Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
Poppy
“I can walk, you know,” I say as Storm carries me—and the cooler and the blanket—up the narrow, overgrown trail.
“I like you pressed to my back, Poppyseed,” is all he says in return.
How can I argue with that?
Or the fact that he isn’t even breathing heavy while carrying…
Well, everything.
So I just tighten my arms around his shoulders, my legs around his middle, and I…go for a ride.
Plastered to a sexy hockey player’s back, bouncing lightly against his muscles, all that he told me still whispering through my mind.
He didn’t leave.
Or he didn’t leave like I thought he had.
Didn’t leave me…just this town.
His father.
His past.
My eyes burn and I settle my chin against his shoulder, exhaling softly.
“All good back there?”
“I think,” I murmur. “That for the first time in a long time everything truly is good.”
He pauses, and then suddenly, the cooler and blanket are on the ground and I’m on my feet and he’s in front of me, cupping my face in his hands, those gray eyes on mine, delving into the very depths of my soul. “Pop,” he whispers. “You mean that.”
It’s not phrased as a question.
But it is one, anyway.
“I do,” I whisper. “You’re here. I’m here. Holly’s here. We’ll figure out what it means, figure out how to move forward together.”
His eyes slide closed for a long moment, all the tension bleeding from his shoulders. “Thank you,” he whispers back.
“And what we do with Holly, how we tell her, that’s separate of whatever is between you and me.”
Those lids peel back, something dark crossing through his expression. “What are you saying?”
“I just mean…” For some reason, I can’t hold his gaze. Mine drifts from his and I stare unseeing at the trees, the branches swinging slightly in the summer breeze. “If we don’t work out, I’m not going to take Holly from you.”
His fingers flex on my cheeks, but he doesn’t say anything for a long moment.
Then he exhales, lightly brushes the backs of his knuckles along the column of my throat. “Thanks for that, Poppyseed.” He scoops up the cooler, the blanket, offers me his back again. “Can you hop up?”
I answer by stepping onto a log and jumping spider-monkey-style onto him.
He chuckles. “I guess that’s a yes.”
“It’s a yes,” I agree as we—or rather, as he—starts walking again.
A winding path, blackberries ripe on the vine…and entrapped by dangerous poison oak. Laughter from further down shore, wind rustling lightly through the branches overhead. The crunch of Storm’s shoes on the path, the slight rattle of our trash in the cooler with each of his steps.
“So,” he says as we turn onto the main path. “How do you think we should handle telling Holly about me?”
The question is edgy, careful.
Like he expects me to shut him down, to tell him that we’re going to wait, that it’s too soon.
“Honestly,” I say. “I’m surprised that no one’s spilled the beans to her already.”
His stride hitches for a moment.
Then he keeps walking.
“We can tell her tonight. Explain in Holly-appropriate terms. I…” My mind starts working, thinking about how to phrase it, how much to tell her, wondering how she’ll react.
She likes Storm and has asked about her “real” dad a bunch.
But, as though she knew how much it hurt to not have Storm in our lives, my normally dog-to-bone (wonder where she gets that from) daughter didn’t push.
“We don’t have to rush it, Pop,” he murmurs. “I just…”
Wants her to know her dad.
I want that too.
But part of me is still scared.
It’s just…the part of me that was worried he’d get bored and move on knows that isn’t fair.
What drove Storm out of Cedar Hollow…
It wasn’t boredom, wasn’t because he didn’t want me.
He was escaping a nightmare. He was trying to survive.
And it wasn’t joy and pleasant memories that brought him back to me.
It was another chapter of his painful past.
So…it’s time for the town to work its magic.
“We’ll tell her tonight,” I say. “I’m only working half of the closing shift because Cassie picked up a few extra hours. So, we can go to the park, make dinner”—I lean forward to mock-glare at him—“and that’s not an invitation to shit on the meal for tonight, mister.”
“Well, now I’m curious, Poppyseed. What delectable goodness are you cooking up?” He turns his head and I get an up close and personal view of his gorgeous gray eyes and sly smile.
I find out about that sly when he adds,
“Though, I know it’s not pasta.”
Another narrow-eyed glare.
Then I decide to take that sly in hand.
I lean forward, close the distance between our mouths.
And I kiss him.
Exactly how I planned to before Gertie interrupted us.
He groans, drops the cooler and blanket, and his arms band around my middle, drawing me in front of him, dragging me flush against his body. I gasp, and he takes advantage, kissing me deeper, holding me tighter.
Hot and wet.
Sleek and strong.
Mine.
For how long?
I shove the thought away—know that it’s unfair, know it’s not his fault.
But it’s too late. He senses the change in me, the sudden tightness in my body, and he pulls back.
Those scorching gray eyes search mine.
But he just cups my jaw for a moment, brushes his lips over my forehead. “We should go pick up Holly.”
I nod, take his hand, and let him guide me along the path.
And, I have to admit, I miss the ride.
But I keep that thought to myself.
The last thing I need is for the man to get ideas.
Or to take my offhanded comment as a challenge and carry me through all of Cedar Hollow.
“For the record, I’m making Kitchen Sink for dinner.”
He frowns. “What’s that?”
I grin. “It’s a surprise. You’ll have to come to dinner to experience the full gloriousness of all that’s Kitchen Sink.”
“Am I a pussy if I admit that I’m scared?”
“All feelings are valid,” I say pertly. “Except about my Kitchen Sink.”
He laughs…right as we emerge from the trees.
“Glad to see you didn’t forget the time,” Gertie says as she lugs her paddle board up the shore.
Storm pauses, his head tilting back, his eyes on the sky for a heartbeat. Two.
Then he exhales, lightly squeezes my hand before releasing it.
“Here, Gertie,” he mutters, reaching for the board. “I’ll carry this to your car for you.”
She beams, pats his shoulder…then strokes it. “Such fine muscles you have there.”
He glances over at me, rolls his eyes.
“Want me to carry the cooler?” I offer.
A shake of his head, those eyes warming. “I’m good, Poppyseed.” Then he tucks the board beneath his arm and takes off for the parking lot.
I pause, watching him walk, all lean lines and brutal strength…not to mention that gorgeous ass.
And seriously, but hockey players have the best asses.
Gertie sighs and when I manage to tear my gaze off of Storm’s ass-ets, I see she’s enjoying the sight of him walking away just as much as I had.
She winks, trails after him, and I start to do the same.
Then pause and feel laughter bubble up in my throat.
Because Karen—that being the goose named Karen—is snatching a trio of hot dogs off a grill, swallowing them whole, one after another.
The couple barbecuing makes a token effort to shoo her off, but she doesn’t budge, just eats her fill before lazily waddling off.
“Gerald would be proud,” I say to myself, turning away, knowing that her mate definitely would.
Bubblegum ice cream and hot dogs.
Grinning and shaking my head, I murmur, “The Cedar Hollow Mafia strikes again,” then hurry to catch up with Storm and Gertie.
He’s just finishing securing her board and paddle when I reach them.
“Such fine muscles,” she says again, practically petting his chest and shoulders. “Thanks for using them for my benefit.” A sly smile before she waggles her brows at me. “What I would give to be thirty years younger.”
“Try forty,” Storm mutters.
“What’s that, dear?” Gertie asks, her expression sharpening.
Biting back a laugh, I close the distance between us, bend and give Gertie a hug and kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”
“I’ll see you tonight,” she corrects and this time I do laugh.
Then I link my arm through Storm’s. “Bye, Gertie.”
We watch her get in her car and pull away.
“Holly?” Storm asks once she’s gone.
I nod. “Holly.” A beat. “Park and ice cream. Kitchen Sink and UNO. And then…we tell her.”
Warm gray eyes coming to mine. “Sounds like a plan, Poppyseed.”
The walk to the Pioneer Museum takes no time at all—because this is Cedar Hollow—and then we’re standing outside the gates, watching as the kids stream out.
Watching as Holly runs across the lawn toward us.
“Hey, Mom!” She launches herself into my arms, hugs me tight enough for all the air to rush out of my lungs. “I had the best day ever!”
Before I can respond to that, she turns to Storm and says something that has it happening all over again.
“Hey, Dad!”
So much for the best laid plans.