16. Poppy
Poppy
“ I need an extra-large coffee, and maybe a shot of espresso.” I cross my arms on the counter and drop my forehead into them. We stayed out later than we should have last night. Or at least later than I should have, considering how early I have to get up to start baking.
But it was so nice to have a summer night on the beach with the girls.
We grabbed a bottle of rosé to go with our sorbet and it felt like the old days.
Before we were busy with adult responsibilities.
Just a group of high school girls sneaking out of the house past curfew for no reason other than to say we did.
“Rough night?” Nessa laughs, picking up the boxes I deposited before collapsing on her counter. A second later, she slides an iced coffee across the counter to me.
“Let’s just say I could probably use Wren’s typical order today.”
“Wren’s order should come with a surgeon general’s warning,” Nessa snorts. She’s all too aware of our friend’s unhealthy caffeine habit. After all, she ends up being the main supplier.
“Good morning,” Stevie’s cheery voice sings from the doorway.
I mumble back an indecipherable groan.
“Tired?” she asks, pushing my hair out of my face.
“Oh, no, I’m doing just great.”
“Clearly,” she replies with a smirk. Then turning to Vanessa, she asks, “Can I do a sweet cream cold foam on the coffee today?”
“Coming right up.”
Now just the two of us, Stevie looks at me with a serious expression on her face. “How are you feeling about things in the light of day?”
“There’s nothing to have feelings about.”
Apparently, her plan was to trick me into talking this morning under the guise of a coffee break. And once Stevie latches onto something, she is not one to let it go.
“Poppy, I saw. You practically swooned when he put his arms around you. And, since when would you be okay with him touching you in any way?”
“Fine, but not so loud,” I whisper, my eyes darting around the café to make sure no one heard her.
“Okay, listen. There have been moments since this show came along that we haven’t seemed as actively hostile towards one another.
Brief moments. But even still, it’s really gotten in my head. Which is probably his plan.”
“His plan for what?”
“Psychological warfare.”
Vanessa returns with Stevie’s coffee, and we slip out the door to the peaceful streets of the Brick District.
The trees create a peaceful shade as we stroll down the brick walk, headed back towards my bakery.
People ride by on bicycles in beach attire, taking over the roads in the heart of town this time of year.
Stevie sips her coffee, a contemplative look on her face. “Do you honestly believe that?” she asks. “That he’s playing a game?”
“It’s easier to accept than the alternative.”
“Which is?”
“That he’s simply choosing to be nice to me for no reason.” I shrug.
“Maybe there is a reason,” she muses.
My heart races at her words, and I’m desperate to throw her off the trail before she continues down this path.
I can’t worry about something as silly as hoping a boy is nice to me because he likes me.
The show is resting on our tenuous frenemy situation, and the show is what matters.
Because that’s the way I get to keep my bakery.
There is one thing I’m curious about though. “Speaking of last night, what was with that little look you two kept giving each other during trivia?”
She hesitates, pursing her lips. “Just between us?”
“Sure.”
“When everything happened with their parents, Hayden and Beckett became prisoners in their own home. They were forced to transition to online school and had to quit the lacrosse team. With no other family and no one to trust—considering things—they closed ranks. Hayden even dismissed all the staff.”
My brain works to process what she’s telling me—reconciling it with my memory from the events. “But you were there a lot, right?”
“Yeah, I went to support Beckett. But I was really the only person they let in. Hayden didn’t have anyone.”
I try to ignore the pressure in my chest hearing that. I can’t imagine him being lonely; he always seems so well liked and outgoing.
“A few weeks in, I convinced Beckett to binge Friends . And Hayden joined us.”
“This is not the direction I expected you to go. I figured it had to do with an ex-girlfriend or something. But I remember that he always seemed fine. I would see him out and about like nothing was wrong. I swear, he strolled right down these sidewalks so casually.”
Stevie shakes her head. “He was not fine at all. As the oldest, Hayden inherited everything?—”
“Even though he was in high school still?”
“Yep. Technically it’s all his, not Beckett’s.
But I think he went in and handed half over when Beck turned eighteen.
Anyway, he didn’t just get the estate, he got the company.
Which as you know was in the middle of a federal investigation.
He had all these hearings and meetings to attend.
I know that he would come down to see Mrs. Silberman for help sometimes.
I think she’s the only adult he could trust, being his mom’s closest friend.
That was probably when you saw him in town. ”
My mind is whirling, and there is not enough coffee in the world to help me work through this. We’ve reached the wharf and begin up towards the bakery. I’m running out of time to ask all the questions I have.
“How were they prisoners? Like actually on house arrest legally?”
“No, well… kind of. The federal agents had them on a short leash. But there were the lawyers, the company’s clients, their dad’s associates, reporters, and podcasters. And they all wanted a piece of the high school boys that remained in the wake of everything. It was disgusting.”
“How did I not know any of this?” I gasp.
“I think overall, the town did a really great job of not joining in the gossip. And we were young,” Stevie reasons.
We come to a stop in front of the bakery, and she smiles softly at me. “Thanks for the walk. And just so you know, I don’t think psychological warfare is Hayden’s thing. He’s had to deal with enough of it, and I don’t think he would put someone else through that. Especially you.”
“Especially me?” I call after her as she starts to retreat back down the pier.
“See you later,” she shouts with a wave over her shoulder. Leaving me with more questions than answers, and a jumble of feelings in my chest, I think Stevie was just partaking in her own psychological game.
I step inside my bakery and prop the door open, letting the fresh summer breeze waft inside.
As I get to work, the smell from the salty sea mingles with the fresh sweets baking in the oven.
It’s the simple pleasures that relax me—and this morning, those simple pleasures are Nana Annette’s scones, blueberry popovers, and rocky road cookies.
In this shop, I’ve created my own personal heaven by the sea.
When everything for today’s menu is done, I turn my focus to a test run for episode two’s recipe. I’ve decided on my strawberry and cream croissants. Locating the dough hook and attaching it to my mixer, I ask, “What do you think, plan on doing some more work today?”
I try to flip it on, and nothing happens. No light indicating life. So, I have my answer. With a sigh, I flip it back off and check it over. It’s a useless cause; there’s nothing I can do to make it work. This mixer makes its own decisions.
I try toggling it on and off a few more times to no avail.
Looks like I need to rethink my plan for the next episode.
Tara had promised an advance before our series airs, and it looks like I’ll be using it to get a new mixer.
In the meantime, I need to switch out the croissants for a recipe that doesn’t need this particular piece of equipment.
A buzzer pulls me from my thoughts, my popovers are ready. Withdrawing the tray, I head out to the front and start placing them in the display.
“Hey, Poppy.”
I look up to see Wes stepping through the doorway. “Hi, what brings you by?”
“I’m in charge of food for the meeting this morning, and figured I’d grab some station favorites.”
A snort escapes me. “I know my things aren’t everyone’s favorites.”
“You’d be surprised. And before you bother arranging them, just give me the rest of those blueberry things you’re holding.”
I laugh, pulling a bakery box out and filling it with popovers. “Anything else?”
“I’ll take a bit of everything.”
Wes checks his phone as I put together the order for him. Glancing up, he mutters, “Definitely those scones, Hayden would be pissed if I didn’t get those.”
I can’t escape the man today. But who better to fact check his potential games than a friend and coworker?
“Does he actually eat them?” I place my hand on my hip and wait.
It doesn’t take long for Wes to realize he’s stepped in the middle of something. Looking back down at his phone, he sheepishly replies, “Well, yeah. I didn’t think it was a secret though.”
“What about these, will he eat these?” I motion to the rocky road cookies.
“He did at the last town meeting,” Wes shrugs.
“I didn’t give him one at the meeting.”
“Ivy did. Is this a big deal? I leave town for a few years and you all start acting weird,” he grumbles. Then, lifting his gaze over my shoulder, Wes spots the crate of strawberries on my prep table. “What are you making with the strawberries?”
“Nothing, now. My mixer doesn’t work anymore.”
“Damn, I love that strawberry pretzel thing you make sometimes.”
“The strawberry pretzel pie?”
“Yeah, I think that’s it. But this all looks great. Thanks, Poppy.”
“Sure, have a good day.”
“You too.” Wes starts across the lobby, cramming a cookie in his mouth as he leaves.
Maybe strawberry pretzel pies are worth considering for my menu. It’s the only fruit I don’t have a plan for anymore. But I can’t do them right after the lemon tarts, they’re too similar of a look. Pulling up my episode plan on my phone, I look at what can be switched out.
It’s no use, though. I can’t seem to focus, my thoughts distracted by the confirmation that Hayden loves my baking. I think back to the morning he admitted as much to me. The morning he took care of me.
Every day that passes, I start to doubt myself more and more. I doubt that I’ve ever really known him, and I can’t help but think about how I really want to know him.