Chapter 7
Poppy had always thought that when people talked about twiddling their thumbs, it was metaphorical… but, as it turned out, that wasn’t the case. She was, in fact, literally twiddling her thumbs.
Not because she was bored! No, it was the complete opposite. She was full of nervous energy, and didn’t know what to do with any of it other than reaching across the table, grabbing Max’s head with both hands, and planting an enormous kiss on his lips.
That was probably not the best course of action right now, and so she placed her hands firmly on her lap.
Now, however, there really wasn’t anything to do except get lost in Max’s gorgeously dark eyes. Except that that wasn’t polite, either.
The silence was excruciating.
Say something, you fool.
“Uh…” she said intelligently.
Max cleared his throat.
“So,” he said awkwardly. “You like Joseph Heller?”
Poppy’s brain fizzled out for several seconds while she tried to work out just where that had come from, and how on earth she was supposed to respond to it.
But then she remembered their little meeting in the kitchen last night – how could she forget?! – and the moment when she channeled her inner Neanderthal and demanded, Give me eat.
She let out a jittery laugh. So he’d actually known that she was referencing something, rather than just suffering from a severe vocabulary deficiency. That, at least, was something to be relieved about.
“Sorry, that was just force of habit,” she said. “Sometimes I say it to Geri – that’s my cat – when she’s demanding her dinner. But, yes: I do like Joseph Heller. Well, I like Catch-22, anyway. Um.”
Apparently this was enough to satisfy Max, because he nodded thoughtfully.
“You have good taste,” he said – and while the words sounded like they were being dredged up with some difficulty, her heart did a little flutter.
She’d already noticed yesterday that he wasn’t a very social person, and so for him to be complimenting her, a near-stranger, on her taste in literature…
well, it felt like more than she’d dared hope for.
She’d been expecting him to get up and leave the moment he’d finished his drink, but here he was, saying nice things to her.
“What do you like to read?” she asked, both to try and keep the conversation from petering out, and because she was interested in learning more about him.
“Oh, a bit of everything, really,” Max said, and while the comment was offhand, Poppy could see his face lighting up, hear his voice getting more lively as he spoke. “I used to read constantly when I was a kid, and I guess I just never stopped.”
Poppy watched, feeling a smile spreading across her face, as he continued on. “I love the classics, but I also love modern literature, and I went through an autobiography phase a while back – oh, and poetry, of course.”
“Of course,” Poppy echoed. She’d had no idea that he could be this chatty! It was like she’d found some sort of secret ‘on’ switch for his mouth.
She was sorely tempted to ask him about his writing, but she had a feeling that it would be pushing him too far, too fast. The last thing she wanted to do was make him clam up – it really was nice, hearing him talk about something he enjoyed.
“I’m just about to do a re-read of The Name of the Rose,” he went on, before he pulled up short, his expression turning from open to self-conscious. “But I’m rambling.”
Dammit, Poppy thought. Out loud, she said, “That one’s been on my to-read list for years, but I never got around to it. If you’re re-reading it, then I assume I can take it as a recommendation? I’m always up for some murderous monk shenanigans.”
“Oh, definitely,” Max said, and then he was off again on another tangent about medieval monks.
Poppy relaxed back in her chair, content to just listen. She’d had no idea that Max could be like this… although really, was it a surprise, given the way he’d been scribbling his notes last night?
Her fingers twitched as she remembered the fountain pen she’d bought for him, sitting there in her purse, and she fought down the urge to just hand it over to him now. How she was going to give it to him without things getting awkward, she didn’t know, but she really did want him to have it.
In the meantime, she was happy to just stare at his gorgeous face and let his words wash over her like gentle ocean waves, happy that he was happy.
She was broken out of her reverie by the arrival of her cake and coffee, and she almost cursed the interruption, because it meant that Max had stopped talking.
On the other hand, though, she really did want to try the cake. Lunch had been a cup of rich, hearty minestrone soup from a little stand by the side of the road, which she’d eaten standing up, cradling the warm cup between her hands. It had been delicious… but not quite enough to satisfy her.
And anyway, Sadie had given her a coupon for this bakery, and she’d instantly recognized the name from the boxes of cake and cookies at the B&B, so really, what choice had she had?
Distantly she noticed that Max was ordering a coffee too, and her heart skipped a beat – did that mean that he actively wanted to spend more time with her? His empty teacup would have been a perfect excuse for him to leave, if he’d wanted to.
But the larger part of her attention was taken up by the enormous chunk of chai-flavored cheesecake that had been placed down in front of her – it was practically a meal in and of itself. How was she ever going to get through it?!
You could share, the little voice in her head whispered.
She did want to share it with Max, but it looked so good that she could probably eat it all herself without too much effort.
It was so pretty, though, that it almost seemed a shame to disturb it – it was a light, soft, velvety brown, speckled with spices, and decorated with star anise, cardamom pods, and long curlicues of orange zest. It looked and smelled divine.
And, she could now confirm, it tasted even better than it smelled – the buttery base crumbled deliciously as she bit into it, and the cheesecake practically melted in her mouth, the spices dancing on her tongue.
It’s like a warm hug for my mouth, she thought happily. It was surprisingly light, too – she knew she wouldn’t feel like a heavy, gluggy, regret-ridden mess afterwards, despite the cake’s enormity.
Max sniffed the air, apparently picking up the heady scent.
“Is that the chai cheesecake?” he asked, looking like he was doing his best to look only mildly interested, rather than like he wanted to grab it with both hands and devour the whole thing.
“Yeah,” said Poppy with a laugh. “You want to try some? It’s really good.”
“Oh, no, no,” Max said, still staring at it with an intensity that made Poppy wish for one strange moment that she was a piece of chai cheesecake. “I can always order one if I want to.”
“Well, now’s your opportunity to try before you buy, if you’d like,” Poppy said, picking up a spoon from the table and holding it out to him.
Max eyed the spoon, his face unreadable.
Am I being a bit pushy? she wondered. Though at least I didn’t give him the fork that had already been in my mouth!
She opened her mouth to apologize, about to move her hand back, when he reached out and gently took the spoon, eyes locked with hers, his fingers brushing her skin ever so slightly.
“If you’re sure?” he said.
“I… okay,” she breathed. “Please. Go for it.”
He cut off a small piece with the spoon and then raised it to his lips, meeting her eyes again for a moment before they closed in ecstasy.
This guy really does enjoy his food! Poppy thought, entranced, as she watched him eating. It was like he was savoring every possible moment that even a tiny amount of the cake remained on his tongue, deconstructing its flavors. She could’ve watched him all day.
Definitely jealous of that cake right now.
Eventually he seemed to snap out of it, opening his eyes.
“Was it good?” Poppy asked, though the answer was pretty darn obvious.
Max paused for a moment, before eventually saying, “‘Good’ doesn’t begin to cover it.”
“I don’t think I’m going to be able to fit it all in,” Poppy lied. “If you’d like to share it and help keep the leftovers from going to waste, you’re more than welcome.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “Really? I know they do takeout here – you could just get a box.”
“I don’t want to carry a box around with me,” said Poppy. Which, while technically true, wasn’t her main motivation here. It was just that the only thing she wanted more than eating the whole piece of cake herself, was eating it with Max and seeing his enjoyment.
He looked at her a moment longer, before seeming to come to some sort of conclusion. “I’ll help you eat anything you can’t finish, but you should have as much as you like.”
“Deal.”
Poppy got started on the cake, trying to make it last and get as much enjoyment out of it as possible, while Max took the occasional sliver from the edge, obviously trying not to eat too much of it.
She watched, holding back a giggle, as his glasses fogged up as he took a sip of his hot coffee. It clearly irritated him, but she couldn’t help but find it enchanting.
You’ve got it bad, girl, she thought with a sigh.
They spent the next few minutes in comfortable silence, the murmur of the bakery’s patrons, the clank of cutlery against plates, and the tumbling snow outside the window lulling Poppy into a contented, almost dream-like state.
I wonder how often I could make an excuse to come here for a vacation, she wondered. Can I justify the cost of an airfare and accommodation just to eat cheesecake?
As she swallowed down another mouthful with a happy sigh, she thought that not only was an annual trip justified, it was practically an obligation. Her taste buds demanded it.
All too soon, the cake had been eaten down into a skinny, wobbly tower, and she pushed it over onto its side, feeling oddly satisfied as it fell with a thwap! onto the plate.