Meant to Be (Sweetbriar Cove #1)(10)

"I promise, I'll have something for you in a few weeks," Poppy vowed. "I'm actually in the middle of a scene right now, so I should get back to it."

"Don't let me keep you. Laters, babe!"

Quinn rang off, and Poppy lowered her phone. Lying to her agent? Just add it to her growing list of crimes. Everyone at her publisher thought she was already halfway through the book, but the truth was, she hadn't written a single word.

Poppy had writer's block, and she had it bad.

But all that was going to change, starting today. She jumped up and headed back inside, retrieving her laptop then heading to the old study. It was a shady room lined with old bookcases, and it also happened to be the farthest room away from Cooper's construction site. Still, the shouts and banging echoed through the windows as Poppy sat down at the desk, opened her screen, and started a new document.





5





The cursor blinked at her, taunting. This part should be easy. It was the final book in her series, the conclusion to a love story that had spanned a century and three continents. She knew these characters inside out-and knew exactly what her readers were expecting from her. Still, as Poppy stared at her notes, all the careful plot ideas and outlines, she still couldn't find those first words.

What did she know about true love?

A whole lot of nothing.

The banging came again, louder. She slammed her screen shut. She was going about this the wrong way. Back home, she'd treated writing like a real job: getting up every morning, getting dressed, and going out to write at the library or coffee shops around the city. No wonder she couldn't start writing-she was sitting there in her pajamas, messing up her usual routine! 

Poppy headed back upstairs. She grabbed some towels from the linen closet, and stepped into the bathroom. June must have had it updated since she was there last, because the chipped sink had been replaced with a gorgeous expanse of blue tile, with a deep tub and a walk-in shower. Poppy turned on the water, feeling determined. A shower, some fresh clothes, and then she'd find somewhere to hunker down and write. The words would pour out of her, then.

They had to.

She stripped her clothes off, tied up her hair, and stepped under the hot water. Ahh, that was better. She would get back on track in no time, she just had to-

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"



Cooper heard the screams clear from next door, even over the sound of construction. For a long, panicked moment, he thought something terrible had happened. Poppy had fallen down the stairs, or been attacked by a drifter, or cut off some vital limb . . .

He dropped his tools and raced across the yard. "Poppy?" he yelled. The back door was open, so he charged inside and up the stairs. "Poppy? Are you OK?"

"I'm going to kill you, Cooper Nicholson!"

Maybe not.

He was at the top of the stairs when a door opened and Poppy came barreling out, straight into him. "Whoa," he said, automatically putting his arms out to steady her. His hands closed around silky, wet skin, and he realized she was wearing nothing but a towel.

A very small towel.

Cooper stepped back. "Christ, woman, I thought you were getting murdered up here." He cleared his throat. He didn't know where to look. Her hair was pinned up, revealing the slim arch of her neck, glistening with water. The postage stamp of a towel was barely covering her long legs and the swell of her-

He dragged his eyes back up to her face. Her furious, shooting-daggers face.

"You wish," Poppy looked as if she wanted to be inflicting bodily harm on him. "But I've half a mind to throw you down the stairs myself."

"What did I do this time?" Cooper frowned. "I told you, my guys need to work. I'm sorry about the noise, but-"

"It's not the noise!" Poppy exclaimed. "Here." She grabbed his hand and yanked him into the bathroom before he could object. Poppy turned on the shower, and for a moment, a parade of X-rated images flashed in Cooper's mind. Like what it would be like under the spray with her.

Without that towel.

"Well?" Poppy demanded. He tried to push those thoughts away. She was staring at him expectantly, like he was supposed to know what the hell she was going on about.

"You're going to have to spell it out," Cooper said, annoyed now.

"There's no hot water!" Poppy cried. "You know anything about that?"

Cooper blinked, and then it all came rushing back. "Oh yeah. We had to shut off the gas this morning, we're rerouting the main pipe."

Poppy scowled. "And you didn't think to warn me about it, or-I don't know-ask if that was OK?"

Cooper knew he should apologize, but man, she was cute when she was spitting mad. Her brown eyes were flashing, and she'd completely forgotten about that towel, which was slipping lower with every angry gesture, revealing inches more of that pale, wet skin.