26. Wyatt
26
Wyatt
T he hot shower scalds me as I step under the spray, but I let it. I let it rinse away the guilt that’s eaten at me ever since I tried to look my daughter in the eye yesterday morning. Ever since I told Poppy we can’t be together.
I know it was the right thing to do, but my chest is hollow as I step from the shower, drying myself mechanically, getting ready for the day on autopilot. I descend the stairs with a rock in my gut, the smell of Poppy’s heavenly cooking wafting up to greet me. Despite getting in late last night, she’s up early, prepping for the first day of testing her catering idea with the team. I want to be excited for her, proud, but if I let that feeling in, then I let them all in, and I can’t do that. Not if I’m going to keep some distance between us.
She glances up as I enter the kitchen. “Morning,” she mumbles, returning to her cooking. She’s doing something with pasta on the stove. My stomach rumbles at the scent, and I’m glad I ordered a lunch for myself.
I pour coffee into my travel mug, deciding to leave her to it. I can’t be around Poppy in her apron right now, and besides, she’ll drop into the job site later to deliver the food, so it’s not like I won’t see her.
Which shouldn’t matter , I remind myself.
As I turn for the door, it occurs to me that we haven’t thought this through. She has to deliver lunch to multiple job sites, and she doesn’t have a car.
Shit.
“How are you planning to get around today?” I ask, and she pauses her stirring on the stove.
“I don’t know,” she admits. “The subway, I guess.”
I frown. “That’s not practical.”
She chews her bottom lip. “True, but I’m not sure what else to do.”
I know what to do. It’s the last thing I want, but I refuse to leave her stranded, especially because I want this venture to work, want her to succeed. I think back to the pool yesterday, when she didn’t even think to mention it, let alone consider it a business. I’m certain that growing this could mean something significant to her, and I’m going to do everything in my power to help.
“You can take my truck,” I say. “You can drive, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“Good. Take my truck.”
“Wyatt.” My name from her lips sends heat bolting through me, but I ignore it. She looks at me properly for the first time since I’ve entered the kitchen, her brow pinched. “How will you get to work without your truck?”
I sigh. She’s going to love this.
“I’ll take my bike.”
Poppy’s eyebrows hit her hairline. “Seriously?”
“Yes.”
She scrutinizes me for a long moment, and I can tell she’s caught between arguing again and letting me get back on my bike, which I know she’s been wanting me to do for ages.
“Are you… are you sure?”
No . “Yes.”
Something boils over on the stove and she turns the heat down, glancing back at me. “What about all your work stuff?”
I consider this. I’m staying put at the Park Slope site today, so I could make that work.
“It’s early,” I say, reaching for my keys. “I’ll take my truck to drop off my stuff, then bring it back for you and take the bike back.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not.” I look at the hesitation in her eyes, softening. “Let me help, Poppy.”
Her gaze moves over my face, and she finally nods. “Okay. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She returns to her cooking, and I head for the door before I do what I really want: kiss her and tell her how proud I am.
The engine purrs between my legs as I pull onto Fruit Street. Turns out the expression “it’s like riding a bike” applies to motorcycles too, and muscle memory takes over as I turn down the street, pulling onto the more busy Cadman Plaza, past Borough Hall. Traffic banks in front of me, and I resist the urge to swing out of the lane and dodge through the cars to the front of the queue. Last I checked lane-splitting was illegal in New York, and I don’t need a ticket the moment I get back on the bike.
Despite the traffic, I’m surprised to feel that same thrill at having my helmet on, my hands gripping the handlebars. Admittedly, it’s hotter than I’d like it to be wearing my leather jacket again, but something eases in my chest as I pick up speed along Court Street between the lights, the engine roaring under me.
I missed this. I fucking missed it so much.
Poppy was right, I realize, as I pull up to the job site. I should be doing this more. Bailey is an adult, and frankly, I don’t give a shit what Brittany thinks. I should never have let her words affect me.
I remove my helmet, glancing around at the guys, already hard at work. I loaded most of my gear into Shawn’s truck, which will have to do for the rest of the week, until we figure out how to make this work.
Because it will work. As soon as the guys taste Poppy’s food, they’ll be hungry for more.
The morning passes agonizingly slowly. Every time a car passes I look up, hoping it’s her, and not only because I’ve been hankering for whatever she was cooking this morning since I smelled it. I hardly get any work done, drifting aimlessly around the section, and not only because I’m waiting for her. I replay our conversation on the plane about my work, realizing I’d never given it much thought before, but talking with Poppy helped me clarify what has hovered at the edge of my consciousness for years. And the way she insisted I deserved to do work I love…
Maybe she was right about that, too.
She arrives at eleven-thirty with the lunch orders, and the guys gather around as she unloads the food. I stand back, watching her smile as the team collects their orders, listening to their appreciative murmurs as they tuck into their food.
Poppy hovers by the truck, nervously watching them devour her cooking, and I head over, taking my order from her.
“This is the best lunch I’ve had in months,” Nikolai declares, half his pasta already gone. Shawn and Diego nod in fervent agreement, mouths stuffed too full to speak.
I lean close to Poppy, taking in the pink tint of delight on her pretty cheeks. “I told you.” Her scarlet lips curl into a relieved smile, and without thinking, I lift a hand to brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead. Her breath falters as my fingers brush her skin, and I lower my shaking hand to my side.
“Thank you, Wyatt. I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“This is all you.” My lungs are so full with pride, watching my team love her food every bit as much as I knew they would. I might have given her the idea, but she made this happen, made it real. She’s stronger than I give her credit for, and all I want to do is pull her into my arms and show her how I feel.
Which is… fuck, it’s so much. I feel so much for this woman, no matter how hard I try not to. I don’t know how this will get any easier, and I don’t know how much longer I can tell myself that not being with her is the right thing to do.
It feels anything but right.
I force my gaze to the food in my hands, my chest hot with emotion. Somehow, I keep my tone professional as I ask, “You know how to get to the other job sites?”
She nods, grasping the keys to my truck in her hand.
“I can come with you, if you need,” I offer, despite myself, but she shakes her head.
“I’ve got this.”
I can’t help but smile as I watch her go, with a new pep in her step.
Yes, baby. You do.
We’re definitely going to need to find that commercial kitchen for Poppy. No doubt about it.
The guys spend the afternoon raving about their lunch, and two other crew members decide to sign up for lunches. Who knows who else has joined from the other job sites, but at least three guys have texted to thank me for organizing the catering, and my bet is at least a few more will sign up. I want to rush home and celebrate with Poppy, but force myself to hang back, finishing up a few odd jobs around the site. I know if I go home to her now I’ll do something I can’t take back.
Again.
After running out of things to do at the Park Slope site, I head to the community garden to buy myself more time. That, and I haven’t checked on my plot in a few days, and I’m anxious to make sure my plants are healthy.
Marty is there when I pull up on my bike. He watches with interest as I tug off my helmet, combing a hand through my hair. I don’t have my usual wagon and supplies, but that’s not a problem. I’ll do what I can without them.
“Hey, Marty.” I close the creaking gate with a smile. “How are you?”
“Not as good as you, it would seem.” He motions to my bike, glinting in the evening sun. “New toy?”
I chuckle. “Old toy, actually. Haven’t been on it in forever, but it’s good to take it out again.”
“I bet.” Marty’s eyes gleam. “It’s good to have something you enjoy. Makes life worth living.”
I hum in agreement, bending to inspect my cauliflower. Poppy has a dish she wants to try it in, but it’s not quite ready. I give my plants a quick water, then join Marty on the bench.
“Love is the other thing,” he murmurs, almost to himself. I look at him.
“What?”
“Love is the other thing that makes life worth living.”
I think of him losing Joyce, and my heart aches. “It really does,” I say, mostly out of sympathy, because I wouldn’t know.
You deserve to fall in love .
Poppy’s words echo through my head again, chased by Bailey saying she wants me to be happy. I look at Marty, at the sadness on his face as he thinks about Joyce. He’d give anything to have another minute with her. Meanwhile, I have this amazing woman who wants what I want, but I won’t let myself have it. Why am I fighting this so hard?
“Life is too short to miss out on love,” Marty says, as if reading my thoughts. His pale eyes regard me knowingly, and goosebumps rise on my skin.
Honestly, I’m beginning to think they’re all right.
“What if… what if it feels too late?” I ask quietly.
“Too late?!” Marty scoffs. “If you live to be my age, you still have fifty years left. That’s not too late, my boy. That’s a lifetime.”
A lifetime .
I sigh, tugging my phone from my pocket to check the time. My pulse jumps when I see a missed call from Poppy, but before I can call her back, an ambulance screams past. My heart seizes as I watch it tear down Fruit Street and stop outside my house.
Oh my God.
I leap from the bench, forgetting my plants, forgetting Marty, forgetting my bike. Adrenaline floods me as I start down the street toward the house. It’s not rational, it’s instinct, impulse, to get to Poppy. The back doors of the ambulance burst open, and I break into a run, my heart slamming in my ears.
Has something happened to her? Is that why she called? I haven’t seen her since lunch. What if Kurt showed up? What if she’s hurt? What if he’s done something to her?
My chest clenches with fear as I arrive at our house, and the paramedics wheel a stretcher from the ambulance. But they cross the street. It’s only then that I notice the crowd gathered on the stoop opposite. I should be worried about that, but all I can feel is relief. The sweet wash of relief that it’s not Poppy who’s hurt.
I just need to see her, to be sure.
She’s in the kitchen, watching through the window when I burst in, breathless.
“Wyatt,” she says in surprise. “Did you see what’s going on out there?”
I stare at her worried face, my breath coming in short, sharp bursts, my lungs burning.
She’s okay. She’s safe.
Her brow knits as she examines me, bent double from my sprint down the street. “Are you okay?”
“I’m…” I take a moment to catch my breath as Sugar rubs against my shin. “I’m okay.”
What matters is that she’s okay. It’s not Poppy who’s hurt, it’s someone else. And while I’d prefer no one was hurt, all I can think about is her. What if it hadn’t been someone else? What if I’d lost her before I even had her?
Holy shit, what am I doing ? Why won’t I let myself be with the woman I…
Shit. The woman… I think…
The woman I’m in love with.
“Wyatt,” Poppy says, touching my arm in concern, and that’s when it happens. That’s when I finally give up the fight, once and for all, and crush my mouth to hers.