Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Poppy sent Cooper a text the next morning, thanking him for dinner—but there was no reply. She tried not to read into it. He was probably busy with work or some other project, and besides, Cooper never struck her as the texting kind. She’d see him soon enough at the house, or around town.
At least, she hoped she would.
She got dressed and packed up her laptop, with a thermos of coffee and a couple of cozy knit blankets, then she set out along the beach path, eager to spend her first morning writing in her new beach hut-slash-office.
The air still had the chill of morning coming off the water, but the sun was out, and making her way through the fresh green of the woods, Poppy thought how lucky she was to be in Sweetbriar Cove, instead of cooped up in her apartment back in the city, or camped out in the corner of some noisy coffee shop, wilting under the fluorescent lights.
Here, it was so quiet, she could only hear the sound of the ocean, and a lazy gull circling overhead.
The hut was waiting for her, sturdy on the edge of the sand, and soon she had the doors flung wide open and was snuggled up in the armchair, watching the slate blue waves break over the empty sands.
It was so inspiring, nothing but her, the ocean, and the bright horizon. How did Cooper know exactly what she needed?
Her mind drifted, and she felt that now-familiar skip in her stomach, remembering their date last night. How it had felt, sitting across the table, laughing for hours, sharing stories and old jokes, and gradually peeling back the layers of his gruff defenses until the real Cooper was revealed.
He wasn’t the man she’d thought he was. Sure, he could be prickly, and seemed to enjoy getting under her skin, but there was so much more to him, too.
He was kinder than he’d ever admit, and seemed proud to be a part of the community here in town.
And as for generosity . . . Poppy looked around her snug little cabin.
Not many guys would conjure up a perfect writing spot out of thin air like this.
She checked her phone again. No response to her earlier message.
She was terrible at texting, and had never understood how her friends seemed to carry on whole relationships through their phones, but she tried her best to think up another casual message.
In the end, she snapped a picture of the sand, with her sneakers sticking up at the bottom of the frame.
‘Writing hard, thanks for the view!’
She hit send, then immediately wondered if she was being too pushy.
Dating felt like a minefield, especially when she wasn’t even sure if what they were doing was dating at all.
Dinner, a movie, a kiss—with any other guy, she’d take them as signs he was interested.
But Cooper? He played his cards too close to his chest to even tell.
Not that she had time to sit around obsessing. Poppy tucked her phone away and reached for her laptop again. She was meeting Mackenzie for her book club at four p.m., which meant she had another few hours to make some real progress with her writing.
Men in real life might still be a mystery, but at least she knew exactly what would happen with the ones on the pages of her book.
Cooper was picking up groceries at the store in Provincetown when someone rammed into his cart from behind.
“Hey!” he turned, ready to give them a piece of his already-surly mind, but instead of a reckless frat bro, he found a mop of auburn curls and a familiar friendly face.
“Hey, stranger.” Mackenzie beamed. “How’s it going?”
He relaxed. Mac was an old friend, but he’d been so busy lately with the construction job that he’d barely seen her around town. “Not bad,” he said, “just stocking up.”
“Me too. All the essentials.”
He glanced over. Mackenzie’s cart was filled with chips, salsa, and two cases of wine. “Things really that bad?” he asked, and she laughed.
“I have book club,” Mackenzie said cheerfully. “You know Franny likes her tipple. What about you, cooking for one?” She peered into his basket. Cooper saw a gleam in her eye, and knew it wasn’t an innocent question.
“Last I checked,” he replied casually, but she wasn’t so easily dissuaded.
“You could invite Poppy over,” she said with a smile. “Wow her with your grilling skills, or . . . other talents.”
Cooper glared. “You mean sawing a two-by-four?”
“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Mackenzie grinned.
She really was impossible. Cooper fixed her with a “subject closed” look and moved down the aisle, but Mackenzie dogged him all the way to the cereal shelves.
“I mean it,” she said, trailing him. “Poppy seems great, and she doesn’t altogether hate you, which is an excellent start, don’t you think? ”
“Mac,” he said, warning.
“What? She’s pretty and smart, and if you got together, she might even give up June’s soup recipe, and then you can stop coming to all the town events you hate.”
“I don’t hate them,” he replied, irritated. “You, on the other hand . . .”
Mackenzie planted herself in front of him. “How long have I known you?”
Cooper sighed.
“Well?”
“Too long,” he replied.
“Sixteen years, and counting,” Mackenzie said, ignoring him. “And in that time, how many women have I tried to set you up with?”
“None.” Cooper reached past her for some Wheaties. “I always thought it was because you knew better, but somehow here we are.”
“It was because you were always too pig-headed to listen,” Mackenzie said, grabbing the cereal box out of his hand. She fixed him with a look. “And I never met a girl I’d want to inflict you on.”
“And that’s changed?” Cooper growled.
“Yes.” Mackenzie glared at him. “You’ve changed.
You’re turning into a grumpy old man, one of those guys we always laughed about.
Ever since Laura, all you do is work, or drink, or bang tourists who won’t be around come Labor Day.
You’re better than this, Cooper. You deserve good things, and Poppy could be it. ”
Cooper stared back, his bitter retorts dying on his tongue. She made him sound like a total asshole. He wasn’t that bad, was he?
Mackenzie softened. “Look, it doesn’t have to be much. Take her to dinner, see if there are sparks. Just be open to something, for once in your life.”
“I did,” Cooper found himself answering, before he could think better of it. “We went to dinner last night.”
Mackenzie lit up. “And?”
“And, nothing.” Cooper felt a twist of regret. “Everything was great, until her ex showed up. It turns out he’s less an ex and more a current.”
Mackenzie shook her head, frowning. “That’s not what I heard. She called off the wedding, practically left him at the altar.”
“Well, I left her getting cozy with him on June’s front porch.” Cooper took Mackenzie by the arms and gently moved her aside. “So thanks for the pep talk, but I gave it my shot.”
“But you can’t give up!” Mackenzie protested.
“Watch me. And it’s not giving up if you were never in the game,” Cooper corrected her. “This grumpy old man is leaving well alone.”
Her face fell, and Cooper knew how she felt.
“Fine.” Mackenzie pressed her lips together. “I have to get going, anyway. But I will say, it’s not like you to quit so easy.” She spun her cart and walked away before Cooper could have time to object.
He scowled, and finished the rest of his shopping with a cloud hanging over him.
He wasn’t a quitter, and Mackenzie was wrong to imply that he was.
But what was he supposed to do—make a fool of himself chasing after a woman who wasn’t his to chase?
He barely knew Poppy, and a couple of polite texts didn’t make a difference.
She probably felt bad for letting him down so abruptly.
If she’d wanted to see him again, she’d have said so.
For all he knew, she’d spent the day with Owen, making up for lost time.
Cooper felt the burn of jealousy just imagining it, but he pushed it aside. He knew all about wanting a woman who didn’t want him back. And he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.
Poppy wrote until her laptop battery went dead, then headed back to the house to change and dig a bottle of wine out of Aunt June’s pantry. She arrived at the pottery studio at the stroke of four, bearing a bottle of white, and some prosecco, too, for good measure.
“You made it!” Mackenzie greeted her happily, and whisked her inside. “Everyone, this is the famous Poppy Somerville! Poppy, this is Franny, and Debra, and Ellie, and Bert . . .”
“Hi!” Poppy tried to keep track of everyone’s names as she went through the whistle-stop introductions, but half of them passed her by.
It was an eclectic group gathered there, a few older women in their sixties and seventies, plus another woman about her age, and a lone man in a green knit sweater.
“Don’t worry, we don’t expect you to learn everyone’s name,” one of the older women—Debra, was it?—said with a wink. “Just call everyone ‘honey’ and you’ll be set.”
“Thanks for the tip.” Poppy smiled.
“And you brought booze!” Mackenzie took the bottles. “See, you’ll fit right in. Come on.”
She led her through the front space, which was set up as a gallery, displaying beautiful ceramic bowls and sculptures.
One of the sets caught Poppy’s eye—the bright polka-dot design just like the ones she’d admired back at the beach house.
“You made these?” Poppy asked, pausing to pick up one of the cute mugs.
“June has a whole set at home. They’re adorable. ”
“Thanks.” Mackenzie smiled. “They’re from my polka-dot phase, I went kind of dotty—pardon the pun.
Polka-dot bowls, teacups, you name it. Now I’ve moved on to stripes, they’re more nautical,” she explained, pointing to a new set of blue-and-white bowls, painted with anchors and a ship design.
“Plus, they sell like gangbusters to the tourists. I swear, I could put an anchor on a lump of unfinished clay and it would get snapped up.”