"Unless you have a problem with that," Riley added, his smile turning sly. "Do you?"
Cooper gritted his teeth. He knew exactly what Riley was doing, pushing him to admit there was something between him and Poppy. "You do whatever you want," he growled out in response. "It's a free country."
"You're right, it is." Riley grinned, like he could see exactly how worked up Cooper was under the surface. "And a beautiful woman like that isn't going to stay single for long."
Cooper downed the rest of his drink in one. "I need to get going."
"Big plans?"
"Something like that."
Cooper slammed down the empty glass and left, before he said or did something he regretted. Riley was trying to get under his skin-and it was working. He knew he wasn't the man for Poppy, but it still burned to think of her with anyone else.
But why?
Outside, he turned his cellphone over in his hand, torn. He still had a chance to call it all off, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to cancel their plans. She'd looked so happy, discovering the cabin, and even opening the door in her ratty sweatpants and tangled hair, she was beautiful enough to take his breath away. Call it selfish, but he wanted another evening with her, enjoying her feisty sense of humor, and figuring out what made her tick.
All he had to do was find a way not to kiss her senseless the minute he had a chance.
How hard could that be?
Eleven.
Poppy stared at her meager wardrobe that evening and despaired. What was she supposed to wear?
She hadn't packed for dating; she'd barely remembered to throw clean underwear in her suitcase along with five books, her laptop, and an extra power charger. Back home, her closet was stuffed full of cute dinner outfits: little black dresses, or va-va-voom pencil skirts, her lucky lace bras, and those heeled pumps that made her butt look amazing. But here? She'd packed for the cold weather and seclusion, and her array of chunky knit sweaters and comfy sports bras didn't exactly scream, "Kiss me now, lover!"
She was doomed.
She wrapped herself in a bathrobe and started towel-drying her hair. Maybe by the time she was done, one of her slouchy gym sweatshirts would have magically transformed into a sexy fitted tank top. Her phone rang. Quinn again. This time, Poppy answered.
"You're alive, then." Quinn didn't bother with a friendly greeting-she sounded stressed. "Tell me you've been blowing off my calls because you're too busy writing the next international bestseller."
"I have," Poppy answered, and for once, she wasn't bending the truth. "I'll have you pages by the end of tomorrow."
"I've heard that before."
"But I mean it this time," Poppy promised her. "Five chapters. They need fixing, but you can send them to my editor, that should keep them happy for a while."
"Thank God!" Quinn cheered. "You had me scared for a while. I thought you'd had some kind of breakdown, and we'd be scraping your career off the bargain book section floor."
"You and me both." Poppy felt the relief wash over her again. It had been close, but she was out of her downward spiral and back on solid ground. "Tell them I'm sorry, and I'll deliver on schedule, I swear. It doesn't matter if I have to write around the clock, I don't want to let them down."
Quinn laughed. "They'll live. To be honest, this might be a good thing. They've been getting scared you might cancel the book and leave altogether for another publisher. I've had three calls this week from different editors, asking if you're back on the market."
"Quinn, no." Poppy knew that tone, and quickly shut her down. "I'm happy where I am. They just pushed my deadline three times because I needed it, that's the kind of loyalty I want."
"OK, OK," Quinn sighed. "I'll let them know. Oh, before I forget, I got something inviting you to speak at this literary festival, it's local I think . . . hang on . . ." Poppy heard her clicking at her mouse. "Here it is, the Cape Cod Spring Fling Festival. It's usually more literary, you know, Franzen, Atwood, Zadie Smith, but I guess someone cancelled at the last minute, because they want you to come."
"I'd love to!" Poppy exclaimed, pleased. "I've seen the flyers here in town."
"I'll tell them you're in," Quinn said. "And then maybe we can start talking about your next deal . . ."
"Bye, Quinn." Poppy cut her off before she could laugh-or cry. Next deal? She wasn't even going to think about that. Not while she still had this book to deliver-and an outfit to assemble before Cooper arrived.