Meant to Be (Sweetbriar Cove #1)(41)

"Thanks for putting up with all our nosy questions," Mackenzie said when they were alone. "And I'm sorry if we got too personal, about Cooper."

"There's not much to get personal about." Poppy helped tidy away their glasses. "He still hasn't texted me back. I guess that means he's not interested."

"Or, he thinks you're holed up somewhere with your ex," Mackenzie corrected her. "Or his phone is dead, and he hasn't seen your messages. Or he took a boat out, and got lost in a freak storm-"

"OK!" Poppy stopped her, laughing. "I get it. But in fiction, and real life, the simplest explanation is usually the best. If Cooper doesn't suggest picking up where we left off, it probably means he doesn't want to."

Mackenzie shook her head. "No way. Remember, men don't take a hint. You need to make it clear you're interested. Make the first move."

She seemed strangely insistent, but maybe Poppy was just being too scared.

"You should just go over there."

"Tonight?" Poppy blinked. "Isn't that stalking?"

"Or a grand romantic gesture," Mackenzie pointed out.

"I don't know . . ." Poppy's stomach tied up in knots just thinking about making the first move.

"OK." Mackenzie shrugged. "Don't. Wait around for him to get his head out of his ass long enough to text you back. But I wouldn't hold my breath," she advised. "Cooper Nicholson is one stubborn man."

He was. Poppy's heart sank. If he had the wrong idea about Owen showing up, then Cooper could just act like their date had never happened. The chance could slip away if Poppy didn't take the risk and find out once and for all if their sparks added up to anything real.

Her pulse sped up. "I'm going to do it," she said, surprising herself. "I'm going to see him."

"Yes!" Mackenzie clapped her hands together in delight. "OK, I have his address right here. And you look great in what you're wearing. What about your underwear?"

"Mackenzie!" Poppy exclaimed.

"What? Come on." She grinned. "A girl has to be prepared."

Poppy thought back to getting dressed that morning. Pale-blue, lace boy-shorts and her favorite bra. "It's fine."

"Then you're good to go." Mackenzie presented her with a scrap of paper, scribbled with an address. She grabbed an unopened bottle of wine, and the leftover cobbler container, too, and thrust them into Poppy's arms. "For luck."

"Thanks." Poppy felt a nervous flutter. "I can't believe I'm doing this. Maybe I shouldn't. Or should I?"

Mackenzie pushed her gently towards the door. "You definitely should. One of us needs some romantic adventure, and it sure isn't going to be me. Not unless you count the hot night I have planned with ESPN."

"Thank you." Poppy paused at the door. "I had a great time this afternoon."

"Me too." Mackenzie beamed. "Be sure to come by tomorrow and tell me how it all went!"



       
         
       
        





15





Poppy drove the main highway out to Cooper's address, her heart racing and her head spinning with doubts. What if she showed up and he laughed right in her face? Or had another woman there? Or, worst of all, made awkward polite excuses until she turned and fled in humiliation?

Relax, she ordered herself. OK, so maybe she wasn't all that experienced when it came to seducing gorgeous men, but she was a grown, red-blooded woman. She wasn't going to get tarred and feathered and marched through town with a scarlet A affixed to her chest just for dropping by a friend's place unannounced with a bottle of wine.

And cute underwear.

Poppy took a deep breath, and then another. The turn took her off the highway, out through the woods, and she found herself looking curiously around in the dusk light. The sun was setting through the trees, and she didn't know what to expect from Cooper's residence, but when she pulled up outside an old red barn-weathered with age, with faded white shutters and ironwork curling at the windows-somehow, it made perfect sense.

His truck was out front, and the lights were on inside. No excuses now.

Was she really going to do this?

Poppy thought about heading back to the cottage and spending another evening alone. She'd curl up with a book, make some more soup, and spend the night warm and perfectly content-just the way she'd passed hundreds of nights before. Or she could knock on that door and take a risk, leap into the unknown.

She wanted more. She wanted him. And didn't her books always say you should fight for what you wanted?