Chapter 42
Forty-Two
Poppy
“And then Gerald just waddled away!” Gertie exclaims. “I caught the entire thing on video. See?”
Gertie plays the clip for at least the tenth time that evening.
“It’s official,” Storm says, lifting my hand and pressing a kiss to my now naked wrist (the cast came off only hours ago and I, for one, am thankful I won’t be whacking myself in the face with it ever again).
“What’s official?”
“Our daughter is the head of the Cedar Hollow Mafia.”
I giggle and lean against him.
“Killer!” Shep says. “We can run all of our criminal activity through her.”
I jab a finger at him. “Not funny.”
Clarke, sporting black-framed glasses and a close-cropped blond beard, grins. “It’s kind of funny.”
My finger jab extends to Clarke too. “Hush, you.”
He grins, opens his mouth (definitely not to hush)—
“Hey, handsome.”
I still, but Paige isn’t paying attention to me. She’s sidled up to Clarke and is trailing a hand down his arm.
“Buy me a drink?” she croons. “Poppy, I’ll take—”
Eyes cold, he deliberately shifts away from her touch. “No, thanks.”
Paige’s mouth drops open. “I—”
Clarke turns back to Gertie. “Can I watch that again?”
Gertie looks at Paige. Then at Clarke. And I half expect her matchmaking urges to be in full effect. But she just holds up her phone, taps at the screen, and plays the video of my daughter bossing Gerald into spitting out Storm’s ice cream for the umpteenth time.
Paige stands by the bar for one more uncomfortable second.
Then, cheeks flaring bright red, she stomps from the bar.
“I really don’t like that one,” Storm whispers.
“Me neither,” I whisper back.
And it’s not just because she didn’t pay her tab.
“Yo, Pop!” Tommy calls. “Quit canoodling and bring me a refill!”
“She can canoodle all she wants, Tommy!” Gertie snaps.
I chuckle but intercede before things get too out of control. “I’ve got you!”
“See?” Tommy glares. “She’s got me.”
Gertie sniffs but then Blossom comes up to the bar. “Can you top me up when you a chance, Pop?”
“I’ve got it,” Storm says.
“Thanks, honey,” I murmur.
“I’ll get my payment later,” he says softly.
Heat in my belly. Pink on my cheeks. “I think it’s time for my payment.”
He grins.
Then gets to work on refilling the glass of soda water and pulling a lager for Roger (because he’ll want a refill too), delivering them before heading into the back to grab another keg.
I make Blossom’s drink, but when she starts to tell me to put it on her tab, Clarke interjects—
“I’ve got it.”
Blossom bristles, her eyes narrowing. “You think I can’t buy my own drink?”
“I think,” he says, his eyes narrowing right back. “I think I was just trying to be nice.”
“Oh yeah?” A smirk. “Then why didn’t you buy Paige a drink when she so clearly wanted you to?”
“Because Paige isn’t my type.”
“Oh? And I am?”
“Yup,” he says. “Because you don’t have your tits out, right along with your hand, silently asking me for my wallet.”
I choke on my laughter and turn away to take another order.
But I don’t miss that Gertie’s taking in every word.
Or that Blossom looks like she might dump her drink—for the record, a Bitter Blossom—over Clarke’s head.
“I squeezed the blood orange juice myself,” I blurt.
She jerks, hazel eyes coming to mine. “What?”
“Don’t waste it,” I say, flicking my gaze to her hand, which is tightly clenching her drink.
She scowls at me.
Then at Clarke.
Then spins on her heel and goes to join Clem, Daisy, and Clover (and Shep).
“What’s up her ass?” Clarke mutters.
“Probably your misogyny,” I quip.
His brows lift in question.
“Tits out?” I ask. “Silently asking for your wallet?”
“Am I wrong?”
“About Paige?” I shake my head. “No. But about Blossom? Yeah. She’s not the type of girl to win over just by buying her a drink.”
“How would you suggest winning her over then?”
“That’s for you to figure out.”
He’s the one scowling this time.
I just nod at his empty glass. “Another beer?”
“Yeah,” he mutters.
I get him a refill, make my rounds, and am just slipping back behind the bar to cash out a couple of tourists when I feel a sudden rush of air as the front door opens.
Turning, I see a beautiful redheaded woman walking into Sully’s, a surly brown-haired man trailing her.
The couple looks around the busy bar floor for a minute before heading for one of the few empty tables.
As they walk, the woman smiles, says something to the man, and I watch as the cool mask he’s wearing fades away in an instant, displaying a man who’s completely and utterly in love with the woman at his side.
My heart rolls over in my chest, and I’m happy she has that.
Happy that I have it too, I think, looking up to see Storm at the end of the hallway, carrying the heavy keg like it weighs nothing.
Thunk!
It hits the hardwood floor hard enough to have everyone inside the bar freezing and turning toward him.
Whispers start up as he just stands there, and I know the moment he processes them, processes the eyes on him.
Because he tears his gaze from the gorgeous redhead whose face has gone carefully blank.
From the man who’s moved protectively to the woman’s back.
His eyes come to mine and they don’t belong to the man I’ve fallen in love with, don’t belong to the Storm I’ve come to know.
They’re cold.
And angry.
And full of lightning and gale force winds and—
Hurt.
So much hurt.
Then without a word, without a smile, without a single explanation, he turns on his heel…
And he walks away.