Chapter 9 Cherries
Cherries
Poppy
Three things I’ve learned today:
Alligators mostly live in fresh water.
The bugs in Florida are bigger than they have any right to be.
Jack Hartman absolutely despises me . . . but also, he needs me.
Not like that, of course. I snort at the mere thought. Would he kiss me, under other circumstances? Sure. I’ve learned that pretty much
any man in existence with an interest in women will at least think about it. It’s been that way since I turned sixteen, however
gross that sounds. Part of the reason Dad hated it so much when I snuck out was that he thought I’d be sold into sex trafficking,
and he’d have to hire ex-Marines to do a whole Taken-esque sort of rescue. Other than a few Instagram stories, I’ve kept quiet in the days following the restaurant mess, my notifications
silenced. It’s been a relief not to see all the comments and messages, especially the objectifying ones from random men on
the internet.
I shiver with disgust at the thought. I’d dive under the blankets for the illusion of safety, if not for the fact the air conditioning in this apartment is horribly out of whack.
I might die of heat exhaustion in my sleep.
And that’s if I get to sleep in the first place.
The window until four in the morning is dwindling with each passing minute.
Before I left the restaurant, Jack and I hammered out a plan. Well, the beginning of one. He gave me the rundown on the finances
and the areas of need—he’s using his savings to fix up the restaurant—and I gave him his first assignment: decide if he’s
changing the restaurant’s name. Meanwhile, he told me not to wear open-toed shoes, quote “ever again in my presence.” I teased
him about having a secret foot fetish, but he didn’t even crack a smile. Judging by the hairnet he practically forced upon
me earlier, I sense a lot of ugly outfits in my future.
It’s funny that we both want the same thing: to return to New York, triumphant. I had high hopes when I arrived in Florida
a few days ago, making my way to Diamond Bay and finding this tiny, too-stuffy place to rent, but I half-expected Jack to
kick me to the curb before I could get a word out. Especially after he had to rescue me from the lagoon.
I snort against my pillow. That’s the second time he’s been on top of me, all stern and scolding. If it happens a third time . . .
well, I won’t protest too much.
The loud ring of my phone jolts me upright. I fumble for it. Julia’s name flashes across the screen. I breathe a sigh of relief
that it’s her and not Mom or Dad.
“Hi, Jules.”
“That’s all I get after days of radio silence? Hi, Jules?”
“What? Obviously, I’m not dead.”
“Thank god for that.” It sounds like she’s shuffling some papers around. “How are you?”
“Are you still at the office?”
“Yeah, we’ve been slammed. Dad is looking into a few properties on the west coast.”
It’s no surprise that she’s working this late into the night. I don’t understand it, but Julia actually likes contracts and negotiations. She does a happy dance whenever she closes a deal.
I cover a yawn with my hand. Even the thought of contract language is boring. “I’m fine. I got an apartment.”
“An apartment,” she repeats skeptically.
“It’s nice.” I eye a crack in the ceiling that looks, to say the least, alarming. There wasn’t much for rent in Diamond Bay,
and since I don’t drive, I needed to be close enough to the restaurant to walk. Maybe I’ll buy a bike. “Well, it’s acceptable.
Furnished, too. Whoever decorated it is a Jimmy Buffett fan. There’s a cheeseburger in paradise sign in the bathroom. Weird
place for it, right?”
“You’re really doing this, Poppy?”
“I told you I was going to.”
“I know.” Julia lets out a breath. “You. In Florida. And not even Miami Beach.”
“So?”
“The bugs will eat you alive.”
“Bug spray.”
“The sun will give you wrinkles.”
“You know I wear sunscreen every day. The good Korean-made stuff, too.”
“You don’t like being too hot. It makes your skin itchy.”
“It is hot,” I admit. “I think the air conditioner is broken. But you know what’s weird? A lot of people are wearing pants
and hoodies anyway. I keep thinking they’re going to faint.”
“Do not become that person.”
“I didn’t even bring a hoodie.”
“Thank god.” Julia laughs. “I don’t know, Pop Tart. This is pretty badass of you.”
“Really? You said—”
“I know.” Her voice softens. I can imagine her sitting at her desk, hair pulled into a bun, cast in a pool of light with a
relatively hushed Manhattan around her. “That’s why I wanted to call. I’m sorry I was so hard on you.”
“Oh.” I sit up, curling my legs underneath me.
“New York is a big, shiny bubble. You don’t need it. Leaving was smart.”
I’m silent for a moment. Hearing that from her means more than she realizes, probably, and I don’t want to get blubbery over the phone. My entire life, I’ve looked up to her. Stuck to her like a shadow, wanting to emulate everything that makes her so wonderful. “How did the statement go over?”
“Fine. Ryan’s reps were being little bitches about the spilled drink, but that was an accident, so whatever.”
“And Dad?”
“Pastiche is fine. You know how he gets about that place.”
“Mom?”
“She’s set up every possible hurricane alert. If there’s even a whisper of a tropical depression, she’ll probably blow up
your phone.”
“Yikes.”
“She also learned what a Florida Man is.”
“Oh my god.” I snort. “Jack doesn’t qualify, but he’s close.”
“Mmm. The tattoos. I could totally see him wrangling an alligator.”
“He rescued me from a lagoon today. I, uh, thought I saw an alligator and fell in.”
Julia’s bright laughter fills my ear. “No way. That’s nearly as bad as the champagne at the wedding.”
My amusement fades at the reminder of that day. Julia wasn’t upset—nothing could dampen her wedding day—but of course our
parents, Dad especially, had plenty to say.
“Jules?”
“Yeah?”
“Is it bad if I want some space from them?” I bite my lip, but the words tumble out anyway. I’ve been thinking about this
since the moment I left for Florida. I’ve never had distance from them like this, but it might be what I need. “Like, no talking
for a bit? With Mom and Dad, I mean. I still love them, obviously, it’s just . . .”
“Of course not.”
“Really?”
“I mean, it’s not going to be forever, right? Just for now.”
“Well, I definitely won’t miss Thanksgiving. Do you think there’s a universe where I’d give up having Mom’s sausage stuffing
and Caroline’s sweet potato pie?”
“You know Caroline still won’t give me the recipe.”
“What? You’re married!”
“She says she has to keep some of the mystery alive.”
“Wow.” I’m smiling so widely I can feel it. I’m glad that Julia and Caroline found each other. I have no idea if something
like that is in the cards for me, but I hope so. They’re a perfect match. “I didn’t know she could be so cutthroat.”
“How is Jack?” Julia says his name slowly, like it’s something to savor. I can practically see her raised eyebrows, her prodding
expression. She’s always been nosy when it comes to me and men.
Not that this is a “me and men” situation.
“It’s not like that.”
“I can’t believe you willingly partnered up with him. I thought you hated him.”
“I don’t hate him.” I fiddle with a loose thread on the blanket. “But I definitely don’t like him. He’s . . . ugh. Smug and irritating.
Even though he saved my life today.”
“He’s handsome, too.”
Images of his taut, tattoo-covered biceps flash through my mind. “That’s not relevant.”
“No? Not even a little?”
“Don’t,” I warn. “Besides, he hates me. I know that for a fact. He only agreed to this because I begged him in my underwear,
and—”
“Wait, what?”
“—he knows that he needs me. He has the personality of a snail. Or a fish. The underwear thing was by accident. Did I not
mention that? I put on a shirt.”
“What are you going to do once you’re at the restaurant every day?” I can hear the amusement in her voice. “You’ll have access
to knives, you know.”
I think about my supposed cooking lessons and shudder. In the past, whenever I’ve tried to cook, it hasn’t gone well. One
time I forgot to put water in the pot when making pasta. Another time, I melted a plastic spatula in the oven (accidentally,
but still). Julia, to no one’s surprise, can manage a three-course meal with ease. Like a proper Winfield.
It’s not that I’m opposed to the idea of learning more about the back of house.
I haven’t sorted out all the details yet, but behind-the-scenes updates as the restaurant progresses will definitely help with the interest level.
It’s just that I can’t imagine Jack being a very patient teacher.
Or that I somehow have untapped talent when it comes to the kitchen.
Hopefully the basics will be sufficient.
“I don’t know how to throw a knife or anything.”
“No, but he might.”
“Then he’ll dump my body in a lake and act really upset about his missing sort-of employee when the cops interview him.”
“Have I told you recently that your imagination is disturbing?”
“Thank you,” I say, beaming even though she can’t see me. “Listen, this is why it’s perfect. I’m sure he’d rather make out
with, like, a lobster than me.”
“Ew.”
“A huge, slimy lobster. Antennas and all.”
“Don’t make me hang up.”
“Really, though. I help him, he helps me, and we go our separate ways.”
“If you say so.” Her voice catches on a yawn. “Ugh. I need to go home. And you should get some sleep.”
“Tell me about it. He wants me over there at four tomorrow.”
“Four? As in three hours from now?”
I pull my phone away from my ear to look at the time. “Crap.”
A gentle snick of laughter. “Goodnight, Pops. Love you.”
“Love you.” I check to make sure the room isn’t suddenly covered in cockroaches, then turn out the bedside lamp. If one crawls
on my face in my sleep, I’ll be scarred for life. “Remember, if you don’t hear from me in a few days, call the Diamond Bay
police and tell them Jack did it.”
Despite my flippant tone, my stomach tightens with nerves. I wouldn’t put it past him to fire me on day one. I need to be
perfect, or I’ll be out on the curb before noon.
It’s a long time before I fall asleep.