Chapter 3 #2
Naturally, I glance at her glass beside her to see if she’s drunk. Mimi Stanfield isn’t one for PDA unless it comes to Trevor or alcohol is involved. I believe she’s only on her second glass, so I’m confused by the sudden display of touchy feels aimed in my direction—Ah!
This isn’t for me but for her friends. Got it.
I set my napkin on the table and stand to play my role as the devoted daughter. Making my way to the front of the private dining room at Nobu, I go to her and open my arms to hug her. Though I have doubts, there’s an inkling of hope she’s being genuine.
“What are you doing?” She’s quick to brush away my offering before I make contact. “No. No, Poppy. Not you. It’s time for you to present your gift to me. The bride.”
I don’t miss the snide little dig at the end, her tone snapping when she thinks no one else can hear her.
“My gift?”
“Your wedding present for me and Trevor.”
My eyes widen, but somehow, I’m able to hold my mouth closed. I expect her to start laughing, but she doesn’t. Joke’s on me, though, as I stand there dumbfounded in front of everyone. She asks, “What did you get me?”
“Well,” I start, leaning closer, “some people consider their children a gift.” I smile, hoping I suffice for once in my life.
“Not me,” she corrects with a fake smile plastered on her lips.
“Nope, not you.” That’s my cue. I turn around and head for the exit with only a quick detour to grab my purse from the table. What did I expect? She’s never going to change.
I open the door, ready to slip out, but hearing her call my name stops me. Am I being petty? A bad daughter?
“Poppy?” she calls once more, feigning pain as if I’ve wounded her. Maybe her ego but she never had a heart.
I hate myself for doing this, but I give her one last chance. Standing in the doorway, I turn back, ready to be the bigger person and support my mom when it comes to something important to her. “Yes?”
“Email me the menu tonight by eight o’clock.”
With every pair of eyes in the room swinging from her to me, I realize my mistake was trusting her in the first place.
I slip into the main restaurant, ready to make a quick getaway, but duck when a server walks by with a tray full of plates. “Sorry,” I say to his back as he rushes away.
When I turn to leave, I run right into a heavenly-scented, soft cotton-covered wall of hard muscle. My hands fly up and fist the T-shirt just as I’m caught by the elbows before I bounce off. “Oh God,” I squeal, mortified.
Before I have a chance to properly apologize and meet my savior, my ankle wobbles. “Oops,” I yell, catching myself by grabbing him around the middle and holding on. Good lord, this man is built like the statue of David.
“You’re safe.” The soothing tones of his deep voice wrap around me like a snuggly sweater. My eyes close, and I sigh contentedly, happy I didn’t fall for him . . . I mean, off him. “I think it’s safe to let go.”
His honeyed tone has me savoring every second. It’s been so long since I’ve been with a man—Oh my God! I remove myself from his incredibly delicious body and visor my face in horror as I hurry away, hoping I don’t make more of a scene than I already have. “Sorry,” I shout.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to—”
“Sorry. So sorry about that.” The hostess opens the door for me. I look back quickly, my eyes meeting his for the briefest of moments before the door closes. I hand my ticket to the valet and walk to the corner, wanting to be nowhere near the restaurant. If I could wait down on the beach, I would.
Pulling my phone from my purse, I call my best friend, needing her to talk me down from this ledge of humiliation.
“Hello?”
I begin to pace, holding my hand to my forehead. “I’m so embarrassed, Marina.”
“Oh God, what happened?” I appreciate the perfect pitch of panic in her tone.
“I was clinging to him.” Raising my voice, I say, “Clinging,” as if she didn’t hear me the first time.
“Um, I’m going to need you to back up and tell me the full story. Don’t leave out any details. Who were you clinging to?”
“The most perfect man I’ve ever . . . Well,” I start but stop, my shoulders dropping. “I didn’t get a good look at him, though I got a brief one, and he was gorgeous, but I got a great whiff.”
“Poppy, tell me you didn’t smell him.”
“Okay, when you say it like that.”
My car pulls up to the curb. I tip the valet and hop in, locking the doors as if I can keep the mortification out. I can’t. When I check my appearance in the rearview mirror, I look like I have a bad sunburn.
Marina asks, “Is there another way to say it?”
“Oh God.” This is torture. I pull away from the building as fast as I can without breaking the law, knowing I’ll never be able to return to one of my favorite restaurants. “What have I done?”
“You did nothing wrong, Pops. Don’t worry about it.” She can’t hide her laughter on the other end of the call. “Inquiring minds want to know, though. What did he smell like?”
“Sin, Marina. He smelled like the best sex of my life.” Ugh. I miss being touched and desired, craved to the point of losing myself in someone else. “Happy?”
“Yes,” she replies so smug since she’s not the one who disgraced herself in front of the man of her dreams. She’s also married, so she won’t get it. “I need to hang up now so I can die on the inside from complete and utter embarrassment.”
“No need to die, but that might mean you’re ready to date again.”
“What’s the point when I just blew it with the most perfect man I’ve ever me—smelled?”