"It's beautiful out here," she said, looking around. "I've been cooped up inside for so long, I haven't even had a chance to explore the beach."
"I figured." Cooper still looked strangely excited-like a kid who had a secret he was just dying to tell. "I also figured you might need some peace and quiet for your writing. And since I can't exactly give you that back at the house . . ."
He came to a stop beside what looked like an old cabin: the wooden frame nestled on the edge of the trees, overlooking the dunes and ocean. The wood was bleached and weathered, and bluebells were growing wild, half-covering the old frame with creeping vines and sprigs of blue flowers. "Surprise."
Poppy was confused, but Cooper just chuckled. "Look inside."
Poppy moved closer and cautiously swung the doors open. She was expecting rust and dirt, but they swung open smoothly to reveal a tiny cabin, barely thirty square feet.
"I forgot this was even standing," Cooper explained behind her. "But I was out checking the property line the other day, and found it. I thought it could be your writing cabin."
Wait, what?
She turned and looked at him in surprise. "This is for me?"
"If you want." Cooper looked bashful. "I know it's not much, but I swept it out and brought down some furniture, too. I figured, it's away from everything, so even if we have to drill the foundations, you won't hear the noise."
Poppy stepped inside. It was tiny, but surprisingly homey. The walls were wooden boards, with a single window, and there was barely enough room for an armchair and an old bistro table, but Cooper had put a knitted throw over the chair, and fit a rickety bookcase in the back.
"This is amazing," Poppy breathed, looking around. With the doors open, it was like she was right there on the beach, nothing between her and that incredible view, blue water and clear skies as far as she could see. She could drag the chair out and have her toes in the sand all day long while she wrote.
"You like it?" he asked, looking hopeful.
"I love it!" Poppy exclaimed. Cooper looked pleased. "Thank you so much," she told him, beaming. "Seriously. I can't believe you did this for me."
Cooper cleared his throat. "It's not a big deal, it was just sitting here, getting dusty. And this way, you won't be complaining about noise all day."
He was trying to play it off as an afterthought, but Poppy was still touched by the gesture. He'd put thought into this, and care, too, and knowing he'd done it all in secret to surprise her gave Poppy a sudden burst of confidence.
"Have dinner with me," she asked suddenly, before she could take it back. "As a thank you, for this. Tonight?"
Cooper looked thrown, and for a moment, she wondered if she'd made a massive mistake. Her heart beat faster. Then he gave her a thoughtful smile. "OK."
"OK," Poppy echoed, full of relief. "Great. Pick me up at seven?"
"It's a date."
He said the words casually, but as they sunk in, Poppy realized for the first time what she'd just done.
She was going on a date. With Cooper.
Gorgeous, infuriating, argumentative Cooper.
And lord knows what was going to happen next.
11
What had he gotten himself into now?
Cooper spent the rest of the afternoon a daze, wondering how he'd managed to go from "keeping his distance" to "pick you up at seven" in barely ten minutes flat. So much for staying platonic. He'd managed to resist temptation last time around, only to throw that self-control out the window the minute she smiled up at him with those hopeful brown eyes and asked the same question he'd been biting back all week.
Dinner. A date. Damn, what was he thinking?
What was he thinking with, more like? He should never have fixed up that cabin for her. It wasn't even supposed to be a big deal; he'd stumbled over it, just like he said, and for some reason, an image of Poppy had dropped into his mind: sitting out there with her laptop, curled up while the ocean breeze lifted her hair around her face. He told himself he needed to clean the place out sometime, and if he did it now, it would save him having to deal with her marching over to complain every time he needed to drill a support beam or hammer the joists in place. But sweeping out the sand had turned to polishing the window, and nailing that old shelving unit to the wall, because he was guessing she liked to have books with her wherever she went. Before he knew it, the place was all spruced up.
And the smile on Poppy's face when she saw it had just about made his week.