31. Poppy
31
Poppy
I ’ve never worn such thick jeans before. They’re going to take some getting used to, but Wyatt explained they’re special riding jeans that will protect me, and that it was either these or leather pants.
I slide my hands around Wyatt’s waist, my heart jumping as the motorcycle engine roars to life. When he asked me to come riding with him, I couldn’t say anything other than an enthusiastic yes. I’ve never been on a motorcycle before, but it was more than that—it was the fact that he wanted to get on his bike. He wanted to go out riding, for fun.
With me.
He spent the morning finding me the right gear, and it’s early afternoon by the time we finally peel onto Fruit Street, my helmet snug on my head, arms clad in a brand new black leather jacket. Turns out there’s a lot more gear required than I realized, which Wyatt insisted on paying for, saying it was his bike. As if that makes any sense.
Besides, he’s already spent a small fortune putting that commercial kitchen into the ground floor of Marty’s old place. It devastated me to learn that sweet old man had passed away, and shocked me to discover he’d left his house to Wyatt and me. I mean, Wyatt I understand—he’s known him for years, and their relationship was special. But he hardly knew me.
Still, he must have seen that Wyatt had feelings for me. He must have seen there was something there between us, like Wyatt said.
And the kitchen… I’m blown away by what Wyatt did for me. The trouble he went to, keeping it a surprise. More than that, I’m blown away that he cared enough. That this meant that much to him, that he spent so much to make it come true. I feel guilty because I could have paid for it myself, at least part of it, if Kurt had never stolen that money from me. When I think of how much Kurt tried to bring me down, how hard he fought to hurt me, to hold me back… this is the opposite, and I don’t quite know what to do with it. I’m not used to a man loving me like this—in a way that lifts me up, makes me feel whole, makes me feel safe.
And it’s making me want so much more from Wyatt than I should. In the month that we’ve been together, I’ve only fallen harder for him. Every time he says or does something to show me how much he cares, my heart melts a little more.
And if it weren’t for the fact that I feel like I’m keeping a horrible secret from my best friend every time she calls, life would be perfect.
I’ve tried not to think about Bailey, really, I have, but it’s impossible. She’s my best friend—the person I tell everything to, good or bad. The person who’s had my back for the past few years while I dealt with Kurt, while I healed. The person who made that healing possible. Knowing I’m lying to her is breaking my heart, and while we don’t ever talk about it, I’m sure Wyatt feels the same.
But then he kisses me, or tells me he loves me, and all I can think about is him. How wonderful it would be to fall asleep beside him every night for the rest of my life. How blessed I would be to have a family with him, to grow old at his side.
I grasp his firm waist as we tear down the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, wishing I wasn’t wearing my helmet so I could bury my nose into his worn leather jacket and breathe him in. I’m glad I am, though; I had no idea how exposed I’d feel on a motorcycle, the wind whipping around me as I fly along, the clothes on my back the only thing between me and the road. But gripping Wyatt’s strong body makes me feel safe, like it always does. Every so often he’ll drop his hand to squeeze my thigh, and his touch sends lightning zapping through me.
I can’t believe I’m out here, under the sun and the wide open cobalt sky, flying through Long Island, out toward the beach, with this man. I can’t believe he’s mine, that he loves me as much as I love him, that this is real. That he built me the kitchen of my dreams.
How is this my life?
The trees are a verdant green edged in yellow, zipping past as we follow the highway, and I lose myself in the movement of the bike, the feeling of the engine as it roars under us, the scenery whizzing by.
Eventually the water comes into view and we turn onto a bridge, following that out to what I realize is Jones Beach. We continue along Ocean Parkway until Wyatt slows, finding a spot to park among the crowded parking lot, and the engine shuts off. I climb from the bike and pull my helmet off, stretching from the long ride. Wyatt does the same, and when his eyes finally meet mine, they’re lit from within. In fact, his entire face is alight, beaming and radiant. He’s like a little boy at Christmas, as he sets his helmet on the back of the bike and scoops me into his arms.
“God, that was amazing,” he murmurs into my hair. “I missed that. Thank you, baby. Thank you for pushing me to ride again.”
I slide my arms around his neck, crushing my mouth to his. Seeing him happy like this makes my chest full and hot, in the best possible way.
“Ice cream?” he asks as we draw apart, and I laugh.
“Definitely.”
We leave our helmets, stripping off our jackets, and wander along the boardwalk hand in hand. Wyatt wears a plain white tee over his jeans that makes the tattoos on his arms pop in the sun, and it’s a fight not to climb him right here, in front of the crowds.
He orders us both large salted caramel cones, and we step off the boardwalk onto the sand as we enjoy them. The beach is busy, but we find a secluded spot to sit. I stretch my legs out in the sun, kicking my shoes and socks off so I can dig my toes into the sand, watching people in the surf.
“We should have packed our swimsuits,” Wyatt muses, kicking his boots off to feel the sand on his toes, too.
“Next time.” I shrug, licking up a dribble of ice cream snaking down the cone. The truth is, I couldn’t care less about the beach. It’s Wyatt who has my attention, the way he came alive after being on his bike again. I pull my phone from my pocket, needing to capture the moment.
When I look for my camera icon, it’s not where it usually is. That’s weird. I swipe to the next screen and find it there, noticing a couple of other apps have moved too. Typical Apple and their constant updates.
Holding the phone in front of us, I capture an image of Wyatt and me on the beach with our ice creams. Then he pulls me close, pressing his lips to my cheek as I lick my cone, laughing, and I snap a shot of that, too. Then, because I want to be reminded of this moment often, I set it as my lock screen.
With a happy sigh, I slide my phone away, listening to the crash of the waves, the laughter drifting from the swimmers, the call of seagulls circling overhead.
“So what did you think?” Wyatt asks after a while. “Did you enjoy the ride?”
“It was awesome.” I grin. “A little scary to begin with, but… yeah. I’d definitely do it again.”
“Good.” His eyes sparkle. “Because that’s how we’re getting home.”
A laugh rushes up my throat, joined by a wry chuckle from Wyatt. It feels so good to be here with him, eating ice cream on the beach, riding his bike. Then I remember my kitchen, and honestly, I have to stop and pinch myself. Life feels too damn good right now.
Wyatt’s laughter dies away, his gaze falling from mine as something in his expression shutters. It’s almost as if he’s realized the same thing, and instinctively pulled away.
“Hey,” I say gently, wiping my hands as I polish off my cone. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” He finishes his own ice cream and goes to stand, but I place a hand on his arm, tugging him back down.
“What just happened?”
He stares at me for a long moment, then lets out a huge sigh, lying back on the sand to gaze up at the sky. “Poppy…” he begins, then trails off into silence.
I lay back on one elbow, gazing at him. His amber eyes are almost gold in the sun, filled with something I can’t quite read.
“Talk to me,” I murmur. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
He’s quiet for the longest time, watching the clouds drift across the wide expanse of sky, then eventually rolls onto his side to look at me.
“I’m in love with you, Poppy. I don’t…” He blows out a long breath. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in love before. But I’m so in love with you, and…”
I swallow. I knew he loved me, but hearing him declare it like that, so definitively, makes my pulse whip through me in exhilaration.
“And what?” I whisper.
“And… it makes me want to rush into this headfirst.”
My breath catches in my lungs. “And you think I don’t want that?”
His gaze slides to mine. “Do you?”
Yes .
“What does headfirst mean to you?” I ask, too scared to say what I’m really thinking.
“It means… I’m thinking about the future. A future with you.”
“I think about that, too,” I breathe.
“Yeah?”
I nod. “A lot,” I admit at last, and Wyatt’s expression softens.
“Me too.”
I draw a circle in the sand between us. “What do you think about?”
“I think about marrying you. Having a family with you. Living…”
Oh, God. Everything he says sounds perfect.
“Living?” I prompt breathlessly.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. “Living in Marty’s house with you, with your catering business downstairs, and…” he pauses here to suck in a breath, as if for courage, then adds, “Filling the house with our children.”
Joyce always wanted children. We bought a huge house to fill with them. It wasn’t meant to be.
Marty’s words echo through my head, the ones I overheard the first time I saw him with Wyatt in the garden, and suddenly I understand. I understand why he left the house to Wyatt and me. My eyes sting as I think of what he missed out on, and how lucky I might get to be, to have it for myself. Because I can see it; us in that big old house, the sound of little footsteps on the stairs, a kitchen filled with love, and that beautiful garden. I can see it all.
“I want that,” I whisper. “I want that, Wyatt. All of it.”
But instead of smiling, he just regards me warily. “You’re so young, though, baby. And I’m…”
I frown. “You’re what?”
He lifts a shoulder, picking up a handful of sand and letting it fall through his fingers. “Well, I’m seventeen years older than you, Poppy.”
Frustration fizzles inside me. “This again? I’m young, but I’m not stupid. I’m not naive.”
“I know you’re not,” he says quickly. “But… what if we’re in different places in our lives? What if I want something you’re not ready for?”
“Or what if we’re both exactly where we’re meant to be?” I brush the hair from his forehead. “I spent years with a man who made me miserable, and I’ve finally found someone who makes me feel like the best version of myself. Someone who makes me feel happy, and loved, and safe, in a way I never knew was possible. I don’t care how old you are. I know what I want, and that’s you. I want a life with you. All the things you just said. And I want them now.”
He gazes at me for a long moment, his eyes shining. “You’re sure?”
I place a hand over my thundering heart. “Wyatt, I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
“Fuck,” he mutters, dashing a hand under his eye.
Holy shit, he’s crying.
“Hey.” I climb onto him, straddling his hips, wiping his cheek. “I hope those are happy tears.”
“Yes, baby.” His hands slide up my back, drawing my mouth down to his, where our kiss is salty from his tears. Mine too, I realize. Pouring your heart out to someone is a big deal.
“I’m so fucking in love with you,” he rasps, kissing my cheek, my neck, holding me tight.
“Me too.” I kiss him back, fiercely. “More than you know.”
I can feel him thickening in his jeans for me, and the ache building between my legs has me rocking against his pelvis, despite the crowded beach.
“How quickly can you get us home?” I ask between kisses, and he laughs against my lips.
“I will be getting us home in the safest way possible,” he says firmly, despite the smile playing on his mouth. “Because I need you in one piece for what I want to do to you.”
Oof. There is nothing better than a filthy promise from Wyatt.
We scurry back to his bike, whipping our jackets and helmets on before peeling out onto Ocean Parkway. My heart is a jumbled mess of happiness and excitement, thinking about our conversation, knowing he wants what I want, that I’m going to get to keep him. That this is real, and it’s forever.
Only…
The thought of Bailey nags at me as we zoom home along the highway, racing to get back to the house so we can make love. It’s not only the secret we’re keeping from her, it’s how desperately I want to call my best friend and tell her everything. Tell her I’m in love with the most wonderful man and he just told me he wants to marry me and have babies, and oh my God I still can’t believe it.
The fact is, we’ll have to tell her. She doesn’t live in the city, so it’s not like she’s going to catch us, but that isn’t exactly a long-term plan. And even if we could somehow keep it from her, I don’t want to. I don’t want to keep lying to her forever. And I’m pretty sure Wyatt doesn’t either.
We’ll have to tell her face to face, I realize, as we finally turn onto Fruit Street. We’ll have to fly out and sit her down and tell her everything. And I can only pray she’ll be as supportive as she’d be if it was any other guy I’d met.
But as we pull up in front of Wyatt’s house, I realize we won’t have to fly out to San Francisco at all.
Because there, leaning against the railing of the courtyard, is Bailey.