Chapter 11
11
Laird
“I smell coffee.” Poppy pads down the hallway in woolly socks, entering the living room in a T-shirt and shorts. I had hoped to be over her by morning, but I failed. She’s fucking spectacular.
Guess I have more work to do, as Nikki would preach.
She smiles when our eyes catch in the morning light, and she stops with a gentle tilt of her head. For a moment, I see the same woman who made me fall madly in love with her. The way the corners of her eyes are softer when she looks at me as if her dreams are still caught in them, the slight upturn of her lips that gives her permission to admire me, and the ease of her shoulders signifying there’s nothing to do on the agenda today other than loving me.
We were so close to having it all, but we let it slip away. “Good morning.” Her voice is even convincing me that what I believed is only misinformation.
All I have to do is bow at her feet to win her heart back.
But these are the lies I slept with all night. Not reality .
Feeling duped by my thoughts, I reply, “It’s morning.” I didn’t intend for a measured sigh to follow, but there’s no use pretending we’re anything other than what we are.
She asks, “Didn’t sleep well?”
“I slept fine.” I slept like shit, thinking about her all night. “Why?”
Shrugging, she moves into the kitchen, putting her back to me as she studies the mug as if I might have poisoned her. I’ve discovered she has a spikey side, but it’s one I would wholeheartedly accept into my life if given the chance.
I say, “It’s safe.”
Her shoulders shake with the softest of laughs. “Guess I’m busted.”
“I checked mine as well.”
That has her leveling me with a glare and then laughing. “Wise. You never know if I was sneaking around in the night.”
“I would know because there are cameras.”
She looks at the corners of the room, her gaze bouncing around to scan for the hidden cameras. When she turns back to me, she’s not as amused as before. “Don’t you have to get my permission to film me?”
“Not in my house.”
“I thought it was your parents’?”
I shrug because we both know it’s the same thing.
As much fun as it is to spar with her verbally, I don’t want her to be paranoid. “There are no cameras. If you’re here to rob the joint or break my legs, there won’t be any evidence.”
She finally fills the mug I left out for her and takes a sip. “Good to know. Good. To. Know.” Holding the cup close to her chest, she asks, “And why would I want to break your legs? ”
“Long story. Three-hundred and ten pages, in fact.”
She’s quite adorable when she looks at me perplexed. I’d rather have her swooning, but I’ll take her myriad of emotions over nothing. “What are we talking about? I’ve only had a few sips of coffee. The caffeine isn’t working yet.”
“It’s not important.” She is. Seeing her in the morning light reminds me of making love to her at sunrise in Austin. The sun had snuck in to wake us, but it wasn’t words that roused me to kiss her. It was the light in her eyes and how I could see forever.
Any other time I’ve thought of that moment, the last I held her before leaving to pack, I couldn’t linger long on the memory. Now, I want to indulge in it to compare to how she’s changed or if I can still see eternity. I know the answer, but selfishly, I’d love the opportunity. “How did you sleep?”
“Surprisingly well considering.”
The woman knows how to lay down a trap. I walk right into it. “Considering?”
“It was warm. The bed is comfortable.” The slightest shrug hits, and she adds, “I slept better than I expected, considering my new neighbor.”
I laugh, and for the first time since I saw her again, it’s real and feels good to release some of the tension I’ve been holding.
She turns around and rests her backside against the counter, her smile disarming. “I’m glad you’re not as grumpy today.” She holds the mug up. “You know how to make a good cup of coffee, so no complaints.” The surprise in her tone isn’t lost on me.
Kicking back in the big chair in the living room, I reply, “Yeah, I’m a real Renaissance man, remember?”
“I do.”
I hate how fast my good mood shifts, but hearing those words flaunted in front of me . . . takes me back to Magnolia Café. I keep my eyes trained on the mug in my hands to focus on something else. Seemingly not noticing me, she continues, “I didn’t expect to wake up to snow. I wanted to get out of your way today.”
Locking eyes on her, I take another sip of coffee. “Sometimes we don’t get what we want.”
The view of the white snow covering the ground and the dark lake ahead is extreme in contrast with the black-framed windows, making it picture-perfect. “No, we sure don’t.”
To get it out of the way, I add, “You’re stuck here at least one more night.” As soon as I woke up, I knew that would be the case, but I’m still unsure how I feel about her hanging around. Or the reverse and how she’ll take the news.
“If you don’t want company . . .” Moving closer, she stops just shy of the back of the couch. Her intuition is spot-on. She might be reading me better than I know myself. If only I could tell her the war my brain is having over her. “I can take my coffee in the bedroom?”
I shake my head, then signal to the couch. “We’re stuck together. You should make yourself at home.”
“It kind of reminds me of home in winter.”
“Where are you from?” And how do I not know this?
“New York, a small town a few hours from the city. It’s beautiful there as well, but it feels different than here. Probably the baggage that comes along with it.” She laughs quietly, but I don’t hear the joy behind it.
She comes around and sits, taking another drink of her coffee. Her eyes go to the mantel, her gaze running over each item sitting on it.
“There are no cameras. I promise. ”
Readjusting, she gets more comfortable. “I’m going to trust you.”
Trust is something she can always give me. I would never hurt her despite the pain she’s caused me.
Her shorts ride higher on her thighs, exposing a small ravine dug into her skin. It’s only a few inches long, but the scar is noticeable. Rolling my gaze higher, I trace another jagged pink line down her arm. Neither was there when we were together. I would know. I memorized every inch of her body. The only flaw I found was that she was perfect for me in every way. Still is, if I’m being honest, and I’m finding the lies too much to carry around her.
Would it really make it worse if I said everything that’s been holding me back for years?
“I was in an accident,” she says without me asking.
She’s alive and in one piece, offering the smallest of comfort.
“An accident?” I ask too quickly, too brusque. The world around us goes quiet, or maybe that’s just in my imagination. The weight of her answer matters more than anything I ever needed.
I give her a complete inspection, needing to know she’s okay. But by appearance, she hides any damage done on the inside, causing my stomach to choke. “Are you okay?” I’m desperate for her to assuage the pain squeezing my chest. An accident . . . Fuck.
My gut twists, but my nerves are on edge. I sit forward, wishing I could touch her scars, to touch her again, and heal what remains.
“A car accident.” She reaches for a blanket to cover her legs. I don’t want her hiding from me, so I move my gaze away from the scars. It’s not a chore when all of her is so beautiful. Soft laughter rocks her frame. “I can’t tell you much other than I was at the receiving end of it.” A hand waving in front of my face snaps me back. “Hey?”
I didn’t realize I was staring. Her words had taken over, the images too destructive to bear.
She adds, “No need to worry. I’m okay. Other than some scars and a few setbacks along the way, I’m told I’m as good as new.” She’s coping, a denial of extent sitting in her eyes, and another short laugh vibrates the air around her.
“And you’re not?”
She looks away from me. The coffee doesn’t hold her interest, but the pilling on the blanket does. “I’m as good as I’ll ever be.”
“It’s enough.”
Her gaze darts to mine. “What is?”
“You. You’re enough.”
This time, a smile appears from somewhere deep inside her, showy and wide as if to announce its arrival. “That’s a very nice thing to say.” Her eyes stay on mine this time when she adds, “I’m sure some ex-boyfriends would argue otherwise.”
“They can fuck right off.”
Raising her finger, she laughs again. “I told them the same.”
“You should. You deserve . . .” I suddenly realize that it’s not my place, a stranger to her in all ways, other than employer, to give her advice.
Seemingly enchanted for the answer, she waits for me to finish. I can’t, not before knowing if she did it on purpose.
My walls start to rise, ready to ask the question I really want an answer to. “When? When was the accident?”
“Oh, um . . .” Her discomfort kicks in, and she tucks her legs under her and snuggles with the blanket. Pain takes a toll, sadness infiltrating her pupils, but she tries to smile, fighting against the emotions restricting her expression. “It was years ago.”
“I know—”
“Why do you say it like that?” Annoyance colors her cheeks, deepening the pink. “You don’t know. You don’t know me. You don’t know my story.”
“I thought I did, but everything’s changed. That’s why I’m curious.”
A battle begins, the stubborn side I’ve witnessed since she came back into my life winning. “Why does it matter to you?”
It’s all so delicate with her. “I want to know you.”
Her feet hit the floor, but she doesn’t get up. “You had no interest in doing so before?”
“If you only knew the truth—”
“That would be a great start.”
I appreciate the fire returning to her eyes. It renews hope. Hope in what? I’m stepping in emotionally damaging territory, but I still can’t stop myself from trying to connect the pieces.
The hat.
The knives.
Staying in the other cabin.
The comments I thought were random nonsense.
The puzzle is suddenly clearer in my head.
Poppy’s not here to stalk me. She’s here because Nikki sent her. Not because of who she is or to torture me into facing my past. Oh shit.
She’s here to work. I run my hand through my hair, knowing I read this situation all wrong. Worst of all, I’ve been horrible and bitter until this moment. I drop my head, knowing I’ve fucked up.
I set my mug on the table and scrub my hands over my face, hoping there’s a way to redeem myself. I already know what she’s going to say before she says it.
“Two and a half years ago,” she whispers. “October. I remember that much.”
The knot in my chest tosses a lump in my throat. Now, I’m at a loss for words, failing to give her the comfort she deserves. The truth is out there. The lies I believed have been exposed as falsehoods my mind made up to protect me.
Treating me like a stranger.
Not knowing my name . . .
She doesn’t know who I am.
Relief doesn’t come like I thought it would. I feel worse. I lift my head with my heart pounding in my chest and force myself to own up to what I believe happened. “The universe conspired against us.”
The gold, the green, the brown intermingle in a kaleidoscope of colors shining back at me. So lovely even that hurts. And then she whispers, “What happened to you?”
The question is simple in nature, but the origins don’t register. “What do you mean?”
“I’m sorry. Have I overstepped? I . . . I thought we were sharing and assumed something had . . . My apologies.”
I thought I could hide, but like Nikki and Shane, Poppy sees right through me. And she’s right. She’s been open with me, though she owes me nothing. I reply, “You don’t need to apologize. You’re right. I lost someone.” My voice is lower, my coffee getting cold. This conversation is too important not to acknowledge and continue down the path if there’s a chance for resolution.
Sitting forward, she sets her cup on the table near mine and covers my hand. “I’m sorry for your loss. I can tell how deeply it has affected you.” If she only knew . . .
“Can I ask you something?”
She smiles so gently that I find comfort in it. “Okay.”
“You said you don’t remember the accident, but what about the rest of the weekend?”
I had it all, her hand on mine, then lost it in an instant. “How do you know I can’t remember that weekend?”
Not wanting to lose her twice, I confess, “You said you couldn’t remember. Do you have amnesia?”
She slips out the other side of the seating area, putting distance between us as if the past few years weren’t enough. “I don’t like talking about the accident. I shouldn’t have sat down in the first place. It’s against the rules.”
“What rules?”
“I appreciate you allowing me to stay here overnight and the coffee, but we’re better off with boundaries.” She’s packaged me up in a neat box, not based on the man I am or the one who loved her, but on reactions to seeing her again, being close, and not being able to love her like I want to. It’s easier to deal with me that way, I suppose.
My gut tells me to confess everything we were to each other. My head gives me pause. I need to do some research and then make it up to her. “I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“Everything.”
Her stance softens, but I catch her eyes glistening in the morning light. “I wish it were that easy to heal pain.”
I stand. “If I can do anything to make this up to you—”
“I wish you could, but you didn’t cause my accident,” she says. “It was a drunk driver. Unexpected at eight o’clock in the morning.”
“Eight o’clock?” I had already had two coffees at the diner. If I’d known . . . if I had gone to her instead of having her meet me . . . If I’d never left her bed in the first place, none of this would have happened.
“That’s what the police report stated,” she replies offhandedly. Her lips part as if she’s going to say something more. Please say something. Anything. She only turns away and heads for the bedroom.
“Poppy?” I hate that I’ve caused her pain, even if unknowingly in defense of mine.
When she turns back, our eyes meet across the room and the years we’ve traveled together. She might not remember, but I was a part of the story. “Yes?”
“Laird. That’s my name.”
As much as I wanted to hear it from her so badly, now I know the reason I didn’t. So I refuse to keep dangling it out there based on my hopes or fears.
The smile is soft on the tail end of an allayed exhale. “If we had met in another way, I think we could have been friends, Laird.” If only she knew . . .
My name coming from her lips is a shot to the heart, but I hold myself together, waiting to fall apart when she’s not near. “Probably.”
When she’s gone, I fall back in the chair again. “Fuck,” I groan with no energy left to yell. “What do I do now?”
There’s so much going on and too much to discover still. She doesn’t remember me because she doesn’t remember anything about our time together, complicating the situation more than I realized.
For her, I might have already blown it. For me, the pain she involuntarily caused dictated my reactions instead of seeing what was right before my eyes.
She didn’t fall out of love.
She didn’t stand me up that day at the café.
I don’t know if she would have married me. It was a big proposition said on a whim and a prayer, but I know she would have shown up to tell me either way.
Patience was always one of my worst virtues. Waiting around for time to forgive me was a battle I knew I would lose. I assumed too much and took everything personally. What happened to her wasn’t about me at all. It wasn’t about her either. We had no say in what the universe did.
This is the hand we’ve been dealt. We’re only left with the present day.
She can’t remember. I can’t forget.
Now, knowing her love is buried just beneath the surface of her subconscious, I can’t give up. I need to win her heart all over again.