I hear my mother’s chuckle and shoot her a glare. I swear that woman is getting way too much enjoyment at my current predicament.
“What’s so funny?”
“You. In all my days, I’ve never seen you like this. All flustered and uptight around Poppy.”
“She drives me crazy.” Hey, it’s the truth.
“Those are the best kind.”
“She’s dating Troy.”
My mother smacks my arm, shaking her head in exasperation. “She is not. She was as shocked as you were by his offer, but at least Troy acts like he wants to spend time with her. You’re too busy cutting her down and insulting her. Poppy is convinced that you hate her.”
“I don’t hate her.”
“I know, but maybe she needs to know that fact. Even if the rest of the town has already figured out that you’re head over heels for her.”
I shoot a glare in my mother’s direction. “I am not—”
“Don’t even bother. I know when you’re lying. Change of subject—”
“Thank God,” I mutter.
“Something odd happened. Marissa mentioned the other day that she was waiting for Poppy. It seems they have the same dreamtime visitor.”
“It’s a coincidence, Mom.” I speak the words, but deep down, I don’t believe them.
“How many coincidences need to exist before you start to believe there’s something bigger at work?”
“Like destiny?” I retort, downing my drink.
“Exactly. Didn’t you find it odd the words that Poppy used tonight? Just do it already. Stop stalling. That is Merry. Did Poppy ever use terms like that?”
I shake my head, running a hand over my beard. “No.” I chuckle as I picture Merry with her hands on her hips, her lips pursed in aggravation. Patient, my wife was not. And the words that Poppy spoke were straight from Merry’s repertoire. I couldn’t believe it when she uttered those statements.
But my logical, factual mind is having a hell of a hard time wrapping itself around the concept that my dead wife called out to my long-lost love in an effort to reunite us.
Doesn’t matter now. Troy has taken my spot.
“Enough about Poppy. Can we talk about something else? Anything? Plagues, war, famine?”
Another laugh from my mother. So glad my life brings her amusement. “Fair enough. What about the Yule celebration?”
“What was that nonsense about my great-grandmother being pagan?”
“It’s not nonsense. She was a founder of the town almost a hundred years ago.”
“Yuletide Acres was founded in the 1800s, Mom.”
“No. That’s the story they concocted to make the town seem legitimate. They just fixed some paperwork for the local library and painted a sign.”
I pour another glass of scotch, eager to hear more about the accurate history of my town. “Poppy was right?”
“Yes, Dylan. About everything.”
“Let’s go sit in front of the fire. I want to know about my great-grandmother.”
I’m fuming, once again, as Troy struts into town hall, a shit-eating grin on his face. I don’t even want to know how their dinner was, or what was offered as dessert.
Troy is well loved amongst the ladies. Hell, we both have a bit of a reputation as resident heartbreakers, but we never lead a woman on. That’s not our style.
Love ‘em and leave ‘em happy, so we can love ‘em again sometime in the future.
Clean, easy, no strings attached.
Poppy is different. She’s the kind of woman you want to get muddy and mucky with, all wound up in love and passion. I know this firsthand about Poppy Mills. I only pray that Troy hasn’t had that chance.
I can’t believe she’s only been with two men in the last decade. Hell, I insinuated how loose her sex life was when it was pristine compared with my playbook.
No wonder the woman is choosing Troy’s company over mine.
“How’s it hanging, Dylan?”
I glance up, glowering at Troy. “What can I do for you, Sheriff?”
“What’s your problem? It’s a wonderful day.”
Don’t even mention Poppy, or I’m wiping the ground with your ass, buddy.
“You going to the bar tonight?” Troy presses, leaning on the edge of the desk.
“I don’t know. I have a headache.”
“Poppy will be there.”
My head jerks up. “Wow, she’s everywhere.”
“Hey, she’s a light this old town desperately needs. Damn easy on the eyes, too.”
“That’s enough, Troy.”
“Are you denying it? The woman is gorgeous. I’m allowed to admire her. Besides, you’ve got a line of women keeping your bed warm. You’re hardly hurting for attention, Dylan.”
I stand up, my face inches from Troy. “I’m warning you.”
“Dylan, we’ve been friends for decades. Do you have a problem with me seeing Poppy?”
My reply is a growl as I grab my coat and storm out. The headache pounds my brain like a double-kick bass drum. I need some caffeine and an aspirin to dull the ache.
“Dylan, before you go,” Susan calls out, stopping me mid-step. “Why don’t you stop by Poppy’s store and give her the good news? Might make her day and take a bit of the spring out of Troy’s step.”
I glance over my shoulder at Troy, flirting with Amelia, one of the young secretaries. Bastard. If he was so over the moon about Poppy, he wouldn’t be sneaking glances up blondie’s skirt. “I can do that.”
Susan clears her throat, grasping my arm. “Word of advice. Try to look a bit more enthused when you see Poppy. Somewhere slightly above going to the dentist happy.”
I open my mouth to retort, but her sharp glance forces it closed again. She’s right. I’ve been terrible to Poppy.
Time to fix that situation. Hell, I’m the most charming man in Yuletide Acres, when I want to be.
I take a few deep breaths before walking into Poppy’s store. Why can’t I relax around this woman?
Oh yeah, because my dick is screaming to be inside her 24/7. That might be the reason.
The front door is locked, but I find Poppy struggling to open the rear entrance, her hands overladen with packages.
“Here, give me those.”
Poppy jumps at the sound of my voice. “Oh, hi.”
I watch the smile fall from Poppy’s face, and I hate how hard I’ve been on her. A single apology will not come close to fixing this situation. I better be ready to grovel. I try to wrestle the bags from her hands, but her grip remains strong. Stubborn, as always. “Since you won’t let me help with the bags, give me the keys. The least I can do is unlock the door.”
The alarm peals out the second I push open the door. Christ, it could wake the dead. “What’s the code?”
“5410.” Poppy bites her lip. “I just gave my enemy the code to my alarm system.” With a final sigh, she hefts the packages, slipping past me into a back room.
Ouch.
I trail after her, pulling items from the grocery bags. “I’m not the enemy, Poppy.”
“You’re not? You hate me and everything I stand for, remember? Your definition of enemy must differ from mine.” She pivots in front of me, placing her hands on her hips and sending off one hell of a glare.