
I gaze at her in admiration. Despite everything he’s done, she can rise above it. All I can think about is inflicting bodily harm on him, but she’s already gathered herself enough to move on to the next thing.
The oven timer dings and she pulls yet another tray of cookies from the oven. She hovers, searching for free counter space, and I clear some room.
“That’s probably enough cookies,” I say gently, and she gives me a grim smile.
“Sorry. It’s what I do when I’m stressed.” She looks at her hands. “The worst part of this is that I’ve probably lost my new friend, Daisy.”
“Our neighbor?” I’ve always liked Daisy, ever since she moved in with Weston late last year. He lost his wife a while back and has had a hell of a time of it. It’s been great to see him happy again.
Poppy nods. “She worked with me at Joe’s, but now…”
“I’m sure she’ll still want to hang out with you,” I assure her, and Poppy shrugs. “Did she buy what Dave said?”
Poppy saws her teeth across her bottom lip. “I don’t know.”
“Talk to her. I’m sure once you explain, she’ll understand. She’s pretty reasonable.”
“That’s true.” Poppy’s shoulders relax a little, and she sighs. “I really liked it at Joe’s.”
“You’ll find another job,” I say, but the thought weighs heavily on my chest. Even if she does, Kurt will find her there, too, and continue to hurt her. She might work hard to keep her chin up, but she shouldn’t have to. How can I protect her properly? How can I make sure he never hurts her again?
My gaze drifts across the mountains of cookies, and a thought crystallizes in my mind. Her comment about taking some for the crew has given me an idea.
“What if I could offer you work?” I say, and she looks at me, confused.
“What kind of work?”
I pick up a cookie and sample it, not at all surprised when it’s utter perfection in my mouth—crunchy on the outside, soft and crumbly in the middle, chocolate chips that melt on my tongue. Everything she cooks is amazing.
“The guys at work are always complaining there are no good lunch options near the job site. What if you catered their lunches?”
She blinks. “How would I do that?”
I motion to the kitchen. “You’d make the food here, and they’d pay you to provide their lunch. Whatever you cook will be a hundred times better than anything they’d buy locally. I’m sure they’d be into it.”
“Wyatt!” Poppy laughs. “I can’t just start catering because I want to. I need a food-handling license, and probably some kind of commercial kitchen, and health inspections…”
“Okay, okay.” I hold up my hands. “So there’s more to this than I realized, but you could do it, Poppy. We can find you a commercial kitchen.”
“I don’t know.” She rubs her forehead. “That’s a lot of overhead to make lunch for a few of the guys.”
“You’re right, but I have four job sites on the go right now. I could offer it to every site, not just the one in Park Slope.” I’m pacing again, the idea snowballing as I speak. “And there are often other crews working, too. Construction crews. Plumbing, electrical…” My mind flashes on Kyle and Violet, two doors down from me, who run a historical restoration company. We often work with them, and they tend to have multiple job sites on the go at once, so maybe they’d be interested too.
Poppy exhales, looking overwhelmed, and I stop pacing.
“We can start small. Make lunch for a few of the guys and see if they like it. You can do that without a food-handling license, surely. If it takes off, we’ll take the next steps, but I can tell you now, it will take off.”
“You’re serious,” Poppy says, staring at me.
“What? Of course I’m serious. Do you know how often the guys complain about lunch? They’re sick of eating the same shit over and over, spending so much money, and not even enjoying it.”
“But…” Poppy twists her hands. “Do you really think people will pay for my food?”
I blink at her in disbelief. I know exactly why she’s asking, and it burns me up, that Kurt pushed her away from the thing she loves, made her question herself…
I shake the thought of him away before another violent urge overcomes me. “Yes. I know they will. Happily.”
A smile hints at Poppy’s lips, her excitement getting the better of her, despite her reservations. “I could create a new menu each week, so they won’t get bored. Offer a few options, so they have choices, and charge one up-front fee each week, so they know what they’re spending, and I know what to buy.” She’s pacing now too, her energy shifting from one of defeat to optimism. To empowerment. “We’ll start small, like you said, and test the waters. But… maybe this could work.”
“Of course this could work. Once they taste your food, they’ll be begging for more.”
A laugh tinkles from her, and I stop, my heart pounding. I’ve helped her shift from near tears to laughter, and nothing has ever felt so good. But it wasn’t just me—it was her refusal to let Kurt stop her. Her own strength. No mud, no lotus , as she said.
“I’ll tell the crew first thing tomorrow,” I say. She spins to look at me. “And the best part,” I add, balling my hands into fists, then releasing them, “is that no one can take this away from you. You’ll be your own boss, on your own terms, and Kurt can’t ruin that. I’ll kill him if he tries.”
She swallows. “Thank you, Wyatt. I couldn’t…” She shakes her head, then crosses the room and pulls me into her arms.
I’m not prepared for it. My heart leaps into my throat as her soft body presses to mine, and my arms are around her back before I can think twice.
“You’re welcome,” I murmur into her hair, inhaling her sweet, peachy smell. Her arms tighten, her head burrowing into my chest, and for a split second I let myself imagine what it would be like if she were mine. If I could hold her like this anytime I wanted.
When we draw apart she gazes at me, her eyes wide and dark, her chest rising and falling with her rapid breaths. My blood heats at the intensity in her gaze, at the way it looks as though she’s resisting the desire to lean back into my arms. It’s all I can do not to lower my mouth to hers and tell her that I’ll never let anything bad happen to her again.
“I got you something,” she whispers, taking me by surprise.
“What? Why?”
“ Why ?” She laughs, shaking her head. “Because you’ve been so kind and generous and… I wanted to.” She turns back to the counter and rummages around, moving trays of cookies, until she finds what she wants. When she turns back to me, she’s holding the invite to the landscaping design awards. “I think you should go to this.”
I blow out a breath. “It’s not necessary, really.” The truth is, I’ve won several of these before, but instead of feeling good, each one feels hollower. It should be rewarding to get recognition for my work, but lately, my heart hasn’t been in it. The more time I spend managing people and projects, the less time I spend with my hands in the soil, and the less I love my job.
“I disagree,” Poppy says. “You’re being honored for your work, and it’s important to celebrate that. So…” She sucks in a deep breath. “I spoke to Bailey, and one of her clients has a house in Napa Valley we can stay at. I bought us tickets for the weekend, figuring we can see Bailey, and you can go to the ceremony.”
I stare at her. “You bought us plane tickets to Napa?”
“Well, we’re flying into Sacramento, but… yes.” Her gaze moves uncertainly over my face as I process. She spent what little money she has to buy us tickets. No one has ever done something so generous for me before, and I don’t know what to say.
“Poppy…”
“I understand if you don’t want to go,” she mumbles, backtracking. “It’s none of my business, but I’ll still go visit Bailey.”
I shake my head, and without giving it another thought, haul her back into my arms. What I really want to say is that I can’t possibly let her pay for this, but I get the sense it’s important to her that she does.
“This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” I murmur into her hair, and her hands tighten on my back. I can feel her heart beating against me, her breath hot against my shirt, and the tiniest sigh escapes her as the warmth of her body melts into mine. I force myself to release her and step back before I do something stupid.
“So you’ll go?” she asks hopefully.
“I’d love to go.” My voice is hoarse, and I clear my throat. “On one condition.”
She raises her brows in question.
“You come to the awards ceremony with me.”
“Oh.” Her mouth opens and closes. “Are you sure you don’t want to take Bailey?”
Shit. That’s a good point. I probably should take my daughter.
But there’s no one else I want there with me. I can’t describe how close I feel to Poppy, how important it is to share this with her. Even if she’s the last person I should share anything with.
“You bought me the tickets,” I reason. “So I want to take you.”
Her eyes search mine, as if looking for the answer to a question she’s too afraid to ask, and it hits me. I need to clarify.
“Not as a date,” I add, shifting uncomfortably, even though that’s exactly what I want.
A pink blush creeps onto her cheeks as she gazes at me, her dark espresso eyes boring into mine. She can read my thoughts. I’m sure of it.
“I’d love to.” Her voice is husky in reply, but her brows draw together into a frown. “I don’t think I have anything fancy enough to wear.”
Hmm, she’s right. These events are always formal, and I’d love to buy Poppy a dress, especially since she’s paid for our tickets. It’s the least I can do for her. Maybe Bailey can help me figure out what she’d like.
“Leave it with me,” I tell Poppy.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
She stares at me for a long moment, her gaze shifting from grateful to something else, something that ignites heat low in my abdomen. I swallow, and she glances away at last, turning to run the sink for the dishes. My gaze strays to the apron tie at her waist, the curve of her ass as she leans over the sink, and I’m almost certain she’s doing it on purpose.
And as much as I want to step behind her and tear that apron right off, I force myself upstairs. At least there, I won’t touch her.