Chapter 12 Fresh Cream
Fresh Cream
Poppy
I stumble out of the restaurant on shaky legs, already dreading the walk back to my sweatbox of an apartment.
At least the shower works. I’ll scrub everything until my skin shines pink, and then maybe I’ll do a face mask. Anything to
help melt away the layer of grime and grit sticking to me after yet another full day of cleaning.
We’ve been at it nonstop for days now. My life has been reduced to a pattern of wake up, clean, shower, sleep, repeat. I’m
so tired, I don’t even mind the weak AC.
I have to admit that the restaurant is looking better every day. With Herman’s help, we’ve set most of the kitchen and dining
room to rights. There’s hot water (thank god) and a pest company working to keep me from fainting at the sight of dead vermin
(double thank god). If anything, Jack has gotten even more stubbornly taciturn, but I know he’s pleased with the progress.
This work has done a better job at keeping me out of my head than a punishing SoulCycle class. Maybe I’m too exhausted to
think. Maybe it’s nice to ignore the world for a bit. It’s no wonder that it helps keep Jack’s neurodivergent brain occupied,
too.
I undo my braid, chewing on my lip. Still no cooking. Still no talk of what he wants this restaurant, however short lived
it will be, to become.
I jump as a lizard runs across my path. I expected the bugs, but I didn’t know that Florida was so populated by lizards, too.
Tiny ones with curled tails, long brown ones, and even fat ones with reddish heads and yellowy bodies.
They’d be cute if they didn’t remind me of their much larger, much deadlier cousins.
Before I can continue, a cat darts after the lizard. He meows loudly, pawing at a crevice in the sidewalk. Despite his best
efforts, it seems that the lizard got away safely.
I drop to my knees. “Hey, handsome boy.”
The cat deigns to look at me. His fur is a mix of black and white, and one of his ears is missing the tip. He stares with
wide, unblinking eyes as I hold out a hand.
No collar. I chew the inside of my cheek, watching him inch in my direction with careful curiosity. Hopefully he isn’t someone’s
pet. My brain helpfully conjures up the image of a crying girl putting up lost cat posters.
I stroke my hand down his back. He purrs, arching into my touch. Part of his fur is matted, but the rest is silky-soft. I
smile, missing Miso.
“Was the lizard going to be your dinner?” I murmur. “Sounds pretty gross to me, but you never know. Maybe they’re delicious.”
To my surprise, he doesn’t protest when I scoop him into my arms.
A few days ago, I noticed a veterinary clinic on my walk from the apartment to the restaurant. I head there now, holding him
like he’s a baby. He seems quite happy with this arrangement, although it means getting his fur all over my sticky, sweat-slicked
skin. Hopefully he doesn’t have fleas.
“Hello?” I call as I ease into the office.
The air conditioning, deliciously crisp, washes over me. The waiting area is painted coral, with animal photographs on the
walls. The air smells like lemon and the deeper, muskier odor of pets. I take a seat, fussing with the cat. He licks my wrist,
tail flicking.
“Do you have a name? How long have you been living on the streets?” I hold him up, looking into his eyes. The kaleidoscope
of green reminds me of Jack’s. “Are you wanted for lizard murder?”
He meows, as if in reply. I suppress a smile as I stroke his ruff.
I really shouldn’t be getting attached in case he belongs to someone . . . but I can’t deny that my apartment would be a lot less lonely if he was in it.
“What if we called you Alligator?” He meows again, straining to reach my face for a lick. “Gator? Yeah, you’re totally a Gator.”
The door behind the desk opens, revealing a woman around my age. She’s in a white coat with jeans and a silky button-down
shirt, her black hair pulled into a ponytail. As she spots me, her face breaks into a smile. It’s warm and genuine, which
feels magical after the week I’ve had. I notice a little gold chain at her light brown throat, and matching teardrop-shaped
earrings.
“Hi,” she says. “Sorry about the wait. My receptionist called in sick today.”
“Of course, no problem.” I juggle Gator as I stand, meeting her near the desk. “I found a lost cat.”
“Oh, no. Where was he?”
“By the marina. He doesn’t have a tag.”
The woman frowns. “Poor little guy. Why don’t you bring him on back? I’m Dr. Torres, by the way. But call me Kiara.”
“I’m Poppy.”
She leads me into one of the examination rooms. As I coax Gator onto the table in the middle of the small space, she washes
her hands, then pulls on a pair of gloves. This room is painted blue instead of pink, with more framed animal photographs
studding the walls. An especially cute picture of a corgi makes me smile.
I’ve always loved animals. Maybe I should’ve gotten a job at a place like this instead of tying myself to the grump currently
sitting alone in his houseboat. He’s probably going to have straight whisky for dinner and go back for more work now that
I’m not underfoot.
I’m so engrossed in that sad image of Jack that I nearly miss her say, “Poppy Winfield?”
That snaps me into focus. “Oh, god,” I groan. I can’t say I expected anyone in Diamond Bay to recognize me but Jack—that was
part of the appeal of coming here. “You saw the video?”
“Well . . .” She reaches for Gator, checking him over with a careful eye. He looks at her warily but doesn’t protest. She
coos at him. “I mean, okay, technically yes. It’s been hard to avoid. I’m sorry things were so rough for you.”
“Tell me about it.”
“But what I was going to say is that I know Jack. He mentioned you were helping him out at the Sailfish. That was my dad’s
place.”
Unexpected warmth at the thought of Jack talking about me blooms in my stomach, warring with sympathy as Kiara’s words sink
in. “You’re Sal’s daughter? I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Yeah. Thank you.” She hefts Gator onto a scale, writing down a few notes on a clipboard. “Sorry, I still don’t know how to
respond to that. It always feels so awkward. You’d think I’d be better at it by now.”
“I don’t think that sort of thing has a timeline.” I shake my head. “Or that it’s something you have to get better at.”
“Yeah. Probably not.” She gives me a wobbly smile. I can sense the well of grief in her. Jack, for all his prickliness, must
be experiencing something similar. “God, I’m sorry. This isn’t very professional of me.”
I bite my lip. I hadn’t thought of it until now, but it sucks that what we’re doing with the Sailfish is tied up in the loss
of her father. If he hadn’t passed, maybe Jack would have kept his job and the upcoming promotion to Green Street. Maybe he
never would have returned to Florida. We probably wouldn’t have crossed paths again, and we definitely wouldn’t be working
together.
I don’t regret having this chance—for myself or for Jack—but that doesn’t erase the pain that comes along with it.
“Can I give you a hug?” I resist the urge to lurch forward in case I’m totally off-base with this. Kiara’s eyes widen with
surprise. “I mean, maybe you’re not a hugger, but if you are—”
She sniffles. “Oh, I definitely am.”
“Good.” I hug her tightly. Her arms come around me as well, squeezing. “I’m really sorry, Kiara. Jack hasn’t said much about
your dad, but he seemed like a great guy.”
“He was. He was the best.”
“And the Sailfish—I can feel the magic in it. From the moment I walked in. It’s a special place. It’s going to continue being
a special place. I promise.”
Gator, smushed between us, lets out an indignant yowl.
We break apart, bursting into giggles the moment our eyes meet.
The air in the room feels a little lighter.
After days with only a surly chef and a flirty old guy for company, it’s nice to connect with someone else.
Someone who could become a friend. What Julia said to me before I left New York was true, even if it stung.
I’ve missed having friends. Friends who don’t care about whether my connections will help them.
“Thank you for convincing Jack to work on the restaurant,” she says, giving my shoulder a warm squeeze. “My dad would be thrilled
that he’s back home.”
“You don’t mind that it went to him, not you?” I blurt. I clap my hand over my mouth. “Oh, god. Forget I said that. Sometimes
I talk without thinking.”
She just laughs. “Nope. I told him to go for it. I’ve got my own business right here.”
“That’s so impressive. I wanted to be a vet when I was a little kid. At least until I realized how much school was involved.
I was a horse girl.”
Her eyes light up. “No way! I was too. I still ride whenever I get the chance.”
“Lucky. I haven’t been riding in years.” Not since my old horse, Bartholomew, passed away while I was in college. “I really
miss it. I did competitions and everything.”
“Me too! Maybe we can go riding together sometime. I keep my horse down in Wellington. It’s a little far, but totally worth
it, because she’s at this really amazing woman-owned ranch.” She strokes her hand down Gator’s back. He arches into her touch.
“I’ll show you pictures when I’m done checking out this little guy. Her name is Charger.”
“Charger! That’s so cute.” I beam. I’m not entirely certain, but I think I just made my first friend in Florida. “I’m so glad
we met. Literally, Jack didn’t say a word about Sal’s daughter being a badass vet.”
She rolls her eyes. “That’s just like him.”
“Tell me, did he always have a massive stick up his ass?”
She snorts. My chest warms. She reminds me a little of Julia, and I like that. “Yes and no. He was always very particular.”
“We’ve been cleaning up the restaurant the past few days, and I never knew there were so many wrong ways to scrub something.”
“Good to know he hasn’t changed.” She smiles mischievously as she takes out a pen light, peering into Gator’s mouth and ears.
He tries to bat the light away, evidently offended by the way she’s checking out his teeth. “I know, baby. Almost done. How
are you liking Florida so far?”
“I can’t believe how hot it is.” I wrinkle my nose. “And I wasn’t expecting the lizards.”
“Aren’t they fun?”
“Debatable. This one here”—I gesture to Gator—“thinks they make great snacks.”
“You didn’t come during Season, let me tell you that.”
“Season?”
“It’s when the snowbirds and tourists roll into town. You know, all the retirees and folks with second homes. I think Jack
wants to reopen in early November, right? Right at the start of when it gets busy.”
“Yeah. If we can manage to pull everything together in time.”
November feels like it’s both ages away and crushingly close. Jack didn’t outright say it when we spoke about it, but beating
Green Street’s December opening is probably a big factor for him. I have to figure out a way to get him to actually communicate
this sort of thing to me.
As Kiara continues Gator’s exam, another thought occurs to me. “Wait, so did you go to high school with him? Oh my god, did
you date?”
“What? No. Never. He’s two years older than me,” she says. “We overlapped in high school, and—well, he was around a lot, once
he started working at the restaurant. We were friends. He left right after high school for culinary school in New York, though.”
“I’m glad he had some human contact. I was starting to think he was raised by alligators.”
A bit of an odd look crosses her face. “Will you help hold him still while I do a blood draw?” she asks, gesturing to Gator.
“I can check for a microchip, too, but I doubt he has one. He looks like he’s been on his own for a while.”
I get Gator into position, ignoring the baleful look he gives me. “It’s for your own good, little man.” To Kiara, I add, “If he doesn’t have a microchip, I’ll adopt him.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” I give him a scratch under the chin. His eyes slide shut, whiskers twitching. “See? He loves me already. Don’t you,
Alligator?”