33. Poppy
Poppy
T he smell of fresh scones fills the air. Lemon, butter, and floral notes waft through the space. The heart shape to them has me feeling lighter than usual this morning, giddy even. I can’t stop smiling. If anyone could see me now, they would never believe that Hayden is the reason behind it.
And yet, he is. Being with him makes me feel seen.
Cared for. I have my girls, and my mom checks in.
But with Hayden, it’s like I don’t have to face things alone anymore.
There is a stir within me at the idea of leaning on him.
And I wonder, if it comes down to it, can I allow myself to do just that?
The door to the bakery swings open, and I move around front to greet the customer. My visitor isn’t a customer, though. Instead of coming face to face with an eager tourist or friendly local, it’s Tara’s perfectly lined lips that curl into a gleaming smile when I appear.
“Poppy, darling. Lovely morning, isn’t it?”
Wiping my hands on my apron, I plaster on my own cordial smile. “It certainly is. What can I do for you? I thought we were scheduled to reshoot episode three tomorrow.”
“Oh yes, everyone is beyond excited to get back to it tomorrow. But… I wanted to follow up on our conversation that was cut short the other day.”
“ Ah ,” I hum in understanding, as if I didn’t know that would be her focus. She reminds me of one of those hunting dogs that have a one-track mind once they start on a scent. “Well, let me see what Hayden’s availability is,” I start, pulling out my phone.
“How about we talk without him, girl to girl.”
That’s a bold new angle. I quirk an eyebrow at her. “You want to talk about his family without him?”
“No, my dear. I want to talk about your business without him. And it is your business alone, right?”
Part frustrated and part curious about how she thinks she can strong arm me, I take a step to the side and motion for her to come back into the kitchen. Pulling out a stool for her I lean back against the counter and cross my arms.
“What are your concerns about my business?”
She takes a seat and slides glasses onto her face before withdrawing her tablet. “I’ve taken the liberty of crunching some numbers for you. And with an advance, you’d be able to completely overcome the roadblocks you’re facing right now.”
“Excuse me? How do you have my numbers?”
“Oh, I don’t, I just know the cost of operating.
You have no staff despite the little detail I know about you having a standing order from the café that includes delivery.
That means you can’t afford a second set of hands, even part time.
And I know what your inventory here is like.
From there I just need to make a few basic assumptions for rent and other expenditures. ”
Finding whatever she’s looking for, Tara hands the tablet over and slides her glasses up onto her head. “The number on the left is our first offer that we discussed to do the show. The number on the right is my revised offer as of today.”
I scroll through the spreadsheet before me. She’s not far off in terms of my expenditures and budget. Other than the one glaring detail about the debt I racked up on renovations—which I am happy to keep from her.
Reaching the bottom of the data, a sharp breath hisses from my lips. The number is more than double the original contract. My eyes scan it three more times for good measure before I look up at Tara. “What changed?”
“Hayden Thompson,” she answers frankly. “With his story, we can pull in a whole new market and double our viewers. Double the viewers means double the pay out.”
Fire burns in my chest, flicking and swirling about as it only gains fuel with each passing second. My eyes narrow as I work to manage my breathing and douse the flames threatening to consume me. I’m trying to channel my best Hayden. Calm and collected in the face of bullshit.
But I’m not calm. I’m a fireball. A hurricane. A force to be reckoned with. And I cannot believe I thought Tara was kind and understanding the first time we met. But I guess that’s her hook, coming to small towns and spinning a tale of heart.
Stillness washes over me as I reply with tight, even words. “I’ll stick with the original offer, and you’ll leave him out of it. No mention of his family or his last name.”
“Don’t be foolish, I know what you can do with this money. Think of your business.”
“It’s funny, I didn’t realize I had signed on for a financial advisor when I agreed to the show.”
Tara’s high-pitched laugh rings out, casting a shrill echo through the bakery. “I do love that sharp tongue of yours. But I’ll cut right to the chase—the original offer is off the table.”
“You’re trying to tell me I have no options?”
“You get more money, and we focus everything on the Thompson mystery. We can plan all the meals about a menu for wealthy New England elite and how they spend their summers.”
“Or?”
“Or we pull you from the show completely. To me, it’s a no brainer.”
Finally, that elusive calm washed over me. Because there is nothing to fight about. I straighten my shoulders and hand the tablet back to Tara. With a smile, I say, “It’s a no brainer for me too.”
Hayden
The sound of slamming, clanking stainless steel greets me as I step into the bakehouse. Poppy is typically a stickler for precision, the opposite of whatever is happening back in her kitchen. Rounding the corner, I come to a halt and take in the mayhem before me.
Baking sheets and mixing bowls are strewn about, a cloud of flour floating in the air. At the center of it all, Poppy huffs at the mixture she’s whisking and slides it across the counter. I catch the bowl as it skids my way and grin at the surprised look on her face.
“What did this stuff ever do to you?” I ask, peering at the bowl in my hand.
“The peaks weren’t stiff enough,” she scowls.
Setting the bowl to the side, I close the distance between us and wipe the mixture from her cheek. “Is everything okay?”
She looks up at me with a pained expression. “What are you doing here?”
I’m leaning in to kiss her when her question stops me abruptly. I wonder if we aren’t in a place where stop-ins are a normal thing. “I wanted to see you,” I tell her cautiously. She couldn’t have changed her mind in one day, right?
“Oh, that’s sweet,” she breathes, bringing her hands up to loop around my neck.
Her embrace settles my racing heart. Taking her face in my hands, I stare into her eyes. “What’s going on?” I watch her try to look anywhere but at me. When she doesn’t reply, I guess, “Is this about the show?”
“Yes.” She bites her lip and gives a small nod.
Just this morning, the world felt brighter. The sunrise more stunning as I sat on my surfboard and basked in the pale pink light. Now, the sunset is blazing through the front window of the bakehouse, and I hate the darkness that is settling over Poppy’s features.
“I need you to tell me what happened,” I urge, catching her hand in mine to stop it from picking at the loose thread on her apron. “Please.”
“Tara came in.”
“Today?”
She nods again.
“And you didn’t call me?” I hate the idea of Poppy getting cornered, even if I’m confident she can hold her own. She shouldn’t have to all of the time.
“Tara asked me not to. Her angle was to get me to agree behind your back, clearly.” She pauses to roll her eyes. “She tried to make it sound like we would have a simple chat, businesswoman to businesswoman. It was insulting how she thought she could trick me with such an obvious approach.”
With our fingers intertwined, I pull Poppy to the prep table in the back and sweep her up to sit on the metal surface.
My hands settle on either side of her, the table feeling ice cold after the warmth of her hand.
But it’s better this way, having her eye to eye with me for whatever we are about to wade through.
“What did she say?”
“The show is over. It’s not happening.”
A knot tightens in my gut. “I have a feeling you’re leaving out some important details—like how that decision came about.”
“The price was too high to pay, so I made the call. Although Tara really didn’t take it well. She told me she’d be back with enough lawyers to crush my little bakery.”
“What about us making this decision together? Don’t you trust me?” I lift a hand to drag it through my hair and turn away, looking out the front window and watching the golden hour paint the wharf in its glow.
“I do, I trust you. But?—”
“But you made this call without me? Does this at least mean you will let me help you or?—”
“I didn’t have a choice,” she replies with force.
“Explain it to me then.” My voice is shakier than I expected. Straightening, I pace back and forth across the kitchen. If she doesn’t let me help her now, she’ll lose this bakery. She’ll lose out on the most important thing to her.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her jump down from the table. She closes the distance between us and takes hold of my arm. Pulling me back towards her, she is softer when she speaks again. “Stop moving, Hayden. How am I supposed to talk to you when you are prowling around like that?”
“I’m not prowling. What does that even mean?” I mutter, lifting my gaze to stare into those beautifully disarming eyes. She places a palm over my heart and my own hand automatically rises to close around hers.
“Tara told me that the only two options were to plaster your family story as the headline, or not do the show at all. And there’s no way I’m going to use you like that.”
“ Poppy, ” I whisper. “Do you realize what you are doing?”
Sliding her hands up to cup my jaw, she levels me with an amused look. “I believe it’s called a gesture, Baywatch.”
I rest my forehead against hers and sigh. “You can’t do this for me. I know you were counting on the money to keep the bakehouse open.”
“Why can’t I? It’s about time this”—she lifts a hand and moves it from her chest to mine—“goes both ways.”
My mouth is on hers in an instant, desperate to show Poppy what this means to me. Because I don’t have the right words to tell her. She chose to protect me. She picked me . And there’s nothing in this world that could ever feel better than Poppy Wheeler picking me.