18. Poppy
Poppy
“ W hat are you doing?” Hayden shouts, jumping out of his fancy little car. I roll my eyes as he storms my way and I reach up for the next peach hanging before me. “ Poppy ,” he grits out, coming down the row of trees. “You can’t have a ladder leaning on a weak limb like that.”
“Why are you always so bossy?” I shoot back. “You act like I haven’t done this a hundred times.” I can see him nearing out of the corner of my eye and twist to face him. “Being a firefighter doesn’t make you a ladder expert?—”
But I twist too fast. Beneath me, the ladder becomes unbalanced. I squeal, reach to get a purchase on the nearest branch, and miss it. Squeezing my eyes closed, I brace myself to hit the ground. But it doesn’t happen.
Instead, I’m caressed down against a solid chest. Hayden steadies me, one hand under the bend of my knees, the other spreading across my back. “I’ve got you,” he assures me.
His arms hold me tight to him, and this time I don’t immediately pull away.
“I only fell because you caught me off guard,” I attempt to argue. But both my voice and my argument are weak.
His expression softens. “I need you to be safe, Poppy Seed,” he murmurs with a gentle tone that causes a flutter to erupt in my heart.
It’s a very different reaction to the nickname than any time before.
And maybe it’s due to the feeling of being in his arms, or maybe it’s the way that he sounded more concerned than condescending.
But my brain is becoming hazy on the reasons I should despise him.
My arms had wrapped around his neck to brace myself initially, and I slowly relax them, letting my palms slide down his chest. There’s no hiding the way I’m studying the feel of his muscles. And from the way his breath catches, Hayden doesn’t seem to mind.
“This is where you tell me that I should thank you,” I whisper, staring up at his disarming gaze.
A slow smile creeps across his face. “But I’m guessing you have no intention of doing such a thing.”
“For once, you are correct, Baywatch.”
The air between us is thick, and I remind myself that it’s a humid summer day. This has nothing to do with the way our bodies are pressed together.
Hayden trails his thumb up and down my thigh from where he’s got my legs thrown over his arm, the motion sending ripples of heat to my core. I’m accustomed to feeling heated around him, but this is a wholly different kind.
I don’t want him to stop. I’m craving his touch. And the feeling is something I am utterly unprepared to experience.
I lift my hands from his chest and shake my head. “We should go inside.”
“Right.” He clears his throat, gently placing me back on the ground and moving to pick up the fallen ladder. “Do me a favor? Stop finding the smallest twig to lean this against.”
I toss my hair over my shoulder with as much fire as I can muster. “What I will do is be mindful of swinging my body around when you come charging over with demands next time.”
“I’ll take what I can get. That at least sounded close to you agreeing to be careful.
” He stops and brings his hand to his chest in mock surprise.
I slap his arm, moving to pick up my bushel of peaches when Hayden beats me to it.
Carrying the load, he leads the way towards my house.
I only catch up as he reaches the front door and lets himself right inside.
Acting completely at home, he moves through to my kitchen and deposits the basket of fruit on the counter. He turns to watch me enter behind him and asks, “What’s the plan for today?”
“Mini peaches and cream cheesecakes. Start washing the fruit and I’ll get to work on the graham cracker crust.”
“And then?”
“You can slice the peaches and put them in that food processor.” I point to the appliance waiting in the corner.
He rinses them as I asked, and it’s not long before I hear the knife slicing into the fresh fruit.
I also hear a low, lazy whistle. Turning, I lean against the table and watch him work.
His back is to me, but from this angle, his posture seems relaxed.
And he moves the knife in time with the tune on his lips.
This is nowhere near what I imagined when I pictured our working together.
“Need something?” he asks, turning to face me as well, a twinkle in his eyes.
“You seem to be in a good mood.”
“Should I not be?”
Pressure builds in my chest at the idea of being vulnerable with Hayden. Nevertheless, I let the question on my mind fall from my lips. “Do you mind doing this with me?”
Setting the knife down, he wipes his hands on a towel and folds his arms across his chest. “Are you asking if I mind being on the show? Or if I mind spending time with you?”
“Both?”
“I don’t mind any of it, Poppy. In fact, I’m even enjoying myself.” He sounds genuine. And the look in his eyes is making my mind reel.
I watch him cross the room and gently remove my hand from my lips. Again, I hadn’t even realized I started to pick at them. Instead, I’m hyper focused on his closeness.
He slowly raises his own hand to my bottom lip and drags his thumb across it. “These are so pretty.”
My mouth parts ever so slightly, and desire floods my senses. I peer up at him, letting wildly inappropriate thoughts run rampant in my mind.
“Is this okay?” he whispers.
Unable to find my words, I nod yes. Our eyes are locked on one another, as if in a trance.
“Okay. Can we try something?”
My heart races at his request. There’s plenty I want to try with him at this moment. All of which would cross over the tenuous peace we have and go straight into frenzied passion.
“What would we try?” I whisper back.
Trailing his hand down to cup my face, he murmurs, “I want you to tell me about your day.”
I pull back in surprise. “You want to talk ?”
“Did you want to do something else with me?” A wicked grin dances across his face. He knows I certainly had other things on my mind than talking, and he’s loving it.
“I just—” I blink rapidly, trying to settle the growing sense of need within me. “We don’t talk.”
“Which is why I want to.”
Hayden lifts me to sit on the table beside my abandoned mixing bowl. Stepping between my legs, he leans in and rests his hands on either side of my hips. Then he asks, “How was your day?”
“It was… it was good.”
“That’s good, I’m glad.” He sounds so calm, unbothered. All the while, tension swells within me as his leg brushes against my inner thigh. “This is where you ask me about my day,” he points out.
“How was your day?”
Closing my legs until they’re fully resting against him, I allow myself to settle into his closeness. I don’t have it in me to push him away this time.
Hayden’s smile widens, sliding a hand along my thigh. “Wicked good. We got our permit today.”
“Your permit for what?” I tilt my head in interest.
“To operate. The air sea rescue is officially live.”
A rush of excitement hits me with his words. “Hayden, that is so amazing,” I exclaim, throwing my arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug.
He lifts his hands to hold me tight against him, burrowing his face against my neck. A thrill runs through me as his warm breath tickles the sensitive space beneath my ear. With his lips gently brushing my skin, he murmurs, “Poppy Wheeler, are you happy for me?”
“Believe it or not, I am,” I whisper. “I really am glad you got the permit.”
A low hum of approval sounds in his throat, deep and devastatingly sexy. I’m going to dream about that sound tonight. A dirty, filthy dream.
“Don’t get used to it, though.” The tremble in my voice betrays my words.
“Too late, pretty girl. I know it’s possible now.” Hayden sweeps a rogue strand of hair behind my ear and smiles down at me.
I don’t argue, disarmed by his gentle touch.
Instead, I ask the many questions swimming in my head.
“How does this work in your schedule? Do you stay a firefighter? Are you only available at certain times?” The most pressing question sits on the tip of my tongue, but I’m too worried to hear the response. How safe is your new job?
“I keep a flexible day schedule as a firefighter. And the hope is that the sea team isn’t needed often, considering we only cover the tri-county coast. But until I can build a second team, I’m always on call.”
“That sounds like a lot,” I muse, allowing my fingers to intertwine with the hair at the nape of his neck. As I do, a flash of heat passes across his eyes, sending my own twin flame through my core. Apparently, we’re trying a lot of new things today.
His voice gruff, he replies, “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“But how does that work with our schedule for the show? How can you be here right now?”
“I wouldn’t back out on you.”
Shaking my head, I clarify, “No, I mean, isn’t this going to be too hard for you? Meeting for this twice a week now that you have two intense jobs?”
“I’m not going anywhere.” There’s a finality to his words, as if it’s not up for discussion. As if he’s talking about more than our short-term agreement.
It’s too much, and I’m drowning in the sea of his gaze. “We should be baking,” I blurt out, dropping my hands from his hair. “You’re not ready for the next episode.”
He remains silent, studying my face. After a moment, the corner of his mouth twitches upward. Whatever he sees in my expression, he doesn’t seem disheartened.
“Okay.” He nods. Then with a pass of his thumb along my cheekbone, he steps back and turns towards the peaches waiting on the counter.
The instant he leaves, my body wants him back in my space. But my heart has been racing dangerously, and I can’t seem to catch my breath. The steady chop of the knife echoes in the silence between us. I listen, letting my breathing flow in time with his movement.
It’s something my grandmother taught me when I would become overwhelmed.
She’d call me into the kitchen and tell me to pair my breath with whichever repetitive movement was required at the time.
Usually, I was the one also partaking in the movement.
But I let myself embrace whatever seems to happen when he’s here, falling into Hayden’s rhythm.
Like a bubble around us, it’s easy to forget our animosity when we’re alone at my house. Easy to forget that I dislike the handsome man willing to stretch himself to help me.
After a moment, Hayden speaks again. “How long ago did you plant those peach trees?”
“Oh, I didn’t.” I look up to find him watching me over his shoulder, waiting for me to say more.
“My grandfather planted them for my grandmother the year he built this house. Nana was an avid baker. And apparently, she stole his heart with her peach cobbler. They got engaged after courting for only a month. He built her this house and planted the peach orchard; they got married at town hall the day he finished construction.”
“Sounds like they had the real thing,” he replies warmly. “She was the one that taught you to bake?”
“She was,” I answer with a smile. “It didn’t take long for me to fall in love with it, just like Nana.”
“You should talk about that on the show. And we should make her cobbler. That would be perfect.”
I sigh, looking down at the graham cracker crust I’ve finished pressing into the tins. “That was my plan, but I’m worried that is too much like the tarts we made last time. And even though I mentioned her in the interview, Tara hasn’t seemed interested in putting it in the scripts.”
“Well, I’d like to hear more about it,” he tells me, his voice sounding significantly closer.
I turn to find Hayden standing behind me, holding the bowl of prepared peaches. He passes it to me and moves to my side at the table. “And I think you should make the recipes that mean the most to you. I can definitely fumble my way through cobbler instead.”
A small laugh escapes me. It would be perfect to make Nana’s cobbler. And I have all the ingredients to switch them out. “You have time to scrap this?” I ask, motioning to the tins of graham cracker crusts.
“I do. And this way we can talk about our own script.”
“We don’t get to make our own script,” I say skeptically. “Sure, we kind of went off book last time. But…” Even as I protest, I think about how nice it would be to control the narrative.
“We’ll find a way. Tell me some more. Did you live here with them?”
I slide the tins out of the way and begin combining the ingredients for the cobbler batter. This feels right. “I lived here with Nana Annette and my mom. My grandpa passed when I was a newborn.”
“I’m sorry,” he offers gently. “It sounds like seeing your grandparents together would have been a special thing.”
Blinking up at Hayden in surprise, I nod.
He managed to hit on a thought I have constantly.
“Nana and I used to sit out in the orchard, and she would tell me stories about him. She was as stubborn as me, and he loved her for it. He never tried to make her be anything but herself. She would tell me how he smiled with such love through every disagreement. It was what I always wished for, a love like she described. It sounded like such a dream.”
“Wished? You don’t anymore?”
“I have the bakery to focus on these days, a different dream.”
A skeptical hum escapes Hayden. “Who says you can’t have both?”
His question hangs between us, suspended in the thick, humid air. If I’m being honest, I can imagine that his tone carries the hint of a promise. But that’s all it is, my imagination.