An ache so strong it brought tears to her eyes welled up inside Poppy, and still she couldn’t look away. God, the smell of rain brought it all back. She sank farther into the shadows as the memory of her first real kiss settled into her mind like an old friend.
She’d been head over heels for Boone Avery since the age of twelve, when he’d bopped Danny McNiven on the nose for grabbing her boob at recess. One look into his dark eyes had been all it took, and she was done for. In an instant, he replaced Jordan Knight and the rest of the New Kids On The Block in her fantasies, though she’d kept her feelings to herself for a lot of reasons, mainly because at that age, a two-year gap seemed as big as the Grand Canyon.
By the time she hit sixteen, he seemed even further from her reach. Boone was a talented athlete, a senior with colleges chasing after him and whispers of either an NHL or NFL career. He was that good. Boone was the most popular boy in Crystal Lake and had been dating a girl, Melody Samuels, for over a year. Everyone knew they were doing it, so what chance did a sixteen-year-old virgin have with a boy like Boone? A girl who, up until a few weeks before the Fourth of July, had sported a mouthful of metal braces?
It wasn’t that she wasn’t pretty enough or smart enough. She had more boys hitting her up for dates than she knew what to do with. But she didn’t want any of those boys. She wanted Boone. And that July the Fourth Eve night, she and her girlfriend headed down to the river to listen to the party in front of the fire department. The band echoed across the water as they walked the path alongside it, not stopping until they came upon Boone and some of his pals: Cain Black, the bad boy with a guitar, the Edwards twins, and the Booker brothers, who both had a bit of a reputation.
They were out of Poppy’s league, but something made her bold. Something made her convince her friend to stay. There were a few other girls there, but not Melody.
At first, Poppy kept her distance, but after acquiring some courage of the whiskey sort, she wandered closer to the older boys, aware that her bare shoulders and tanned legs glistened in the moonlit night, and that her hair shone in thick waves that fell down her back. It was the first time she’d tasted the kind of power a woman holds, and her heart fluttered every time Boone looked her way.
“I remember you,” he’d said when she was a few feet from him.
Poppy didn’t say a word—it wasn’t because she was playing coy or being flirtatious. Her vocal cords weren’t working, and she found it hard to breathe.
“I rescued you from that asshole Danny McNiven. He was…” Boone’s eyes fell to her rapidly rising and falling chest. “Doing something he shouldn’t have been doing.”
She finally found her tongue when Boone offered her a cold beer from their cooler. She didn’t ask about Melody, and he didn’t offer anything. Something changed or clicked or maybe it was the muggy heat, but they spent the next few hours talking about everything that mattered to kids their age: music and movies and sports. Later, when midnight struck and fireworks shot glittering rainbows into the sky, Boone’s hands slid over her until he cupped both sides of her face. He’d stared down at her without saying a word, and she’d known he was going to kiss her. And he did.
It was perfect.
“Jesus.” With a start, Poppy sat up, flush with heat from the memory of that night and the yearning for a boy that had never stopped. Her cell rang out, a shrill sound that broke the silence. She got to her feet and moved inside to grab it from the counter in the kitchen where she’d left it earlier. The house was silent, her mother was gone for the weekend, and Poppy had swung by to feed her cats.
She exhaled a long breath and glanced down at the phone. There was a text message from Blue.
Where are you? We stopped at your place, but you weren’t there.
“Shit.” Poppy walked over to the mirror that hung in the front hall and studied the reflection. Gone was the sixteen-year-old, replaced by a woman. Her hair was still long and shiny, and her skin glowed with health. She’d taken time to put on some makeup, more than usual because of the fading bruise, and her eyes popped, her mouth full and plump with a soft pink gloss. The scar that ran up from her eyebrow and disappeared beneath the hairline was barely visible, thanks to both time and makeup. She fingered the skin there before her gaze dropped to the simple white dress she wore. White cotton eyelet, it was sleeveless and clung to her breasts before flaring out into an A-line that showed a lot of leg.
She looked good. Poppy took a step back. Damn good, in fact, and the thought that she’d been considering staying home from the dance because she was scared of running into Boone made her angry. After LA, she’d told herself that no one would ever control her again. No one would pull her strings or tell her what to do, how to dress and act. And yet wasn’t that exactly what she’d done to herself since she’d been back?
She was sick of hiding. Sick of the past and its hold on her. She wanted to go the stupid dance and feel the night air on her skin. Listen to the band play Lynyrd Skynyrd and Johnny Cash and dance until her feet hurt. She wanted to feel the breeze lift her hair and smell summer in the wind. God, she didn’t want to be alone anymore.
“Boone can suck it,” she whispered, grabbing her purse before sending a message to Blue.
Meet you there.
It was time she started living again and left the shadows behind. She was done standing still. Done avoiding men and the possibility of a relationship. And maybe Boone had been the catalyst for the abrupt turnaround in her outlook, but Poppy didn’t think about it. She told herself that Boone meant nothing to her, same as she’d meant nothing to him all those years ago. She’d met him face-to-face, and the world hadn’t fallen apart. She hadn’t fallen apart. Even though there was still a tangle of stuff between them, in all fairness, it was her baggage and not his. She was grown up enough to put it where it belonged. In the past.
Feeling lighter than she’d felt in years, Poppy locked up her mother’s place and headed out into the night. Downtown was less than fifteen minutes away on foot, and she enjoyed the walk, smiling to herself when she passed a group of boys loitering near the park. They looked no older than sixteen or so, and one of them gave a whistle, while another jabbed him in the chest when she looked their way.
“She’s hot,” the boy said, and Poppy giggled.
By the time she made it downtown, there was a line to get in to the roped-off area. She chatted with some folks she knew from her shop. New to Crystal Lake, they were excited for the big night, and Poppy promised them it would live up to their expectations.
Hoyt Jones, one of the local firemen, took her entrance fee and stamped her inner wrist, winking as she sailed past him. She’d known him since first grade, when he sat down beside her clutching his blue Sesame Street lunch box.
“Sure wish I hadn’t volunteered,” he said with a grin.
“Why’s that?” she asked lightly, looking at him over her shoulder.
“’Cause I’d take you for a spin around the dance floor.”
Poppy grinned. “It’s early yet, Hoyt.”
The street was packed, and she threaded her way through a throng of folks, scanning the area, looking for Blue and Ruby Blackwell, Wyatt’s wife. Their plan had been to meet the boys, and Poppy wasn’t sure if the boys included Boone. She’d never asked, and Blue hadn’t volunteered.