7. Hayden
Hayden
“ W hat just happened?” Captain asks me as I approach the crew once again.
I had done exactly what I was supposed to, and at the same time, probably something I shouldn’t have.
As soon as the call came in, it felt like my heart was in my throat.
The idea of Poppy so close to danger had my mind whirling.
The second I surveyed the scene and saw the fire through the roof, all that mattered to me was getting her far, far away.
Our first step with a blaze this size is to evacuate the surrounding structures due to fear of spread.
But everyone just saw me pawing at Poppy in the process.
“I cleared the building,” I reply, adjusting the mask on my face once again.
“No, you just… I don’t know what that was. But your hand was not in the proper position for a fireman’s carry. Are you dating that girl?”
My laugh sounds more like a bark. I would pay good money to have seen Poppy’s reaction to his question.
“On the hose,” he instructs me. With the surrounding area cleared, I follow Cap’s order and get to work battling the fire at Oak + Harbor Pizzeria.
“You looked pretty handsy with a girl you aren’t dating,” Captain shouts from the hose beside me.
“She’s a pain in my ass. Has been for years. I didn’t have time to deal with her attitude, that’s all,” I call back.
“Someone in this town that’s not charmed by Thompson? That must be one smart woman,” Nash cuts in from his spot on the hose. He’s made the same deal as me to be a part-time firefighter alongside his sea-air rescue duties.
“She’s got my vote,” Cap adds.
“And thanks to me, she’s not sitting in her little bakery next door waiting to get charred.”
“I’m guessing she didn’t thank you for carrying her to safety.” Nash laughs.
“The day Poppy Wheeler actually thanks me for anything is the day hell freezes over,” I snort.
Turning my attention back to the task at hand, I pour my attention into working diligently with the crew. I’m good at this. Active, hands on, needing to be calm in crisis. It’s always been my thing. It makes sense to me. More so than the alternative path I was nearly forced down.
We get the fire out without it spreading to any neighboring buildings, such as the bakehouse, or any structural part of the wharf.
But even still, I feel for Sam. His pizzeria got hit almost a year ago by a deputy who went off the rails and started destroying businesses around town. Now he’s facing a much bigger repair.
I catch sight of light, strawberry-gold hair at the edge of the crowd gathered.
Poppy is alone now, whoever had been with her is long gone.
And she’s watching me with an indecipherable expression.
Whatever she is thinking, the look in her eyes is certainly less violent than I’m accustomed. Curious, I start her way.
“Need something, Poppy Seed?”
She opens her mouth and shuts it again in a tight line. That’s a first. But maybe she’s just worried about the bakery? When she doesn’t respond, I speak again.
“Your place is fine, nothing spread to it. Once we get out of here, you’re good to head back in.”
“Okay, good.” She nods distractedly.
That wasn’t the issue then.
“Who were you with in there? I saw a camera, which seems pretty weird unless—” It dawns on me who would have a camera in her bakery. “Was that the show?”
“What’s it to you?” Poppy snaps. Whatever shock she was experiencing must be wearing off.
“Fine, don’t tell me,” I growl, looking over to my crew.
Guilt gnaws at me for being here with her rather than helping wrap everything up.
“And you’re welcome, once again,” I add, turning back to her.
It’s then that I notice the way her body seems to sag under some invisible weight. Something is wrong.
“Yeah, you’re so helpful. Coming in and ruining everything,” she murmurs. There’s a tremor in her voice as she whips around, turning away from me.
“Wait, Poppy.” I reach for her arm, but she jerks it just out of reach. Without another look back at me, she storms off, stomping those white sneakers.
Shit . I just ruined something for her. She didn’t have a violent look in her eyes because she was sad. And there was something else there too. Something I can’t quite identify. Watching her go, I lift a hand to my chest and rub at the intense pressure building there.
“Thanks for putting that out,” someone says behind me. It takes me a few seconds to tear my gaze away from Poppy, and when I do, I find that it is Sam speaking to me.
“I’m really sorry you’re dealing with this,” I tell him. “You’ve gone through it lately.”
“This is what I get for trying to be hands off and have a soft retirement. Turns out, my new manager didn’t know you have to clean out the grease trap.”
I nod, my face in a sympathetic frown. Build up in a grease trap? That’ll do it.
“But no damage outside of my place, right? The bakehouse is fine?”
“Yeah, everything stayed contained,” I assure him.
“Good. That’s good. Poor girl had enough problems during renovations, she didn’t need this too.”
I open my mouth to ask Sam what happened during Poppy’s renovations when Cap approaches. “Can I steal you?” he asks Sam.
With a nod goodbye, Sam walks away, holding onto information I desperately want about the bakehouse. I follow after them, returning to the tasks at hand. But as I pass by Poppy’s place, Sam’s words rattle in my head.
Poppy
There’s not enough caramel in the world to fill the cracks in my heart. But as I pour the sticky confection atop the shortbread, I’m determined to try.
And admittedly, it does feel slightly better to be baking in my home kitchen. I can almost feel my grandmother baking right alongside me.
My kitchen at home is simple, with creamy, antique white cabinetry and wooden butcher block counters. It is a U shaped kitchen set up, and I have a long wooden dining table that I like to push against the wall under the window and use as a makeshift prep table.
It’s more than enough space for the baking I’m doing today. And there was no way I was going to stick around in Hayden’s proximity after his alpha, caveman attitude today.
Who just throws someone over their shoulder in a building that isn’t the one on fire? The feel of his thumb swirling across my leg remains hours later, tattooed to my skin. It’s like heat is radiating there, similar to the effects of getting a sunburn.
I had gone home in a daze, hoping space would provide clarity to the way the day had played out. Now, in the familiar setting of my lifelong home, the clarity comes with a sense of being utterly forlorn.
I spread the caramel and turn to the bowl of chocolate I have ready to melt.
Working in a steady repetition, I let myself slip into a comforting rhythm.
Heat, stir, heat, stir, until the chocolate and butter are satisfyingly blended.
Then I pour the chocolate atop the layer of caramel and smooth it out.
It doesn’t matter how many times I turn the problem over in my head while baking.
As far as I see it, there are only two options that remain after I exhausted my first choice of calling Tara and begging her to reconsider.
She wouldn’t be swayed, leaving me with the choices of doing the show with Hayden or withdrawing.
The worst part is, I’m not even the one who gets to decide this. My fate literally rests in the hands of the last person I would ever want to rely on. If I do ask Hayden, it’s all up to him. If he doesn’t do the show, I don’t.
Tears and fury bubble up within me equally. I have worked tirelessly to save money, to learn my craft, to get to where I am. And for what? In the end, I’m forced to take a chance on a man I am fairly certain hates me. To be on a show I’m not even sure I want to be on.
I want to scream at the top of my lungs, rail against the universe. I want to throw something. To break something.
But instead, I breathe. Long and deep and slow breaths.
I’ll figure this out, but I need my girls to do it.
Besides Nana Annette, they’re the only people I trust with the vulnerable sides of myself.
They’ve witnessed it all firsthand—the self-doubt and the need to hold on so tightly to control that I unravel completely.
Pulling out my phone, I click straight to the group text. Tomorrow is the day of the week when my bakery is closed. And it seems like the perfect day to hit the beach.