Chapter 39
JETT
Poppy and I spent most of the afternoon together in bed, practicing everything she’s learned, learning about each other’s bodies in a way I’ve never done before. In the short time I’ve been with Poppy, I’ve gotten to know her on a more intimate level than anyone else.
I know that she likes coffee in the morning, tea in the afternoon. I know that she has about two hours after a meal before she needs a snack. I know she keeps heating pads in every room of the apartment for when she’s having a flare—I ordered a couple to keep around my house, too.
I can count on her getting turned on if I kiss her shoulders. It’s pretty much guaranteed that she’ll be screaming if I curl my fingers at a very specific angle when I have them inside her.
Although I agreed to give her lessons, I can’t help but feel like she’s teaching me things I never cared to learn before I met her.
Still, I need to know more. I could have spent all afternoon in bed with her, discovering every button I can push to make her moan my name.
Figuring out how to make her smile in the way that makes my heart turn to mush.
But by the afternoon, both of us were spent, our stomachs grumbling. Poppy wasn’t exaggerating when she said there was no food in the whole place, so we’re bundled up in our coats and scarves, walking hand in hand down Main Street toward Mack’s for groceries.
“What do you want to eat?” I ask her as the burst of warm air greets us when the doors slide open.
She shrugs. “I don’t know, I’m not much of a cook, honestly.”
I tilt my head, flashing her a look that says no?
“I’m usually pretty sick of cooking when I get home from the café, and by then I’m starting to get sore, so I just throw a frozen dinner in the microwave.”
“I’ll admit I’m not much of a cook either.” I pick up a basket from a stack at the front of the store. “Out of the four of Landry boys, Grady’s the only one who knows his way around a kitchen. But I have an idea, since you don’t know what you want.”
Now, Poppy cocks her head at me, and I close the gap between us, taking the edge of her toque and unfolding it so it’s covering her eyes.
“What are you doing?” She giggles.
“It’s a game Winnie used to play with us as boys,” I explain.
Poppy is still laughing, putting her arms out in front of her as I steer her towards the aisles.
“I’ll tell you how many steps to take down the aisle, and then wherever you are, you can take the blindfold off and select an ingredient within two steps of where you are.”
“We’re going to end up with totally random things!” She exclaims.
“That’s the fun. Then, we’ll figure out a meal we can make with it.” I make her stop walking when we reach the first aisle. “Okay, first one, ten steps.”
She tentatively takes a few steps in front of her and then stops.
“There isn’t anyone in the aisle, is there?” She asks me, almost frantically.
“Nope, no one.”
A lady standing down the aisle looks at me with a look of confusion, and I hold my fingers up to my lips in a shushing motion. She smiles and shakes her head.
“Okay, ten,” Poppy says, reaching almost the centre of the aisle. We’re in sauces and spices. She lifts her toque up and looks around, puzzled.
“Choose wisely, Poppy. The sauce can make or break the meal,” I warn.
She scrunches her face at me, hands on her hips, and something in me melts.
She’s so fucking cute.
Poppy goes back to examining the sauces, and selects one, bringing it back to place it in my basket.
The rules of the game used to be that whoever was shopping had to carry it, and therefore the implication was that we couldn’t get more than what we could carry, but I know Poppy’s wrists bother her the most when she has to carry anything heavy, so I left that part out.
“Honey mustard?” I ask, almost alarmed. “Bold choice, Pops.”
“That’s my pick,” she says with a broad smile. “You have to trust me.”
I cross my arms, my biceps bulging. “I think you’re just trying to sabotage me since I’m cooking.”
“That doesn’t sound like the competitive, cocky, Jett Landry I know.”
Poppy steps forward, into my space, and my pulse races at her nearness. Her poking and prodding makes me want to scoop her up and walk her straight back to her apartment, fuck her senseless.
“Show me what you got,” I say instead, and gesture for her to put her blindfold back on.
I lead her to the next aisle and give her a number. Sixteen this time. She takes the steps and finds herself in the aisle where she takes off her blindfold.
She gives me a cheeky grin and taps her chin as if she’s thinking about which ingredient will be the hardest to incorporate into a meal.
Holding up the bag she’s picked up off the shelf, she walks back to me triumphant. Stir fry noodles. I flash her an impressed look, and we carry on.
We move through the store, selecting a few produce items and a protein, and then I take her to the candy aisle.
“The meal isn’t complete without a sweet treat.” I get her ready at the end of the aisle again. “But this time, no looking when you pick your item.”
She huffs a breath, and I whisper the number in her ear, and as she takes her slow and steady strides down the aisle, I hurry ahead of her and stand where I hope she’ll end up.
“I don’t even know which direction to go!” She shouts, as if I’m still standing at the end of the aisle and not right next to her.
Poppy puts her arms out in front of her and turns in the opposite direction to me, so I duck around her and move to the other side of the aisle.
She reaches out to select a bag of candy and ends up grabbing my shirt instead.
“Jett!”
She stumbles a little, not expecting me to be there, and I catch her, my arms circling her waist. That goofy toque is still covering her eyes, but I don’t need to see her face to know that she’s blushing, that her breath hitches at the way I’ve caught her.
Before she can remove it, I plant my lips on her mouth and she smiles against mine as she kisses me back.
When I’m with her, nothing else matters. When I’m with her I just can’t help but smile, even when we’re kissing. That’s the feeling I get with Poppy, the reason that this—all of this—is so different with her.
Even when there’s problems, when things aren’t easy.
That’s when it hits me.
Being with someone you love means that you double your joy and half your sorrow. Facing difficult things with someone else is easier, not harder. Poppy has learned to lean on me when she feels unwell, maybe I can learn to open myself up, too.
Poppy’s body melts into me, relaxing and allowing me to hold her, and something hits me right in the chest, it’s solid, knocking the air out of my lungs.
I don’t want this marriage to end.
Poppy pulls back from me when we hear a squeaky shopping cart round the corner into our aisle, and the lady from earlier walks towards us. Poppy smacks a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle, but the woman has already caught us making out in the candy aisle.
“It’s nice to see two young people in love.” She winks at us as she passes. “You two look like the picture of happiness.”
A warm feeling spreads through me as Poppy and I glance at each other. I am happy with her. The happiest I’ve been in a very long time.
I lean down and kiss Poppy one more time, a quick one, before picking up the basket across the aisle and holding my hand out for hers.
I just want to stay in our bubble a little while longer.
“I don’t know how you’re going to put together something edible with what I gave you, but I’m looking forward to watching you try,” Poppy says. She takes off her coat and hangs it by the door while I unload the groceries onto the counter.
“Haven’t you learned not to underestimate me by now?” I flash her a smile and get to work. Thankfully, Poppy selected chicken as the protein, and even though the produce is a bit random, I think I can make something half decent.
Poppy hops up onto the counter to sit and watch me as I cook, and her presence here feels comfortable. Everything about spending time with Poppy feels comfortable.
I always thought that being in a relationship would mean having to share space with someone and always feeling penned in, but with Poppy, it’s when she’s not around that I’m the most off.
I start by slicing the chicken into bite sized pieces and throwing them into the honey mustard sauce to let it marinate while I chop up everything else. Poppy is still watching me with assessing eyes, and the feeling of them on me sends a warmth cascading down my spine.
Once I’m done chopping the veggies—an interesting mix of cauliflower, Brussel sprouts, and bok choy—I throw the chicken in the pan to start it cooking, and then I wander over to where Poppy is seated on the counter, inserting myself between her legs.
“You never ended up selecting a dessert,” I say.
She wraps her hands around the back of my head, twining her fingers through my hair and tugging. The sensation makes me take a sharp inhale, and if I didn’t have food on the stove, I’d be undressing Poppy right here.
“I already know what I want,” she purrs, and I raise my eyebrows.
“Oh yeah?” I ask the question in a way that tells her I already know the answer. But I want to hear it from her.
She leans down to whisper in my ear, the warm puff of air sending a delicious shiver through me. She says something about sucking my cock and swallowing, but I almost miss most of it because an involuntary groan makes its way out my throat.
I lean my forehead on her shoulder and try to regain control of my body. Because I know by now what Poppy can do to me with just a look, a word, a fucking sound.
When I pull back and look at her, she has that cheeky grin on her face, like she knows what she does to me, and she fucking enjoys it.
“You’re getting the hang of the whole dirty talk thing.” I can’t help but notice how her eyes dart down to my crotch, at the bulge straining against my jeans.
“And you’re getting the hang of not coming in your pants every time I look at you,” she teases.