He quickly turned and headed through the crowd, and it wasn't until he was half a block away that he let himself slow.
Look at him, bolting all over again.
Dammit. This wasn't Poppy's fault, none of it was. But just like last time around, he was screwing things up without even trying.
The coffee shop was just ahead, but instead of joining the extra-long line, Cooper cut around back, down to the beach. The Provincetown bay curved gently, flat golden sand leading out to the calm waters bobbing with sailboats, and the distant honk of the ferry.
He found an empty stretch of sand, and looked out across the ocean. The Cape had always felt like home to him, but now as he gazed at the horizon, those familiar shores felt like a cage, holding him back. Living surrounded by ghosts of his past and the constant reminders of all the ways he'd failed as a man. If he'd met Poppy in another city, another time . . . could he have found a way to believe in starting over? A blank slate. A fresh start. Or would he fall short all over again, and wind up hurting the woman he loved?
A couple of kids, maybe seven or eight years old, came running past, chasing down the Labrador that charged into the waves. "Sorry!" their father called, jogging behind.
Cooper watched them play and felt a deep ache, that grief that lived behind his ribcage, a quiet constant. His father would know what to do. He always had a way of fixing things: leaking roofs, broken bicycles. "It's simple when you know how," he would say, and show Cooper where the screw needed to be replaced, or the tile replaced, but Cooper didn't know how to go about fixing himself, and his father had been gone before Cooper even knew he was broken inside.
How was he supposed to mend this mess, when all he could see was the wreckage that still lay ahead? Poppy had been searching all her life for something real, a partnership, a family. Cooper could fool himself into thinking he was the man to give it to her, but what happened when all his good intentions faded and Poppy realized he wasn't enough? Seeing the disappointment in Laura's eyes at the end had just about broken him, but Cooper knew, it would be a hundred times worse this time around.
Poppy deserved more than this. More than him.
So what was he waiting for?
Poppy remembered her first big public author event, for all the wrong reasons. She'd had dinner with friends beforehand at a hole-in-the-wall diner, which clearly didn't deserve the health rating posted on the wall, because by the time she'd arrived at the bookstore for her signing, her stomach was churning with an ominous shiver. All night, she had to act like nothing was wrong, when secretly she was breaking out in a cold sweat, counting the minutes until the inevitable race to the bathroom. She knew disaster was looming, she just had to breathe and smile and keep it together long enough to do her job.
And tonight was no different.
The literary festival had taken over one of the nicest restaurants in town for a big celebration dinner for the authors and publishers. Poppy was seated at a table with Cooper, Eliza, Quinn, and a few other authors; the champagne was flowing, the food was delicious-and all Poppy could feel was a terrible tangle of dread in the pit of her stomach. Cooper was acting like nothing was wrong, but she knew him enough now to know it was just that: an act.
"I didn't realize you were local!" Eliza was exclaiming from across the table. "Maybe we could set up an interview, I write for some of the Boston newspapers, too."
"Absolutely!" Quinn answered for her. "That sounds great."
"How long are you staying?" Eliza asked, pulling out her phone to check her schedule. "It's so much better to chat in person. You know, 'Author Poppy Somerville breezes into the room and orders a slice of pie that belies her slim figure,' " she quipped, and Poppy managed a faint smile.
"I . . . don't know yet. I was thinking about renting a place through the summer." Cooper snapped his head around. "You didn't say."
"It was just an idea." She forced herself to meet his eyes. "What do you think?"
The question trembled in the air between them, but she couldn't keep on hoping this was just a temporary stumble, not when her heart ached like this. She wanted to be holding hands with him under the table, leaning in to exchange private whispers, laughing through the night the way she had just a week ago, both of them giddy and excited and breathless for more.
Instead, Cooper's face was impassive. He reached for his drink and took a swallow. "I guess it's up to you," he said flatly. "I figured you would be getting back to New York after the book was done."
Poppy froze.
Was that all she was to him: a temporary distraction, already overstaying her welcome?
She took a shallow breath and turned back to the table. "We'll see," she said to Eliza. "How about we set something up in the next week or two?"