Chapter 43 Cinnamon
Cinnamon
Poppy
By some miracle, I wake before Jack.
I wiggle out of his arms slowly, holding my breath when he stirs.
I can still feel him between my thighs, bruising in his affection. My soul feels bruised, too, but in the tender way that
makes you want to press on it to feel the ache.
That future he spoke about—I want it. I want it as much as I’ve ever wanted anything.
And as I step onto the deck, squinting in the midday sun, I realize something else.
I don’t want to leave this place.
Today is one of the first cooler days I can recall since my arrival. My body has apparently acclimated to the hot weather,
because it feels chilly enough to me that I grab a sweatshirt before walking down the dock. A heron, snow-white, flies over
my head, and the line of palms on the shore wave in the breeze like flags.
It’s beautiful here. Beautiful enough to make your heart ache, when you catch the sun at the right angle, or look at the jewel-toned ocean.
I understand that Jack felt unwanted, unloved, by the revolving door of foster homes in this town, but this is the first place I’ve felt at peace.
It’s possibly the only place I’ve truly felt like myself.
Socializing with our guests at last night’s event made it clear that I never fit in with that crowd.
I didn’t miss the way my life used to be, and today, I still don’t.
But it only works with Jack.
My phone lights up with an incoming call. Kiara.
“Hey,” I say as I answer.
“Are you still on the way?”
“Yeah. Sorry, I slept late.” I twirl a piece of hair around my finger. “Jack’s still asleep, actually.”
“I’ll send Chester his way while we’re at brunch.”
Ten minutes later, Kiara and I are sitting at a table on the deck of a cute waterfront restaurant, Kimmy’s. It’s one of many
places I had no idea existed in Diamond Bay when I first arrived, but according to Kiara, they make a delicious mimosa, and
I could use the pick-me-up. I order a caramel latte as well, crossing my legs.
“A sweatshirt in seventy-five-degree weather?” Kiara asks, after we’ve put in our food orders. French toast for me, an omelet
for her. “You’re becoming a real Floridian.”
“It’s chilly!”
“It is,” she agrees, pulling her jacket tighter. “It always feels like this after the long stretch of hot days.” She leans
in a little, eyes full of concern. “Are you and Jack good?”
I grimace. “Could you tell we . . .”
“Jack looked about ready to bite someone’s head off.”
“We worked it out.” I smile a bit as I think about it, which I’m sure Kiara doesn’t want to read too much into, considering
the fact he’s basically her big brother.
True to form, she wrinkles her nose. I bite back a huff of laughter, and she shakes her head ruefully. “Last night was intense.”
She grins. “And really fun. You two were amazing.”
“We’ll definitely have a full house for opening night. A lot of people want to come back to see the expanded menu.”
The server brings by our mimosas and coffees. I reach for the latte first, if only because it’s warm. Kiara curls her hands
around her own mug and leans back in her chair.
“That’s good,” she says. “You both deserve it.”
I sip my coffee, relishing the warmth, my foot tapping against the floor. “Look, Ki, I need to tell you something.”
“What is it?”
“I don’t think Jack should sell the restaurant.” I set down my mug firmly. “And I want to stay, too.”
Kiara squeals loudly enough, several people look over. “I was hoping you’d feel that way. You belong here.” She reaches across
the table, covering my hand with hers and squeezing. “Both of you do. With or without the restaurant.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.”
“I want us to run Fable. Together.” I shake my head, hardly able to believe the words coming out of my mouth. I thought I
wanted to earn a place at the Winfield Group, but this feels different. Real, and true, and something I want to share with
one of my best friends. “I want to be his front of house manager. I know I can do it. Last night proved it.”
“It would be perfect. You already work so well together.”
“Are you sure it’s okay? I mean . . . it was your dad’s place first.”
“Jack doesn’t believe me, but I asked Dad to leave him the restaurant.” She shakes her head, smiling like she’s remembering
something. “Maybe it was selfish of me, but I thought . . . if I can’t have my dad in my life anymore, at least maybe I can
bring back my brother.”
My throat feels thick. “That’s sweet.”
“Poppy?”
“Yeah?”
“He’s happy, right?” She fiddles with her napkin. “That’s what I want for him.”
“I think he is.” I risk a sip of mimosa, even though it’s chilled. “But he doesn’t trust it.”
“Dad said something like that once. After Jack left for culinary school.” Kiara taps her nails against her mug, her expression
thoughtful. “I thought it was bullshit at the time. A bullshit excuse, I mean.”
“He doesn’t want to acknowledge it in case he loses it.”
She shakes her head. “Exactly. Which is—”
“Sad?” I guess.
“I was going to say annoying,” she says with a laugh.
“Are you going to give him the letter?”
She nods. “Maybe after opening night.”
“After the picture is on the wall.”
“It looks amazing, by the way. Let me show you.” She pulls out her phone, bringing up the image we settled on, now resized
and framed by her friend: Jack, Sal, and Kiara in the old Sailfish kitchen together, laughing. Kiara doesn’t remember who
took the photo, but it managed to capture the three of them perfectly. Sal, bald and broad, who clearly was a larger-than-life
character. A younger Kiara, sitting atop one of the lowboys, her long hair tumbling over her shoulders. And Jack—my Jack—as
a young man, with fewer tattoos but the same distinctive eyes, a kitchen knife in hand and a smile on his face.
“This is incredible.”
She nods. “Dad looks great there. Jack, too.”
“And you.”
“I was an awkward mess.”
“Please, you look great. You should see my yearbook picture from back then.”
Our food arrives, and a few minutes pass while we dig in. Yesterday was so busy, I didn’t eat a proper meal, and my body awakens
at the smell of perfectly eggy, syrupy Challah, dusted with powdered sugar.
“I think you should tell him,” Kiara says eventually. “Now, I mean. Before Fable opens.”
“You think?”
“I think he’s stubborn as hell—”
“—infuriating, really,” I kick in.
“—but he listens to you. He should go into the first service thinking about it being a beginning, not some stopgap on the
way to something else.”
“My dad is going to want him back in New York. There’s no way he won’t, when he sees all of this.”
“He can invest in Fable instead.”
I snort. “You don’t know my father.”
She shrugs. “He might surprise you.”