25. Poppy
25
Poppy
B ack in my room, I fall into a dreamless sleep, exhausted by the events of the evening and the three-hour time difference from the East Coast. The sun wakes me the next morning, spilling through the drapes I forgot to close last night, and I blink in the brightness, trying to get my head on straight. In the light of day, everything feels different. Part of me wonders if last night even happened, but the pleasurable ache between my thighs is proof that it did.
Images flash through my mind—Wyatt pressing me against the door of the limo, his mouth and hands on me as we drove home, him moving over me in the darkness, on the floor.
God, we had sex on the floor . Like animals.
And it was the hottest fucking sex of my life.
Heat blooms between my thighs as I replay what we did, the dirty way he spoke to me, but I shake it off, rising from the bed. I shower quickly, hoping I might get the chance to pop into Wyatt’s room before breakfast to clear the air and see where we stand, but his door is open when I enter the hall, and there are voices in the kitchen.
I sigh, padding out to the kitchen, where Bailey smiles at me over her coffee.
“Morning! How’d you sleep?”
I lock eyes with Wyatt across the room, and my heart trips over itself. His hair is damp from the shower, falling lazily across his forehead. The white T-shirt he wears clings to his muscular torso, contrasting with the dark ink covering his arms and hands, but there’s something different, too. His skin looks brighter, and there’s a flush to his cheeks, dynamite in his gaze. This is what Wyatt looks like after a night of passionate sex, and somehow he’s even hotter.
Fuck. I can’t believe I had sex with that man last night.
You like feeling my cock buried inside you?
“Poppy?” Bailey asks, tilting her head in amusement. I tear my gaze from her father, clearing my throat.
“Good. Great,” I say, shoving Wyatt’s filthy words from my head and painting on a smile. “I slept… very well.”
In my periphery Wyatt lifts his mug of coffee to his mouth, and I resist the urge to look at him, to see his expression. Is he thinking about what we did, too? Is he thinking about how good it felt?
“Us too,” Bailey says, oblivious, leaning her head against Dean’s chest. He drops a kiss on her forehead, and I look away. I’ve never been jealous of Bailey and Dean before, but in this moment I wish I could do the same—could walk across to Wyatt and lean into him, kiss him.
“What’s the plan for today?” Dean asks, sliding me a cup of coffee. I give him a grateful nod.
“I thought we could hang by the pool?” Bailey suggests. “It’s such a nice day.” She glances at Wyatt, who hasn’t said a word since I’ve arrived. “What do you think, Dad?”
Wyatt doesn’t look at his daughter. “Sounds good,” he mumbles. My heart sinks at the way he studies his coffee cup, his shoulders sagging. I know him well enough to know he’s drowning in guilt. I want to go to him, to hold him close and tell him everything is fine, but I know I can’t.
Dean sets a plate of eggs in front of me, and I stare at the food, my stomach tilting. My appetite has vanished.
“They’re not as good as your eggs,” he says, grinning. “But they’re not bad.”
I push my mouth into a smile and reach for a fork. “Thanks, Dean.” He and Bailey chat and eat while I somehow manage to get breakfast down. Wyatt sits beside me, scrolling through his phone, radiating tension.
After breakfast, we return to our rooms to change into our bathing suits. I try to steal a moment alone with Wyatt, but Bailey slips into my room as I’m tying the strings on my bikini top.
“How was last night?” she asks, draping herself across my bed in her pink bikini.
Panic flashes through me as, for a brief second, I think she’s referring to what Wyatt and I did after we went to bed.
“Your dress looked fabulous,” she adds, and I realize she’s talking about the awards ceremony.
“The dress was beautiful,” I agree. “Thanks for helping your dad choose it. And the limo…” I still can’t believe Wyatt went to so much trouble to make the night special for me. What he didn’t intend was for the night to be quite as special as it was. “It was a great night,” I mumble.
“I’m jealous,” she says.
I press my eyes shut, guilt trickling through me. She wouldn’t be if she knew what really happened.
“I haven’t had a night out in ages.” She sits up, stretching. “Work has been so busy.”
The trickle turns into a flood. I’m so distracted by Wyatt that I haven’t asked her anything about herself. When did I become such a terrible friend?
I sink onto the end of the bed, focusing my attention properly on Bailey. “How is everything going? Work, your apartment, Dean’s job…”
She smiles. “Things are good. Our apartment is great, and Dean loves the new branch.” Her smile fades. “Of course, Mom calls me every other day to ask when I’m moving back to New York.” Bailey’s eyes go to the ceiling in exasperation. “And every time she does, I become more grateful for the distance between us.”
I grimace, thinking of what Wyatt told me about Bailey’s mom. I wish I could tell her the truth, could help her realize how desperately Wyatt wished he could have been in her life, but it sounds like her relationship with her mom is hanging on by a thread. Besides, I would never break Wyatt’s trust.
“Anyway.” Bailey sits up on the bed. “Work is good. Intense, but good. I’m learning so much, making great contacts.”
I smile faintly. Now would be the time to tell her I launched our little business without her, but for some reason, I can’t bring myself to do it. Besides, it’s not like I’ve gotten any more clients after that last one. The truth is, I haven’t thought about it much at all. My mind has been busy with recipes and catering menus, the odd revenge scenario with Kurt, and now with Wyatt.
So much Wyatt.
“What about you?” she asks, examining my face. “How’s life back in New York?”
God, where do I begin? I can’t tell her about Kurt ruining my job at Joe’s because she’ll go nuclear. And I don’t want her to worry, not when Wyatt has helped me come up with a new plan.
And I definitely can’t tell her about the situation with him.
“Good,” I say vaguely. And when Dean pokes his head around the open door, asking if we’re ready to head outside, I’m relieved. I rise from the bed, grabbing my wrap, and we wander out to the pool.
Wyatt is already there, soaking up the sun, and I find a pool lounger across from him and settle on it self-consciously. I’m wearing my green bikini again. I know it’s a little pathetic, probably a little wrong, but I want Wyatt to look at me, want him to remember last night, to want more.
He refuses, lying on his lounger with his eyes closed, as if sleeping, but I know he’s awake. He keeps this up for over an hour while I swim half-heartedly, but then it finally happens. Bailey and Dean are play-fighting in the pool, and I’m on my lounger, watching them with envy, when I feel Wyatt’s gaze on me. I glance up to find his eyes, dark and hungry, drinking me in. Triumph ricochets through me. I arch a flirty brow, and his nostrils flare, but then he drags a pool towel over his lap, glancing away.
“Dad!” Bailey calls from the pool, and he presses his eyes shut. I can practically hear him chastising himself from here.
“Yeah?” he calls in a strangled voice.
“Are you coming in? The water’s great.”
“Soon.” He sighs, staring up at the white cumulus clouds studding the sky. His face is awash with self-reproach, and my chest tightens.
Part of me wishes Bailey and Dean would, I don’t know, leave or something, so I could be alone with Wyatt to talk.
To repeat what we did last night.
But that’s not going to happen. We’re checking out in two hours to board our flight home, and then what? I’m not sure, but I have a feeling it won’t be a repeat of last night. In fact, given how Wyatt can barely look at Bailey today, I get the sense that won’t be happening again anytime soon. If ever.
My heart slumps at the thought.
“What’s going on with you?” Bailey asks, dropping onto a pool lounger beside me.
That same guilt from earlier washes through me. Once again, I’m thinking only about Wyatt. I’m not even enjoying what little time I have with my friend.
“Just… tired from last night,” I say. It’s not a complete lie.
Bailey studies me closely, as if needing more, and I mentally grope for something else to say.
“And… I miss Sugar,” I add.
“Sugar?” She rolls over on the lounger. “Who’s that?”
“He didn’t tell you?” I ask, glancing at Wyatt. His gaze meets mine for a fraction of a second, then slides away. “Your dad brought home a stray kitten. We named her Sugar.”
Bailey sits up on her lounger, looking at her father. “You got a pet?” Wyatt grunts in response, and she frowns, shielding her eyes against the sun. “Are you okay, Dad? You don’t seem like yourself.”
He sighs, pulling his mouth into a tight smile. “I’m fine, honey. Just… had a little too much to drink last night.”
There’s a long silence. Dean looks over from where he’s floating on an inflatable pizza slice in the pool.
“I’m not buying it,” Bailey says at last. She glances from me to her father, eyes narrowed, and my pulse scrambles. Wyatt’s eyes dart to mine, alarm flickering in their amber depths.
Did she hear us last night? Does she know what we did?
“What, uh, what do you mean?” I ask, plucking a stalk of lavender from the bush beside me and casually lifting it to my nose.
“I mean, something is off here. You’re both being weird.”
“We’re not being weird,” Wyatt says in a voice that’s much too high to be normal. I shoot him a look.
“You are,” Bailey insists. She’s quiet again for a moment, as if trying to put the puzzle pieces together, and I hold my breath. If she figures this out, it could seriously damage our friendship. And if anything happens to her relationship with Wyatt…
I’ll never forgive myself.
But she shakes her head, saying, “I think you’re both bummed about not winning that award last night.” I exhale in relief.
Wyatt shrugs. “I don’t care about that.”
Why is he arguing? That would have been the perfect excuse.
“Then what is it?” Bailey demands, hands on her hips.
I swallow. I guess now is the perfect time to come clean.
“Fine,” I say at last. “There is something I need to tell you.” Wyatt’s gaze burns a hole in the side of my head, but I ignore him, straightening my spine. “I… I started the marketing business. Without you.”
Bailey blinks, processing this. “Oh. Right.”
“Sorry,” I mumble, surprised to find I feel relieved. I’m not sure if it’s because I finally told her, or because she’s dropped the interrogation. “I wanted to start it, and figured you were so busy with work, it wasn’t fair to ask you to take that on, too. I didn’t want to pressure you more.”
She gives a slow nod. “I understand. Of course. I’ve been swamped, so yeah, probably couldn’t fit that in too.” She twists on her lounger to look at me properly. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” I ask in surprise.
“Because we were supposed to do that together. I’m sorry I couldn’t be part of it with you.” Her mouth softens into a genuine smile. “But I’m glad you’ve done it, though. That’s great.”
Emotion clogs my throat. This entire time I was worried about telling Bailey, but she’s happy for me. She feels bad, and that only compounds my guilt. Launching the business without her is hardly the worst thing I’ve done—what would she do if she knew the rest?
“Thanks for understanding,” I say, my voice thick. “But to be completely honest, I’m not sure if I want to keep going with it.”
Bailey’s brow dips. “Why not?”
I gnaw on my lip, hesitating. I don’t want to say it’s no fun without her. That will only make her feel worse, but before I can think of what to say, Wyatt finally pipes up from across the pool.
“She’s starting another business instead.”
I glance at him, wondering for a moment what he’s talking about. Bailey looks from me to her dad, intrigued.
“It’s a catering company,” Wyatt explains.
Oh, that . Well, it’s hardly a business yet; I don’t have anything I need. At best, it’s me cooking for a few of the guys from Wyatt’s team to see if they like my food.
“It’s not…” I shake my head, my cheeks heating for some reason. “It’s not a business, really, just…”
“Yes, it is,” he says. I open my mouth to protest again, and he adds, “People are going to pay you to cater their lunches. What else would you call it?”
Well. He’s become very chatty all of a sudden.
“That’s awesome!” Bailey holds up a hand to high-five me, and I reluctantly press my palm to hers.
“I don’t have a license yet, and I need to find a commercial kitchen I can afford—”
“We’re working on the details,” Wyatt interjects. “Taking it slowly, but it’s going to do well.”
“About damn time, Pops,” Dean calls from the pool, beaming.
A laugh huffs out of me as I glance back at Wyatt, a warm smile on his mouth, and suddenly I understand. He’s… he’s excited for me. He’s proud.
“I agree,” he murmurs. We hold each other’s gaze across the pool, my heart glowing in my chest, until Bailey tugs me into her arms.
“I’m so proud of you,” she says, squeezing me tight.
And I look from my friend to her dad, wishing everything could be different.
Wyatt and I don’t talk for the entire car ride to the airport. The tension between us is thick and uneasy, and I can’t find the words to say what I want to say. Honestly, I don’t even know what I want to say. I know what I want from him, but it feels so far from what I should want.
And I think he feels the same.
I figure we just need to get home, maybe get a good night’s sleep, then see how we feel. I resolve not to say anything to him until tomorrow, until we’re back into our usual routine, but as we prepare for takeoff again, my nerves get the better of me, and I fiddle anxiously with the safety instructions in the seat back in front of me. Wyatt notices, and despite the uncertainty between us, he reaches for my hand again, holding it tight.
I press my eyes shut and focus on the warmth of his palm against mine, the rough, calloused feeling of his skin, the way his fingers thread between my fingers, more intimate than the last time we did this. And he’s stroking his thumb over the back of my hand, too, a gesture that instantly calms me. I know this man cares for me, and that makes this situation so much more complicated.
I cast my mind back to the start of this trip, which, despite being only yesterday, feels like a week ago. How hopeful I was that he’d get his award and feel good, but his words from beside the pool earlier today come back to me: I don’t care about that . When I think of his response last night, of what he said, it’s clear it wasn’t the award bothering him at all. He didn’t even want to go to the awards in the first place.
But why?
The plane levels out as we reach cruising altitude, but Wyatt doesn’t remove his hand from mine. He’s resting his head against the seat, eyes closed, and I take a moment to stare at him, at his sheer beauty—the fullness of his lips, the indecently long eyelashes that fan over his cheeks, the gray on his temples that somehow only makes him sexier. It’s a struggle not to lean across and press my lips to his.
“Why don’t you care about not winning the award?” I ask.
He blinks, turning his head to look at me. After a moment of contemplation, he says, “Because it doesn’t really mean anything.”
“You don’t feel good about being recognized for your work?”
“I did, once, but not anymore.” He closes his eyes again. His hand is still in mine, and I squeeze, pressing for more from him.
“Why?”
He sighs, looking at me again. His eyes search mine, tired, a little sad, and it plucks at something in my heart.
“I guess… I haven’t felt that connected to my work for a while. I started the company because I loved having my hands in the soil, loved helping people make the most of their yards. Over the years, it’s grown into something else entirely.”
I nod, trying to understand. “What’s it grown into?” Then I pause, adding, “And was that pun intended?”
A laugh rumbles in his chest, and I don’t know if it’s intentional, but his hand squeezes mine. “It wasn’t. And… it’s grown into something different from what I want, I guess.”
“What do you want?” I press. He’s so intent on pushing me to cook, to think about my work, so why can’t I do the same?
“I want…” He thinks for a moment, scratching a hand absently over his beard. “I want more time with my hands in the dirt. More time talking to people about why plants matter. Less of a focus on making these overly styled, manicured yards, and more focus on what I care about, like growing your own food.”
I smile, imagining his veggie patch at the community garden. He twists in his seat to face me properly, becoming animated.
“Can you imagine if everyone in New York used their yard or their rooftop to grow their own food?” he says. “Even a few pots on the windowsill or fire escape. How empowering that would be to give people that skill, that ability. We’re so removed from the simple act of providing for ourselves and we feel powerless.”
Wow. He feels so strongly about this, he’s thought about it so much. But his words make complete sense, especially when I think of the time he spends at that garden, the passion he has for growing his own food. It’s been eye-opening to see what we can use in our kitchen from his garden, and it would be empowering to give people that skill.
Something niggles at me as I think about his yard at the house.
“Why don’t you have a veggie garden in your yard?” I ask. “You spend a lot of time at the community garden, but you have a huge space where you could also grow food at home. Your yard is kind of…” I pause, wanting to be diplomatic, but he smiles, as if he knows what I’m going to say. “It’s kind of a mess,” I finish at last. “Why?”
He exhales slowly. “I’ve wondered the same thing myself lately. Initially, I set it up to demonstrate my skills as a landscaper, but that was years ago. I have a big enough portfolio now and awards to showcase what we can do. The yard…” He shrugs. “I don’t know what to do with it.”
“You must see the irony,” I point out, and he gives a wry laugh.
“I do.”
I chew my lip, not wanting to overstep, but the words spill from my mouth, anyway. “You should turn it into a thriving vegetable garden, then use it for your business.”
Wyatt’s brows rise with interest. “How so?”
“Well, you could pivot your business in that direction, helping people learn how to grow their own food.” I think back to a class we did in marketing. “Sustainability is really in. And organic food. I bet you could do something awesome with it.”
His gaze moves across my face, then slides away. “I don’t know. It seems risky. It took me years to build my business to this point.”
“But you’re not enjoying it anymore,” I remind him, and he shrugs, as if to suggest that’s irrelevant. “You deserve to enjoy your work, Wyatt.”
He looks back at me, his hand still warm in mine, and I’m reminded of earlier conversations we’ve had. Why won’t he let himself have the things he wants? It’s like he feels the need to prove himself to everyone else, at the expense of his own happiness.
“You deserve to enjoy your work and use your backyard however you like. You deserve to ride your bike and…” I swallow, aware I’m getting into dangerous territory. “And fall in love.”
He inhales slowly, anguish twisting his features as he carefully withdraws his hand from mine. “Poppy, we can’t…”
I knew this already, but it still hurts, and I can’t help but press at the wound.
“We already did,” I point out.
He grimaces, gaze dropping in shame. “I know. And it was wrong. But…” He scrubs his hands over his face, looking at me desperately. “You have to know we can’t be together, right?”
My brow furrows. “Why?”
“So many reasons, Poppy.”
I know. I know. But I need to hear him say it.
“Tell me.”
He blows out a long breath, then lists them off. “I’m too old for you. I’m the father of your best friend. Bailey would kill me if she found out.”
I understand his reasoning about Bailey. Last night I convinced myself she wouldn’t mind, but after hanging out with her all day, the guilt has piled on thick, especially given how understanding she was with the business. It reminded me what a good friend she really is, how lucky I am to have her. She might have been understanding about that, but this is something else entirely. Something I’m not so sure she’d understand.
“And after what happened with Kurt…”
I twist in my seat. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“You’re…” he pauses, as if searching for the right word. “Vulnerable.”
“Vulnerable? Why? If anything, that asshole made me stronger.” I grip the armrests, frustration bubbling inside me. “I’m not a victim, Wyatt, and if you’re not acting on this because of what Kurt did, then you’re letting him win.”
But Wyatt shakes his head, looking away.
“So, what are you saying?” I ask. I told myself this was coming, but it’s still a shock. “You don’t want this?”
“Of course I want it. You know I do.” His jaw is hard as he wrenches his gaze from mine. “But I shouldn’t. I can’t have it.” He drags his hands through his hair, staring down at the floor. “I’m sorry. I probably should have stopped before we went so far.”
I stare at him, slumped with misery, wishing I could take the feeling away. Wishing I could stop him from beating himself up. Maybe I should beat myself up more, but try as I might, I can’t regret last night. I can’t regret sharing that with him.
“Well, I’m not sorry,” I murmur, and he glances at me. “I wouldn’t change last night for anything.”
“I wouldn’t either,” he admits, softening. I want nothing more than to reach out and stroke his face, press my lips to his, but I know I’m not allowed to do that. It’s so much harder now that I know what it’s like to kiss him, how safe it feels to be in his arms, how good he feels inside me.
And I’ll never feel that again.
The thought is like a kick to the heart, and I shove it away, digging my fingernails into my palm.
“What are we supposed to do then?” I ask bitterly. “Pretend we didn’t fuck like animals on the floor?”
“Jesus.” Wyatt grimaces, pressing his eyes shut. “Yes. That’s exactly what we do.”
Maybe I should be mad at him, at the way he moves on from what happened between us so easily, but this is all my own fault. He had reservations from the start; I’m the one who pushed him. Besides, I can’t blame him for worrying about Bailey when I feel the same.
“And you’ll be able to do that?” I ask quietly.
He turns to stare grimly out the plane window. “I’m going to try.”