Meant to Be (Sweetbriar Cove #1)(68)

It had been real. She'd felt it-felt his arms holding her, and his heart beating steadily in his chest-and believed it was the beginning. That she'd finally found the love she'd been hoping for, the possibility of forever in his eyes.

But she was wrong. The possibility crumbled away, leaving nothing but a man who couldn't bring himself to look at her.

"It doesn't matter what I want." Cooper's reply was hollow. "This was always how it was going to end. I'm sorry," he said again, finally meeting her gaze. "But you'll see, you deserve better than me. You deserve everything."

He bunched his hands in his pockets, and glanced back to the restaurant. "Send my apologies to Quinn and everyone," he said, stilted. "I think it's best if I go."

"Cooper . . ." His name caught in her throat. She wanted to say something, find a way to break through this wall he'd built between them, and somehow understand why he was just pushing her away. But words failed her, and he turned to walk away.

"Wait!" Poppy called, before she could stop herself. "Was it real?" she demanded, aching inside. "Was any of it real? Or was I just writing us a story that never existed?"

Cooper's face seemed to split apart.

"It was real." His voice was gruff. "Every minute. I promise you that."

He closed the distance between them in a few short strides and took her face in his hands. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, impossibly tender. "I'm sorry," he whispered again, as Poppy's head spun and her body reached to hold him. Then he released her, and turned and walked away.



       
         
       
        

This time, he didn't look back.





22





"Poppy?"

The knock came at her bedroom door, followed by Aunt June's worried voice. "Poppy, hon, can I make you some breakfast?"

Poppy rolled over and burrowed deeper under the covers. It had been three days since Cooper had left her there at the dinner-three days of Quinn plying her with alcohol and cursing all men, Poppy hiding away from the world, and her aunt trying to feed her, as if her blueberry pancakes could heal all ailments.

Which, usually they did. But this wasn't any old rejection or lost job or disappointing date they were facing. Poppy's heart was broken, and no amount of maple syrup would be fixing that wound.

"Sweetheart?" Poppy heard the door open and lifted her head. June took a step inside. "It's not good for you to be wallowing like this," she said gently. "I'll run you a nice bath, and then you can come downstairs and I'll fix you some food."

"I'm not hungry," Poppy answered listlessly, but the rumble from her stomach said differently. June brightened at the sound.

"Blueberry pancakes it is. And extra-crispy bacon. Come on, you'll feel better with some food in you."

Poppy wasn't convinced, but she'd been wearing these sweatpants for three days straight now. Maybe it was time to get showered and changed-into a fresh pair of sweatpants.

Slowly, she swung her legs out of bed. June pulled back the curtains and bustled around, tidying the room. Poppy froze by the window, her eyes going straight to the house next door. "Is he . . . ?"

"Not on the site today," June said quickly. "Haven't seen him since, well, since the weekend."

"Oh." Poppy let out a breath. She wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed. She'd spent days wondering if he was just outside, working away on the house and completely oblivious to her heartbreak, just a few feet away.

June gave her a brief hug. "And how about we get you out of these clothes?" she said, steering Poppy to the bathroom. "You take your time, maybe wash your hair too. I'll get started on the food."

She bustled off downstairs, and when Poppy caught sight of her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she understood Aunt June's determination to get her up and out of bed. Her skin was pasty, there were dark shadows under her eyes, and everything about her looked limp and defeated. Just like she was feeling inside.

Poppy turned on the shower, and stripped to get under the hot spray. She felt like she was moving in slow motion, and had been stuck there ever since the literary festival dinner. It had been hell making it through the rest of the evening after Cooper had walked away; she forced a smile on her face, and accepted everyone's kind words and praise, but inside, she'd been falling apart. It seemed a cruel irony to be talking about romance and happily-ever-after when her own heart was breaking clean apart in her chest. Quinn had been the one to cover for her, talking loudly and steering the conversation away. She'd grabbed a bottle of wine on their way out and stuck it in Poppy's hand for the drive home. "Write your way through it," she'd said, and it was more an order than a suggestion, but still, the heartache remained.