I’m not prepared for the feel of his lips against mine. It starts out hard and forced, but immediately melts into the soft welcome I always knew in his arms. His beard grazes my jaw and cheeks, offering the most delightful tactile sensation against my skin. But it’s the feel of his tongue, skimming along the seam of my lips that jerks me back to reality.
He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want me. Judging by the cruel statements uttered earlier, he’ll gladly use my body. But he doesn’t want a damn thing to do with my heart.
A catcall sounds in the office and we break apart—both of us flushed, our breathing harried.
Then, with a defeated shake of my head, I press my fingers to my lips and storm out the door.
I’m so mixed up, I don’t know what to feel.
The man that I’ve spent a decade loving insults me and then kisses me in front of the entire office, right after reminding me that I mean nothing.
I feel like a pinball in a game straight from the bowels of hell.
I wish the kiss had been awful. I wish I had felt nothing.
I felt everything. I was so tempted to wrap my hands around his neck, run my fingers along his buzzed hair and sink into the kiss.
Just like I always did.
But he didn’t want to kiss me. He was cornered. Backed into it. He likely washed his mouth out with boiling water, wondering how many other men had touched my lips in the last decade.
If he only knew. Not that he’ll bother to ask. Dylan is fine working off assumptions.
“Are you okay?” a high-pitched voice asks to my right.
I glance up, wiping my eyes as I stare into a face that looks so much like Dylan.
Marissa.
“I’m fine. I just cry sometimes.”
The little girl sees through my lie, sitting beside me on the floor. I realize that I forgot to lock the door to the shop. Not that it matters. Dylan has made certain that is won’t ever open to the public. “I cry sometimes, too.”
“Does it make you feel better?”
Marissa nods. “That and chocolate. I like chocolate more than crying, though.”
I giggle despite the pain. “Smart choice. My name is Poppy.”
“I know. I’m Marissa. This is my grandmother.”
I startle, looking up from my seat on the ground. “Mrs. West. I didn’t realize that you were Dylan’s mother.”
Wonderful. Round two, apparently. This time, he’s sent the women in his life to do his bidding. They’ll likely escort me to the edge of the village, armed with pitchforks.
“What did that son of mine do now?”
Okay, that was unexpected. I shake my head, wiping the tears from my face. “He made it very clear that I’m not welcome in Yuletide Acres. Since he’s the boss, I’ll pack my things and move on.”
Estelle West settles onto the ground next to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “You’ll do no such thing.”
“He hates me.”
“No, he doesn’t. He’s all betwixt and between since your arrival, but I think that falls on the opposite end of the hate spectrum.”
I bark out a laugh. “Definitely not. He made his stance clear.”
“Personally, I think he’s behaving like an idiot. But most men do when a woman flips their world upside down.” She nudges me. “You’ve turned him on his head. That’s the first time I’ve ever seen a woman do that. You must be very special to my son.”
“I thought I was, but I was mistaken. We were together for about a year, but then he left. I never thought I’d see him again. I certainly didn’t think when I did that he’d hate me. After all, he deserted me.” I break down again, hating the fact that I’m sobbing in front of the two most important ladies in Dylan’s life.
Marissa presses a handkerchief into my hand. “Here. It’s clean.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, blotting my eyes. I gaze at the hand embroidered cloth, my breath catching in my throat at the name sewn in the corner.
“Merry,” I whisper as I finger the stitches.
“It belonged to my Mom,” Marissa explains.
I manage a nod, my heart racing as the puzzle pieces start to fit together, forming a picture. Is the woman who visited my dreams the same woman who married Dylan? Who bore Marissa?
Is that possible?
And if so, why in the world would she want me to come to Yuletide Acres? A bit of torture from the other side of the grave?
“Don’t you let him chase you out. I’ll have a word with him.” Estelle reaches into her bag, pulling out a chocolate bar and handing it to me with a smile.
“Please don’t. It will only make it worse. Besides, Dylan isn’t the only one. Some woman, the head of the church, found some old photos of me.”
“Oh, God, that would be Mrs. Withers. She’s a daft example of a human being. Detestable. My son can’t stand being in the same room with her.”
“Well, he had no issue with her today. Or her accusations.”
Estelle stands, reaching her hand down to help me up. “We’re headed to the animal shelter. Marissa loves walking the dogs. Would you like to join us?”
“Your son will disown you for spending time with me.”
“Let me handle my son. You could use a smile, and nothing brings a smile faster than a little girl and some puppies. They also have some new kittens that just arrived. Come on, I see it in the set of your jaw. You’re made of tougher stuff than this, Poppy Mills.”
She’s correct. I’ve survived all levels of hell in my thirty-six years on this planet. Pain so acute that it threatened to rip my soul from my body. Pain that brought me to my knees, again and again.
But every time, I rose, unwilling to be defeated. I’ll be damned if Dylan West is going to take me down without a fight.
Estelle is right. Puppies, an adorable six-year-old and friendship do chase away the doldrums. After spending a couple of hours at the shelter, and petting every dog and cat in the place, we finally coaxed Marissa from the building with the promise of ice cream.
She desperately wanted a bonded pair of animals that made the Odd Couple look like twins—an older golden retriever and an orange marmalade tabby cat. The funny part? Per the shelter manager, the animals weren’t brought in together. One day the cat escaped from his cage and after searching high and low for him, they discovered him curled up by the dog.
I can’t blame Marissa for wanting to take them home. Those two tugged at my heartstrings as well.
She sniffled until we reached the parking lot of the sweet shop, when her mood changed, and she began planning her sundae. The kid is seriously the cutest thing I’ve ever seen—curly brown hair, big brown eyes and a smile that outshines that of her father—who, until recent events, had the nicest smile of anyone I know.
“Tell me about you, Poppy. How did you wind up in Yuletide Acres? Dylan told me that you two were very close during your festival days.”
I nod, pouring sugar into my coffee. “We dated for about a year.”
“You dated my Dad?” Marissa inquires, looking up from her coloring book, but her words are more curious than accusatory.
“I did. A long time ago. Long before he and your Mom got together.”