Meant to Be (Sweetbriar Cove #1)(39)

         
       
        

Cooper stared back, his bitter retorts dying on his tongue. She made him sound like a total bastard. He wasn't that bad, was he?

Mackenzie softened. "Look, it doesn't have to be much. Take her to dinner, see if there are sparks. Just be open to something, for once in your life."

"I did," Cooper found himself answering, before he could think better of it. "We went to dinner last night."

Mackenzie lit up. "And?"

"And, nothing." Cooper felt a twist of regret. "Everything was great, until her ex showed up. It turns out he's less an ex and more a current."

Mackenzie shook her head, frowning. "That's not what I heard. She called off the wedding, practically left him at the altar."

"Well, I left her getting cozy with him on June's front porch." Cooper took Mackenzie by the arms and gently moved her aside. "So thanks for the pep talk, but I gave it my shot."

"But you can't give up!" Mackenzie protested.

"Watch me. And it's not giving up if you were never in the game," Cooper corrected her. "This grumpy old man is leaving well alone."

Her face fell, and Cooper knew how she felt.

"Fine." Mackenzie pressed her lips together. "I have to get going, anyway. But I will say, it's not like you to quit so easy." She spun her cart and walked away before Cooper could have time to object.

He wasn't a quitter.

He scowled, and finished the rest of his shopping with a cloud hanging over him. He wasn't a quitter, and Mackenzie was wrong to imply that he was. But what was he supposed to do-make a fool of himself chasing after a woman who wasn't his to chase? He barely knew Poppy, and a couple of polite texts didn't make a difference. She probably felt bad for letting him down so abruptly. If she'd wanted to see him again, she'd have said so. For all he knew, she'd spent the day with Owen, making up for lost time.

Cooper felt the burn of jealousy just imagining it, but he pushed it aside. He knew all about wanting a woman who didn't want him back. And he wasn't about to make the same mistake twice.



Poppy wrote until her battery went dead, then headed back to the house to change and dig a bottle of wine from Aunt June's cellar. She arrived at the pottery studio at the stroke of four, bearing a bottle of white, and some prosecco, too, for good measure.

"You made it!" Mackenzie greeted her happily, and whisked her inside. "Everyone, this is the famous Poppy Somerville! Poppy, this is Franny, and Debra, and Ellie, and Bert . . ."

"Hi!" Poppy tried to keep track of everyone's names as she went through the whistle-stop introductions, but half of them passed her by. It was an eclectic group gathered there, a few older women in their sixties and seventies, plus another girl about her age, and a lone man in a green knit sweater. 

"Don't worry, we don't expect you to learn everyone's name," one of the other women-Debra, was it?-said with a wink. "Just call everyone 'honey' and you'll be set."

"Thanks for the tip." Poppy smiled.

"And you brought booze!" Mackenzie took the bottles. "See, you'll fit right in. Come on."

She led her through the front space, which was set up as a gallery, displaying beautiful ceramic bowls and sculptures. One of the sets caught Poppy's eye-the bright polka-dot design just like the ones she'd admired back at the cottage. "You made these?" Poppy asked, pausing to pick up one of the cute mugs. "June has a whole set at home. They're adorable."

"Thanks." Mackenzie smiled. "They're from my polka-dot phase, I went kind of dotty-pardon the pun. Polka-dot bowls, teacups, you name it. Now I've moved on to stripes, they're more nautical," she explained, pointing to a new set of blue-and-white bowls, painted with anchors and a ship design. "Plus, they sell like gangbusters to the tourists. I swear, I could put an anchor on a lump of unfinished clay and it would get snapped up."

"I love it. Remind me to come back another time and browse," Poppy said, looking around. "I know my friend back home would love this stuff. She's a chef, so she goes crazy when it comes to kitchenware. I swear, she has more mixing bowls than pairs of socks."

"My kind of customer." Mackenzie grinned. "Feel free to stop by anytime."

In the back, Mackenzie had pushed aside a workbench and potter's wheel and arranged a mismatched assortment of chairs in a circle. She dragged a bench closer, and began to unpack various Tupperware filled with dessert. "I told you," she said, catching Poppy's eye. "We don't mess around."