Chapter 28 Squid Ink
Squid Ink
Jack
I wake with Poppy in my arms and Gator sitting by my head.
Living with Poppy has done him good. His fur is thick and shiny, and he’s gained weight. Frankly, he looks a little judgmental
right now, his jasmine eyes blinking slowly, head tilted to the side as if to say, What’s up with you and her?
“Good question, buddy,” I whisper.
I carefully free a hand from the tangle of limbs keeping Poppy and I together, extending it in his direction. He sniffs it,
then jumps off the bed, sauntering with his tail held high into the other room.
I squint against the sunlight seeping through the window opposite the bed. My phone informs me it’s eight in the morning.
I can’t remember the last time I slept in past four. Five if I’m lucky.
I also can’t remember the last time I woke up in bed with someone else.
Poppy’s still asleep, breathing softly against my bare chest. I curl some of her hair around my fingers, watching how it catches
the light.
Last night was unexpected. Nearly disastrous. Figures I’d finally kiss her, only to give in to that urge to run that always
surfaces at the worst moments. And when I came back to the sight of her in a fuck-me outfit, prepared to finish what I started
with someone else . . . well, I’d have deserved that.
But she’s in my bed, limbs splayed, nose twitching cutely whenever she exhales. There’s a lump in my throat the size of the sun. I don’t want to name the feeling I’m experiencing. Don’t even want to think about it. It feels immovable, undeniable, and yet fragile enough to melt like sugar in rain.
Besides, we agreed it’s just sex. No strings. No kissing.
It’s smart. Sensible.
I brush a kiss against the top of her head—gentle, so she doesn’t wake—before rolling out of bed. Can’t help it.
An hour later, I walk out of the bagel shop downtown that, fortunately, looks the same as it did when I was a teenager. The
owner is a Brooklyn transplant, and I trust he still knows how to make a good bagel. We’re already starting the day late;
I figure a taste of New York will help Poppy and I get in the groove as we do more work on the menu. I got some smoked salmon,
too. We can share a piece with Gator.
Hopefully she reads my note and takes a short shower. The houseboat wasn’t made for someone with a multistep beauty routine.
I readjust the paper bag under my arm, pulling my phone out of my pocket. I haven’t spoken to Douglas since before Poppy and
I went to Horseshoe Island. The weight of our deal has been lingering. If I go too long, he’ll call first.
So much has changed since that argument in the alleyway. Poppy’s putting her own mark on Fable’s menu. She’s living on the
houseboat with me.
She’s in my bed.
But she made it clear last night that this is just sex. Mutual attraction, a candle burning at both ends. It changes nothing
about the future. Green Street is still where I want to be. Need to be. I steel myself, clicking on Douglas’s contact.
He answers on the first ring. “Son?”
He knows right where to target, and I’m aware of it. Doesn’t make me any less vulnerable to it. I clear my throat, ignoring
the stinging warmth that small word elicits. “Did you see the announcement about the pop-up?”
“I did. Smart idea.”
“That was all her. She’s working on the guest list now.”
“She came up with it?”
“Yeah.” I turn on to the street that leads to the marina, stopping beneath a palm nearly stripped of fronds. I ignore the
guilt creeping up, slow and steady. “Along with Sal’s daughter, Kiara.”
Douglas chuckles. “I know I said to indulge her, but you didn’t need to go that far.”
“It’s a good idea. You just said so.”
“Jack, I know how much you hate special events.”
“I’m trusting her when it comes to this kind of thing.”
“She has been cultivating quite the online presence for your little project. Do you have a menu yet?”
“It’s coming together.” I don’t miss the way he calls what we’re doing little. “She has a good palate, sir. Good instincts, when it comes to food.”
She’s creative. Curious. Far more invested in learning than I was willing to give her credit for. I start walking again. I
want to see her. I want to hand her a poppy seed bagel and make a joke about how I couldn’t resist buying it. Ask if she prefers
scallion or plain cream cheese. That’s an important thing to know about someone.
“That’s difficult to imagine. She’s never shown much interest in the culinary world before.”
“Maybe you just haven’t given her much of a chance,” I say impulsively.
Douglas is silent long enough I think I made a mistake.
When he speaks again, however, I sense nothing but genuine worry in his tone. “How is she, Jack? Really, I mean. Be honest.”
I pause by the entrance to the docks. I don’t know what to say.
“I tried calling her again, the other day,” he continues. “Suzanne and Julia keep telling me not to worry, but it’s driving
me insane.”
“I’m not keeping anything from you,” I say, finally. “If she wasn’t okay, you’d know.”
“Is she still thinking about McCabe?”
“No. I told you; she didn’t care about those photos.”
“And she hasn’t taken up with someone else?”
“No.” I can’t tell if Douglas is implying anything, and I sure as hell don’t want to make a misstep like that. “She’s been focused on work.”
It’s the truth. We’re friends, at most. Friends stuck on a desert island together, messing around to scratch a mutual itch.
During a more pathetic moment of rashness while waiting for the bagels, I snooped around online, looking for her dating history
before Ryan. Wall Street douchebags, influencers, minor celebrities. Unsurprisingly, all men with money and status.
Men like the guy Jessica was using me to get to.
But this is different. Poppy isn’t secretly using me. When this is all over, she’ll go back to her old life. She’ll find the
man Douglas will call son and mean it. I’ll be a blip in her history. A fun detour.
“Good. Good.” Douglas lets out a huff. “I don’t want her heart broken again by an ill-advised rebound.”
I grimace. I’m no expert, but I’d be willing to bet that rebounds involve kissing. Good thing I won’t know that particular
pleasure again. “Right.”
“Keep me posted.”
“Yes, sir.”
I end the call, but don’t make my way back to the houseboat.
I haven’t forgotten last night. Poppy, usually so vocal, went nearly silent at the moment I expected her to be loudest. It’s
as though she retreated into herself. Lost her spark when I wanted to watch her shine.
I don’t buy that that’s how she really wanted to act.
It won’t be forever, but she’s with me now, and I take care of what’s mine.