"See you around," Poppy managed to mutter as she slinked past.
Debra laughed. "You have a great day now!"
No! Poppy glanced in the rearview mirror as she hightailed it out of there, watching Debra recede in the distance. There was no way the other woman bought her story about an early-morning barefoot delivery. At this rate, half the town would know about her sleepover before she even made it back to the beach!
She gulped and tried not to feel like she was back in college again, doing the walk of shame back to her dorm. She was a grown adult woman, she reminded herself firmly. She was allowed to have a sex life.
An amazing, bone-melting, spine-tingling, beg-for-more sex life.
Poppy grinned. She couldn't help it. So, their secret hook-up had been busted wide open before it even had a chance to be secret. She didn't care. Because wow, that had been good.
And she already wanted more.
Back at the cottage, she found the crew working hard on the house next door. But Cooper-and his truck-were nowhere to be seen. Probably getting supplies, she guessed, and took the opportunity to have a long shower and wash her hair. She still cautiously tested the water before stepping under the spray, but thankfully, there had been no more "ice bucket" incidents since that first time with Cooper.
Her mind drifted, rinsing her hair. The shower was plenty big enough for two, so maybe Cooper could come join her one night after work, all sweaty from his labor . . .
The sound of her phone ringing interrupted her steamy thoughts, and even though Poppy was tempted to let it go to voicemail and stay happily locked in her fantasyland, she knew her hot water supply wouldn't last forever. She grabbed a towel and shut off the water, trying not to drip on the floors as she sprinted for her bedroom.
"Hello?" She picked up, and found Summer on the other end.
"Am I, or am I not, your best friend?"
"Um, yes?" Poppy trapped the phone against her ear and flipped her wet hair over, towel-drying it.
"So why am I like the last person to find out about Owen's impromptu trip to the Cape?"
"Oh. That."
"That?" Summer echoed. "Don't tell me your life is so dramatic now that your ex-fiancé showing up on your doorstep in the middle of the night to swear his undying affection and beg you back doesn't so much as warrant a text? Email? Facebook emoji?"
Poppy laughed. "OK, OK, I'm sorry! But in my defense, I've been . . . distracted."
Summer gasped. "I know that tone. Who is he? What's his name? Did he duel Owen for your affections in the middle of the Sweetbriar town square?"
"Not quite." Poppy couldn't help but laugh at Summer's dramatics. "His name is Cooper. He's . . . an old friend. And we've been getting reacquainted."
"You got laid, didn't you? I can tell it from your voice. You sound all happy and shiny and bouncing with well-banged hormones." Summer giggled. "Not that I'm not happy for you, but seriously? You go to the ends of the earth to be alone and work, and you still manage to find a hot guy. He is hot, isn't he?" she added.
"Smoldering." Poppy grinned. "He just looks at me and I feel like I'm about to spontaneously combust."
Summer sighed happily. "I remember how that feels. God, I love the butterflies."
"It's amazing," Poppy admitted. "I wasn't sure anything was going to happen. He kissed me, but then he acted like nothing happened. So I just went over there last night."
"You seduced him? Look at you." Summer sounded impressed. "I knew my bad influence would rub off one day."
Poppy laughed. "You're not so bad."
"Only because I don't have the time," Summer said, rueful. "It's hard to live wild and reckless when you have to be up at five a.m. to start baking bread for the day."
"I told you, take a vacation," Poppy said sternly. "Come visit."
"Does this Cooper have hot friends?"
Poppy paused. "Actually, yes," she said, thinking of Riley and Grayson. "Maybe it's something in the water around here, makes the men all scruffy and gorgeous."
"Scruffy and gorgeous sounds good to me, but I'll come see you just as soon as Andre gets that stick out of his snooty French ass."
"You should tell him that," Poppy said, teasing.
Summer hooted with laughter. "Can you just imagine his face? Or worse still, my mother's?"
"Maybe not." Poppy winced. Summer's mom was a famous TV chef who gave Martha Stewart and the Barefoot Contessa a run for their money. Summer had spent her life in her mother's shadow-and trying to win her approval, too. "Anyway, tell me what I'm supposed to do now, with Cooper."