Chapter 14
14
Laird
She’s a professional chef.
Impressed again.
We never got around to telling many stories before our relationship got cut short. But I finally understand why Poppy has knife tattoos on her hip.
Bold like I knew she was back then. Fortunately not a psycho like I thought the other night. She’s fascinated me since the moment we met, and I feel honored to learn so much more about her now.
Time is ticking and is about to run out. A mechanic is determining our future. Wonder if I could bribe him to take his time? Not that I would do that. I’m desperate, but I still have a guaranteed twenty-four hours. I’m hoping she’ll agree to stay longer once we spend more time together.
With my feet kicked up on the coffee table, I scroll, looking for clues on how to approach amnesia. I want to remind her that we once fell madly in love and made promises and plans. But no matter what, I need to keep her safe despite wanting to selfishly rush the process.
Another article says the same as the last fifteen I’ve read. “Let the memories come back naturally.”
Encourage.
Gently remind.
Don’t force or get impatient.
“The memories will return when they’re ready.”
I highly doubt that’s in the next day or two, but it could also be never.
Fuck.
“What are you reading?” Poppy asks from across the room.
Dropping my feet to the floor, I sit up. “I didn’t see you there.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt you. You seemed focused.”
Did she overhear me? Is she onto me? “I was scrolling social media. Just passing the time.”
“Ah.” She opens the fridge and stares inside. “What do you want for lunch?”
“For lunch?” You so much—to kiss your lips and touch your tits, to make you see fireworks with my tongue, and then watch as you return to me afterward. I can still see her so vividly from that weekend. The instant chemistry when we met, getting tipsy off beers, whiskey, and each other, licking sticky sweet barbecue sauce from the corner of her mouth, and then kissing her until we fell into bed. She danced for me—naked and carefree.
I fell so fucking hard for her that night.
Now, she doesn’t even know who I am.
As I look down at my phone, the screen goes dark but not before reminding me of her condition.
“Laird? ”
“I’m good.” I want to throw my phone so hard against the wall and let out the anger that two and a half years have brought out. Not toward her. Never toward her but toward the heartbreak of the situation. “The omelet was filling.”
I think she likes to be busy because she starts pulling out odds and ends and some plates. “Do you think the mechanic can tow my car to the shop?”
“Yeah. If not, I can.”
“What if it snows again?” She peers through the kitchen window. “It’s not snowing, but will there be more tomorrow?” The chopping is quick, the carrots never standing a chance against her knife skills.
When I check the app, my stomach sinks. “The weather looks clear.”
“That’s good.”
“Is it?” Oh shit. I suck at hiding my true thoughts.
I’m met with silence, and then she starts in on the celery, the crunch distracting. I’ve waited years for a second chance, so I can’t lose this opportunity.
I clear my throat of the nerves that have been gathering and then say, “I was thinking—”
“What if I—” We speak at the same time. She smiles, making me believe there’s still a chance. “You go first.”
“It’s fine. I can wait.” I became an expert the day she didn’t show up.
“Well, I was thinking . . .” She sets the knife down and wipes her hand on a kitchen towel. “Since I’m already here, bought groceries, and the car might take a few days, how would you feel about me hanging around for part of the week?” Rushing her hands out, she adds, “You mentioned it earlier, but I know plans can change. I’ll work for my dinner, and dinner will be amazing, but no pressure.”
Sitting back, I rest my ankle over my knee and take her in—hair hanging over her shoulders with a soft wave from being tied back, the right side tucked behind her ear, exposing the bridge of her nose with the slightest of bumps in it. She’s not wearing much makeup, but she doesn’t need any. The woman is naturally stunning.
Sometimes it’s hard to look at her and know I can’t pull her into my arms. I can’t hold her or kiss the top of her head. I can’t be with her how I know in my heart we should.
Poppy’s right in front of me, and I still miss her.
So fucking much.
At least I get to bathe in her pretty smile and enjoy her sense of humor and food quips. I want to know everything about her, but it will take patience, like the articles warned.
I’m willing to wait as long as it takes for her to remember what we had or for her to fall for me all over again. Whichever comes first that has us ending up together.
I reply, “Stay the week as planned or as long as you like. We have food and can get more. But I don’t want you to stay as an employee.”
“No?”
“Stay as my guest, Poppy.”
A small smile tilts her lips as she leans against the kitchen cabinet. “Be careful what you wish for.”
“When it comes to you, I’m willing to take the risk.” I start toward her, for her , wishing we were together and I didn’t have to be careful.
“You drive a hard bargain. You know, all you had to do was ask.” Please don’t. As if she hears my silent plea, she looks around the family room. “Can I think about it?”
I slide onto a barstool, figuring I shouldn’t crowd her space. It’s not mine to claim anymore. Though kissing her is the only thing I can imagine doing, she’s not mine to claim anymore either .
Tapping the counter, I force myself to look away, spotting an errant hairband I think she left lying there on purpose. She watches as I slide it off the counter, but I’d steal it like the kleptomaniac she’s turned me into if she wasn't. I’d be a thief willing to steal anything to be closer, even her heart if she’s not careful.
“Take your time, but . . .” I walk around and hand it to her. “The offer stands. I’d like you to stay as my guest, Poppy.” When she pauses too long, I start to worry about rejection. “I can still pay for your time.” I hate how the talk of money ruins our exchange. Desperation does that before you know it’s happening.
Picking up the knife again, she grabs an apple and starts slicing. “No, money is not the issue.” Her tone doesn’t give her thoughts away, and I find myself wanting to pry them open and put them on display to read more easily.
The stretching silence is more telling than her words ever could be. The knife is set down with intention, and she finally says, “You shouldn’t have to pay people to spend time with you.”
That, right there. She may not remember, but I knew Poppy saw me. Two years of hell was worth this moment. But there’s always an answer. There are good people in my life, but that circle is small. “The only people I know who come free of charge are the ones who made it big with me.” As I walk to the door, I run my hand through my hair, tugging at the ends.
I’ve shown her who I am. I can’t stand around hoping she accepts the offer. She needs time, so I slip on each boot, not bothering to tie them, and grab my coat from a hook. “I’m a different person. Pain alters people that way.”
Leaving might not be the best solution, but it will give us room to think. “I’m going to check on the generator. ”
Opening the door, I’m outside before I have a chance to change my mind. It’s for the best. Don’t force it, and be patient. Not showing up because she was in an accident is one thing. It’s another when she chooses not to be with me. That’s what will happen if I keep on the gas with her. I’ll drive her away instead of into my arms.
Wasn’t the purpose of this trip to clear my head? I should probably start working on it. That, and the new song I was strumming last night. I have seven days until I walk into the studio. I plan to get at least one track on the album. It would be even better if I could add multiple.
I walk around to the side of the house and then trek to the storage barn where my parents house the generator. Unlocking the door, I let myself in and snoop around through the stuff we’ve collected. Floats that haven’t been used in years and two paddleboards that probably couldn’t fight off the water anymore. A smaller ATV I used to explore the woods in when I was younger. It’s filled with a lot of history and even more junk.
The generator has done a good job, but when I dust it off, it’s showing its age as a teenager. I bend down to check the gauges, even tapping one that seems to have stopped.
“Laird?”
I turn back and then stand upright. Seeing Poppy bundled in a coat with that damn beanie on has loosened my pent-up anger.
I’m starting to believe this time together isn’t about capturing what we once had, but more about starting over. I hope she gives us a chance. “This gauge isn’t working. The generator might not hold. It hasn’t been serviced for some years since we’re rarely up here.”
“What happens if it goes out?” She comes into the barn but stops shy of getting too close .
“The forecast clears, but we won’t have electricity for a few days. Not until we can get someone out to look at it or it’s restored through Deer Lake Energy.”
A few more steps are taken, and she stops again. “The food in the refrigerator will go bad.”
“It’s replaceable. We’ll be safe. That’s what matters.”
Though we’re here with our gazes fastened together, and by the sounds of our voices, unsure of where the other stands in this mess, she closes the gap and grabs my sleeve. “I’m not the outdoor kind of girl, but I can appreciate it.”
One confession deserves another. “I prefer the beach to the mountains, but I couldn’t find my bearings in the sand anymore.”
“That’s equally sad and beautiful. That could be a song lyric.”
“Well, might as well be open about this trip. My sister and cousin,” I say, running my hand over the back of my head. I look away in disgrace. They’ve been taking the heat for my behavior. “And everyone I work with recommended I take a vacation. I had no choice.”
“So it’s not for fun?” Her smile is slight, but reassurance is found in the corners.
“I was forced into it.”
“Why?”
“I’ve been fucked up since the loss. I need to get my life back in order.”
She looks at the sleeve she’s attached to and then back at me. “Let me help you.” She never ceases to amaze me.
I take hold of the hem of her coat and gently tug. “You have amnesia, and you want to help me?”
“If I can, I will.” Her arms go wide when she says, “I’m healed, and it’s only a small pocket of time that I can’t remember. ”
Small pocket of time. That weekend had my whole life wrapped up in it. But I know what she means and won’t hold it against her. I can’t.
“Please don’t treat me like a patient. I’ve been stuck in that role for years. I’m ready for change and to live my life again. That’s why I’m working again. And why I came out here. Do you still want me to stay?” Hope is clear as day in her hazel eyes, and I eat it up, savoring every taste I’m given.
“I want you to do what feels right for you.”
Her smile blossoms like a spring flower for me. “I can’t leave you out here to survive on chicken tenders from Maggie’s, though even as a chef, I have to admit they weren’t that bad.”
“I’m sure they aren’t as good as your chicken pesto.”
“They’re not. I’ll have to make it for you again sometime.” She’s got a spark that I can appreciate. What I don’t appreciate is her letting go of me and tucking her hands in her pockets. It’s cold, though, so I won’t hold it against her.
I look around the barn, kicking up some dirt and brush that has managed its way in. “What do you say? Do I make arrangements for you to get out of here, or do you want to see how fun being in the mountains with no electricity can be?”
“Well, when you put it like that, there’s really only one choice. B please.” I can’t find the lie in that answer, not when I have the wild times we shared in Austin playing on repeat in my memories.
Reaching up, I take hold of both sides of the pink hat and tug it closer over her ears to protect her. “There,” I say, admiring my band’s name so prominently displayed on her head. It’s a bold move, but from what I remember, she’s always been about spontaneity. “Come on, then. We need to prepare for a shutdown.” When I walk to the exit, I catch her right beside me out of the corner of my eye. Where she belongs. “I want to check another panel on the side of the house.”
“What’s it for?”
I smirk. “The hot tub.”