Sixteen
P oppy had a large greenhouse in the back of her home where she grew Camellia sinensis and other plants for blending in her teas. Alistair had been surprised to see how large it was and how much she was growing.
It was Sunday evening and he’d already worked his shift at the tavern. WiCKed Sisters closed early on Sundays, so Poppy invited him over to use her shed to brew his kombucha for the Tea Society. It would need to be bottled and sent to the participants by August 30 for judging.
“Thanks for bringing the yeast and for your knowledge. I’ve never tried fermenting alcohol before,” she admitted. “Kombucha’s not really my thing.”
“I’d never have guessed based on how hard you argued against it.” Each season they set a challenge in the Tea Society. Ali had suggested one for brewing hard kombucha while Poppy had wanted to do different iced tea blends. His kombucha had gotten the votes but she’d still argued to try to persuade the group. It seemed obvious now that she’d simply wanted to win so Ali would lose.
She punched his shoulder lightly. “That was only part of the reason. You were the other.”
She wore a pair of denim shorts that brushed the tops of her thighs and a blousy top with fluttery sleeves. It had a V-neck, and he tried very hard not to notice the swell of her breasts as she bent over to pull a weed or a leaf from one of her plants. She was barefoot, her hair hung around her shoulders, and the heat of the day reminded him of the two of them on top of the Glastonbury Tor.
The same magic that she’d woven around him that night was back, seducing him with the vibrant scents of summer and woman. He closed his eyes, reaching for his self-control, thinking if he couldn’t see her body, he’d cool down, but it just heightened his other senses. Unable to breathe without inhaling vanilla, rose and bergamot—everything that was Poppy.
“Well, you won, so um...I ordered the supplies we need to make the kombucha. I got enough for both of us,” she said, walking out of the greenhouse.
It was slightly cooler outside but still hot. Or maybe the heat was coming from inside him just from being around her.
To clear his mind, he’d taken a run this morning before the sun came up, and he would run again later tonight. But even if he wore through his shoes, he was pretty sure nothing could cool him down or distract him from wanting her back in his bed.
All those pictures he had in his head of the life he wanted with Poppy felt within his grasp. He just had to keep being her friend and keep it in his pants. He could never reveal that he ached to touch her again.
Even a brief brush of their fingers as she handed him some leaves to smell as a potential flavoring for the kombucha sent a tingle straight to the tip of his dick.
“Thanks for that,” he said, realizing he’d never responded to her last statement. It felt as if he were wading through a pool of lust and need. His head was muffled, and he was trying to keep it together, but damn.
Just damn.
“No problem. Least I could do since you offered to bring the champagne yeast,” she said. “I also ordered two growlers and airlocks. You said we’d start with sweet tea, which is so generic. Black, white, green, oolong?”
“Any,” he said, laughing at the frustration in her tone. “It’s really down to what you like. The base is going to influence the direction of the kombucha. I used black tea because I had a bunch from Lancaster-Spencer.”
“Okay. Well, I brewed all four bases, and I wasn’t sure on the sugar. I mean, sweet tea in the American South is very sugary—”
He laughed, and she stopped talking. She was so cute like this. The tea blender in her element, wanting to make sure everything was perfect.
“What?”
“You’re cute,” he said, tempting fate and Poppy’s resolve by leaning over and kissing her gently on the lips. He pulled back before he lost all sense. “I’ll use the black again. You should try that magic courage blend for yours.”
“You think?” she asked. She rubbed her finger against her lower lip and then shook her head. “I will. Okay, so we put the tea and SCOBY into a large jar and seal it up?”
“Yeah,” he said, moving to the bench where she’d set out jars in different sizes, all with lids. He noticed that there were two of each size. She’d spent a lot of time setting this up, and here he was, being all horny. He shoved his lust into a large chest in his mind and locked it. Poppy wanted them to be friends. God, he craved that too. So he needed to be that guy.
“I think this size will work for what we’re doing,” he said, indicating one of the jars.
They both assembled their ingredients and then sealed their jars. He took a photo of Poppy holding her jar, and she did the same for him. Then they posed together.
“That’s it,” he said. “Now we wait.”
“Six to ten days, right?” she asked.
“We can check on them and see how they’re doing in a few days,” he said.
“I will.” She turned to a pad of paper and made a few notes. “Do you keep track of your recipes?”
“I do. I keep them on my phone. Want to see the recipe I used last time?”
“Did it come out good?”
“I gave the growler to George because I was coming here,” he said. “It should be ready any day now.”
“Let me know what he says. I’d love to see your recipe from the first time,” she said. “Want to show me over dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I invited Liberty and Sera and their guys for a cookout.”
So not just the two of them, which was fine. Really it was, because if he couldn’t learn to get along with these people she considered family, then there was no place for him in her life. “I can run back to the tavern and get a pony keg of my summer ale.”
“That sounds great. I’m grilling, and Liberty is bringing sides. Sera’s on dessert.”
Alistair had his shirt off, which was distracting her from the book discussion she was meant to be having with Sera and Liberty. They’d all picked up the latest release from their favorite author. She really had stuff to add to the discussion, but her eyes kept straying back to where Ali was talking to Wes and Merle about sweet fuck all for all she cared.
It was that chest and those abs that kept her gaze locked on him. That super-hot alpha-hero body on a guy who looked relaxed and humble as he was sweating and talking... It was a potent cocktail.
Sera nudged her. “If you don’t want to talk about books, let me know. I’m fine with staring at men.”
“Yeah, but we are strong independent women,” Liberty said. “Let’s discuss, or next week, we’ll have to not invite the guys.”
Poppy turned so that her back was toward Ali. It wasn’t like she couldn’t have him in her bed if she asked. He wasn’t hiding the fact that he wanted to be there. It was her waiting for some sign from the universe that she wouldn’t get hurt if she let him in. Really let him in.
England had felt different. That hadn’t been real, because her life was here. Holiday flings weren’t real, everyone knew that.
But Ali in Birch Lake? That felt like solid reality.
“For fuck’s sake, Poppy.”
“Ugh. I’m sorry. He’s been here all afternoon. We were brewing tea together, we kissed—well, he kissed me and then ended it just when I wanted it to never end,” she said. “I sound like an idiot.”
“Never. You sound confused. That’s completely okay,” Sera said. Sera was the kindest of all of them. She had the most reason to not see the best parts of humanity, but somehow she always did.
“I am, and I’m not. I sound like that guy from The Traitors UK who freaked, don’t I?”
“A little bit, but I get it. He’s your ex for a reason, and you are right to take things slow, but make sure you’re doing that for the right reasons.”
The right reasons. What were they? Saying out loud she didn’t want her heart broken by him again wasn’t something she needed to do. The girls knew that. They didn’t want her heart broken again either.
Liberty watched her with that wise-goddess gaze Poppy had noticed more and more often in her friend since last fall, when everything had happened with her ailing nan and her newly discovered biological father. Since starting a serious relationship with Merle, Liberty had unlocked some hidden feminine power.
“What do you see?” Poppy asked her.
“I’m not sure. I’ve been pulling cards for you all week, and they aren’t clear. What do you see?” Liberty asked.
“That even though I told him the past was resolved, I still am plagued by it all the time.” There. It was out there.
It ate her up inside how she melted every time he smiled at her. Staying present was never harder than when sweet, charming, irresistible Ali was around. Still niggling at the back of her mind were the times when he’d been charming and then lied to her. How he’d seduced her with that same charm...and she’d fallen for it.
How?
If she could figure that out, then maybe she could really move forward. Somehow, the more time she spent with him was both helping her get closer to getting over that fear and making her more aware of the fact that she’d never really been able to know him. Never been able to trust him.
How was she going to figure this out?
There just wasn’t some magical card that Liberty could pull out of her tarot deck or a journal that Sera could bind for her that would manifest peace of mind. There wasn’t anything but her own soul-searching and answers that she was no closer to finding than she had been the day he’d walked into WiCKed Sisters.
“Honey, you take as much time as you need,” Sera said. “If he’s the man for you, he’ll understand and realize what’s going on.”
Poppy glanced over her shoulder, realizing the men had gotten quiet. They turned to the grill as soon as she did.
Sera laughed. “They were watching us.”
“Of course they were. Probably realizing how lucky they are we are nice witches and didn’t curse them,” Liberty added, raising her voice.
“Witch, you know I’m not afraid of you,” Merle said, grabbing Liberty’s glass and refilling it as he came to perch on the arm of the chair she was sitting in.
Wes and Ali came over as well, but Ali scooped Poppy up and sat down, holding her on his lap. He smelled of the smoky grill and man. She looped one arm around his shoulder and leaned back against him. His thighs were hard and solid underneath her as she and her friends and their men all sat in a circle. It wasn’t that hard to let the fear that had been taking hold melt away.
Talking about summer and tourists and really nothing, they drank the ale that Ali brewed and ate the sausages and burgers he’d grilled. Poppy started to feel like this was what she needed. Not white-hot sex alone, though she was ready to take this more physically with Ali now. But this quiet intimacy that came from being part of a tight friend group.
Laughing and talking and living.
That had been missing from their lives in London. He’d been busy, she’d been scared, and they’d had no real friends. Just acquaintances that had really only cared about their own status and Ali’s position in society. She had been looking for a sign from the universe, some big neon arrow that would say that Ali was reformed for good and that she could trust him with her heart, but...
Her heartbeat always sped up when he walked into a room. Her eyes always sought him when she knew he was near.
There was no letting herself fall for him again. It was going to happen. She just had to be careful not to make him into something he wasn’t.
He fit in so well with her friend group, but she had to be careful that he also fit in with her.
Somewhere between the greenhouse and grilling, he’d decided to stop letting her set all the terms for this new relationship they were developing. Or rather to stop being passive in what was going on between them. He’d never been a man to keep his passion locked up in a box. For Poppy, he’d been willing to try, but this summer was the first in a lifetime of expectation. He was creating his own destiny.
Not touching or kissing her didn’t feel right, and he wasn’t going to do it anymore. As soon as her friends left, he intended to talk to her about it. But for now, he was enjoying an impromptu D&D game that Merle and Liberty were leading them in.
“Remember, guys, if you stay within thirty feet of me, I can use my bonus action to heal anyone in my radius,” Liberty said.
“How the mighty have fallen, witch. I don’t throw the word nerd out often, but I think you’re becoming one,” Merle said.
“Nerd?” she repeated pointedly.
“When did you start talking about radiuses?” Merle shot back.
“I thought we wanted all of our friends to survive this encounter.”
“What’s the radius?” Alistair asked. “I’ll take all the help I can get.”
“Six squares. Also, if you get hurt, I’m a very strong healer, and I’ve been rolling well tonight,” Liberty said.
Alistair laughed, enjoying the interplay between all of the couples. Unlike that first night at the tavern, they’d all sort of accepted him tonight, and he felt some genuine bonds developing. Of course, Liberty had specifically cornered him and warned him that if he fucked with Poppy, she’d come for him. But otherwise, they were nice and fun.
Alistair looked down at the page where he was tracking his health. “I’m down to three if you want to heal me.”
Liberty looked over at him. “I’ll heal Puddgurr.”
Everyone else had a character they’d been playing for a while, so Merle had helped him create Puddgurr. He was a barbarian, which suited Alistair, as the character could rage and destroy things in the name of saving the day. It had been a long time since he’d felt the kind of rage that his character used as a strength. Honestly, he’d never felt like rage was an asset, but in this type of fictional fight, it did come in handy.
Liberty healed him and looked very pleased with herself.
Poppy threw her arm around his shoulder, pressing against his side. That haze that he fell into whenever she touched him was back. Everyone else was muted, and the focus of the summer evening was on her as twilight fell and fireflies danced around the yard.
The scent of her was tinged with Pimm’s, which she’d declared they needed after the beer ran out. He’d helped her use the gin-based drink to make a cocktail with fruit and herbs picked from her garden before they’d added fizzy lemonade to make a batch big enough for the group. It was funny that she admitted she’d never made it for her friends before this. It was quintessentially British summer.
“Why haven’t we had Pimm’s before? I love it,” Sera said. “Who knew a gin-based liquor, fruit, cucumbers and mint could be so yummy?”
“The British,” Poppy said with a laugh. “I just hadn’t thought about it in a while.”
“I’m glad you did,” Liberty said. “I could do without the cucumbers, but it’s not bad.”
“Liberty doesn’t like cucumbers,” Poppy said in an exaggerated aside to Ali.
“I figured that out,” he said, turning to face her.
She sighed, touching his hair with a soft hand. “Please don’t be fake.”
Her words drove an ice pick into his heart. He’d hurt her before, and this entreaty that she would never have made if her guard had been up told him just how much. “I’m not.”
“You feel real,” she said as she rested her head on his shoulder.
He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her closer. Real. That was what he was trying to get more comfortable with.
They played the rest of the game with his arm around her. It was fun, and though he doubted he’d play other than with this group, he enjoyed it. On the way out of Poppy’s house, Wes talked to him about his father’s brew, which had gone much better after he’d used Alistair’s tips. Soon he and Poppy were alone and cleaning up, and Alistair knew he should leave.
Poppy had switched to lemonade after her entreaty that he not be fake. The slight buzz she had seemed to have left. She was quiet...pensive, really. What was she thinking?
He had no idea, but frankly this wasn’t the first time he’d had no clue what was going on in her head. “What’s up?” he asked.
“You kissed me earlier.”
He waited, but she didn’t say anything else, just leaned against the counter, crossing her long legs and watching him.
“I did. I don’t want to be just friends. I want to keep getting to know you, but this not touching, kissing... It feels odd.”
She tipped her head to the side. The sun had left her cheeks reddish and drawn some freckles on her shoulders. Her hair had loosened from her ponytail due to the heat, strands lying against her neck.
The loose-fitting top she wore pulled taut over her chest as she crossed her arms under breasts. “Yeah, it’s not us to be just friends. But I don’t want to go back to being just lovers.”
“Me either. I want to take this friendship to the next level. I don’t know if I’ll be any good at it,” he admitted. “But not trying feels fake.”
A slight smile teased her lips. “Fake isn’t what we’re going for. I’d rather have something that’s real and true that burns quickly like the summer heat than something fake.”